Heart Bones

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“I know.”

He holds me for a moment, but I don’t want to get him in trouble, so we separate, and I sit across from him. The table is small, so we aren’t that far apart, but he feels a world away.

He takes one of my hands and holds it in both of his, resting our hands on the table. “I owe you so many answers. Where do you want me to start?”

“Anywhere.”

He takes a moment to figure out where he should begin. I bring my other hand to his until all four of our hands are in a pile on the table. “Everything I told you about my mother was true. Her name was Isabel. I was only five when it happened, but even though I didn’t remember much of my life before her death, I knew it changed drastically after she was gone. Rake is my father; I did omit that. After my mother died, he seemed lost when he wasn’t on the water. It’s like he couldn’t imagine being anywhere she wasn’t, so he pulled me out of school, and we lived on his boat for several years. And that was my life, until Darya took him from me.”

“So that’s what you meant when you said Darya broke your heart?”

He nods.

“Where were you when the hurricane hit?”

Samson’s jaw hardens, like that’s not a memory he wants to relive. He stares at our hands as he speaks. “My father dropped me off at a church. It’s where a lot of the residents took shelter, but he refused to stay with me. He wanted to make sure his boat was secured since it was our entire life. He told me he’d be back before dark, but I never saw him again after that night.” He brings his eyes back to mine. “I wanted to stay on the peninsula, but there was nothing left after the hurricane. It was hard for a thirteen-year-old to hide there, or even survive at that point, so I had to leave. I knew if I told someone my father was missing, I’d get thrown into a group home, so I just spent the next few years trying to be invisible. I ended up working with a friend in Galveston doing odd jobs like mowing yards. He was the guy you met at the restaurant. We were young and did some stupid shit. It eventually caught up with us.”

“What about the arson charge?”

“Technically not my fault. The owner had some shitty electrical work done, but had I not broken into that house that night and turned on the power, it never would have caught on fire. So, on paper, it was my fault.” Samson threads his fingers through mine. “Once I knew I had another warrant out for my arrest, I chose to come back here one last time before turning myself in. I don’t know if I was looking for closure or hoping to find my father, but I ended up finding both. But I also found you and never wanted to leave.” Samson brushes his thumb across the top of my left hand. “I knew I’d be in jail for a while, so I was trying to stretch out my time with you before you left.” He sighs. “What else do you want to know?”

“How did you know the alarm code for that house?”

“The owner uses his house number as his code. Easiest password to guess.”

It’s hard to judge him when that judgment would be extremely hypocritical of me. If anything, I admire his survival skills.

“What about the Air Force Academy? Was any of that true?”

He looks down, unable to meet my gaze. He shakes his head. “I wanted to go to the Air Force. That was my plan, until I fucked it all up. But there were things I lied about, like it being a family tradition. I’ve said a lot of things that weren’t true. But I had to back up my reasoning for being in that house with lies I never wanted to tell you. That’s why I wouldn’t answer your questions. I didn’t like being dishonest with you. Or anyone. I just…”

“You didn’t have a choice,” I say, finishing his thought. I get it. I’ve been there my whole life. “You’re the one who said wrong decisions come from either strength or weakness. You weren’t lying because you were weak, Samson.”

He takes in a slow breath, like he dreads what’s coming next. His entire demeanor changes when he looks me in the eye. The weight of this room begins to close in on me with that look. “Yesterday on the phone you mentioned you weren’t going to Pennsylvania.”

It’s a statement, but he intends for it to be followed by an answer. “I can’t leave you.”

He shakes his head, pulling his hands from mine. He runs them over his face like he’s frustrated with me, then he grabs both my hands even tighter. “You’re going to college, Beyah. My mess isn’t yours to clean up.”