“He’s still being processed and will have to see the judge in a few hours. He’ll be allowed visitors starting at nine tomorrow.”
“We won’t be visiting him,” my father says.
“Yes, we will,” I counter.
“Beyah, you probably don’t even know the guy’s real name.”
“His name is Shawn Samson,” I say defensively. But then I wince and look at the officer, wondering if that’s something else he wasn’t honest about. “Isn’t that his name?”
“His full name is Shawn Samson Bennett, actually,” the officer corrects.
My father waves a hand at the officer while looking at me. “See?” His hands are on his hips when he faces Officer Ferrell. “Do I need to be worried? What exactly is he being charged with and how long will he be in jail?”
“Two counts of breaking and entering. One count of parole violation. One count of arson.”
That last one makes me choke on air. “Arson?”
“A fire partially destroyed a residence late last year. He was staying in the house without permission when the fire broke out. They have him on security footage and put a warrant out for his arrest. He stopped checking in with his parole officer after that, which leads us to his current outstanding warrants, along with the new charges.”
“Why was he on parole in the first place?” my father asks.
“Auto theft. He served six months.”
My father begins pacing. “So, this is a pattern with him?”
“Dad, I’m sure he’s just a product of a faulty system.” My father stops pacing and stares at me like he doesn’t understand how such a ridiculous statement can come from my mouth. I look at the officer. “What about his parents?”
“Both deceased. He claims his father went missing after Hurricane Ike and he’s been on his own since then.”
His father went missing?
Rake was his father? That explains so much about his behavior when we found his remains on the beach. I want to go back to that moment when he looked like he was in so much pain. I want to go back and hug him like I should have.
I start to do the math. If Samson has been honest about his age, that means he was only thirteen when Hurricane Ike hit.
He’s been alone since he was thirteen? No wonder I could tell he was damaged.
“Stop feeling sorry for him, Beyah. I can see it all over your face,” my father says.
“He was a kid when his father died. We have no idea what kind of life he lived after that. I’m sure he did the things he did because he had to.”
“Is that excuse still valid for a twenty-year-old? He could have gotten a job like the rest of us.”
“What was he supposed to do after being released from jail the first time if he was on his own? He probably never had any kind of identification if he didn’t have parents to help him with that. He had no family, no money. People slip through the cracks, Dad. It happens.” It happened to me and you never even noticed.
My father might think Samson’s behavior is a pattern he chose, but it sounds to me like it was a life he might have had no way out of. I know all about making bad choices out of necessity.
“Can we get a restraining order against him? I don’t want him anywhere near my property or my daughter.”
I can’t believe him right now. He hasn’t even spoken to Samson or heard his side and he feels threatened by him? “He’s harmless, Dad.”
My father looks at me like I’m the unreasonable one.
“It’s certainly within your rights to protect your property, but your daughter is an adult and would have to file her own restraining order to protect herself,” Officer Ferrell says.
“Protect me from what? He’s a good person.” It’s like they aren’t hearing me.
“He was pretending to be a good person, Beyah. You don’t even know him.”
“I know him better than I know you,” I mutter.
My father presses his lips together, but says nothing in response.
Whatever bad things Samson did in his past, he didn’t make those choices because he wanted to. I’m convinced of that. Samson was never threatening. He’s been the most comforting, non-threatening part of Texas for me.
My father has already made up his mind about him, though. “I need a bathroom,” I say. I need a breather before getting in the car with my father.
The officer points down the hallway. I rush into the bathroom and wait until the door closes before sucking in as much air as I can fit into my lungs. I slowly release it as I walk to the mirror.
I stare at my reflection. Before Samson, when I would look in the mirror, I would see a girl who mattered to no one. But every time I’ve looked in the mirror since meeting him, I’ve seen a girl who matters to someone else.