Heart Bones

“Are you two fighting?”

“No.”

“Then go. I like it when Marcos summons me. It always means good things.” She looks at Marcos and says, “Hey, Marcos. Summon me.”

Marcos nods his head once, and Sara jumps out of her chair and walks over to him, falling dramatically into his lap. The chair falls over and spills them out onto the sand. Marcos is still holding his beer up in the air. He didn’t even spill a single drop.

I leave them alone and start walking toward Samson’s house. I can hear the outdoor shower running when I get close. I walk onto the concrete foundation of the stilt level of his house. I haven’t spent any time down here, but it’s nice. Aside from the shower, there’s a bar and a couple of tables. I don’t know why we never spend time here instead of at the beach every night. Samson has the kind of house that would be good for parties, but he doesn’t seem like the type who would want to host one.

I don’t see Samson’s shorts as I approach the shower, which means he’s still dressed. There isn’t a door to the shower. The walls are made of wood and there’s an opening and a left turn I have to make before I see him.

His back is to me. His palms are pressed against the wood and the shower spray is falling over the back of his neck. His head is hanging between his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. He turns and pushes the wet hair off his forehead.

“For what?”

“For putting you in this position. For expecting you to keep secrets when I don’t tell you any of mine.”

“You never asked me not to tell anyone. You just asked me not to call the police.”

He wipes his hand over his face and leans back into the stream of water. “Did you tell anyone?”

“No.”

“Are you going to?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

“I’d rather it stay between us,” he says.

I silently agree. It’s not that hard for me to keep secrets. I’m a pro at it.

I kind of like that Samson is a closed book. You can’t really dislike a book you haven’t read yet. But I think I’m able to be patient with him because he told me he’d eventually tell me all his truths. Otherwise, I might not find him worth the effort.

“I feel like there’s more to the story with Rake,” I say. “Will you explain it with all the other answers you owe me on August second?”

He nods. “Yeah. I’ll tell you then.”

“I’m going to start keeping a list of all the questions I want answers to.”

His lip twitches, like I amuse him. “And I’ll answer them all on August second.”

I take a step toward him. “You promise?”

“I swear.”

I lift one of his hands. He’s got dirt beneath all his fingernails. “Did you dig up all of it?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure it was Rake?”

“Positive.”

He looks and sounds exhausted. Maybe even sad. I really do think Rake was a bigger part of his life than he’s letting on. I glance at his necklace, then look back at his face. He’s staring down at me, the small streams of water sliding down his face.

My clothes are starting to get wet from the spray, so I take off my shirt and toss it over the wall of the shower. I leave on my shorts and bikini top and help Samson clean his fingernails. He stands patiently as I get all the dirt out from beneath each nail and then wash his hands with soap.

When I’m finished, Samson pulls on my hand and tugs me until I’m standing under the water with him. He kisses me, and I move with him as he backs himself against the wall, pulling me out of the stream of water.

It’s a lazy kiss. His hands are resting on my hips while he leans against the wall of the shower and lets me direct the moment.

I lean against him, pressing my breasts against his bare chest, wrapping my left hand around the back of his neck. I shouldn’t have told Sara it was a depressing kiss. That’s such a terrible description of what this is.

Durable is a better word.

All of our kisses feel important, like they’ll stay with me forever. They aren’t small displays of affection that happen in passing. There’s something bigger behind them than attraction. Right now that bigger thing is sadness, and I want to take that away from him, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

I drag my right hand down his chest until my fingers meet the elastic band of his shorts. I dip my hand inside, and right when I do, Samson inhales sharply. We stop kissing while I touch him for the first time. His eyes are focused hard on mine, like he’s silently saying I don’t have to do this, but also begging me not to stop.