Heart Bones(50)

I feel like a flower being taken out of the shadows and put into the sun. I’m blooming for the first time since I broke through the earth’s soil.

“What are today’s plans?” Samson asks.

I shrug. “I think it’s clear by now that I have absolutely no plans until August third.”

“Good. Want to rent a golf cart and take a tour of the beach this afternoon? I know a really secluded spot.”

“Sure. Sounds fun.” Especially since he said the word secluded. That sounds like an invite to finally be able to spend some alone time with him.

The sun is up now and this is usually when Samson leaves so I can go back to sleep, but instead of standing up, he slides me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him. He leans his head back against the chair, resting his hands on my hips. “We should start watching the sunrise in this position.”

“It would block your view,” I say.

He brings a hand up to my face, and his fingertips against my jaw feel like tiny little fires against my skin. “You’re prettier than the view, Beyah.” He slips his hand behind my head and brings me to his mouth.

Both of his arms wrap around me and he pulls me closer, but I shift a little so that he’ll be reminded not to do that. I don’t like it when both of his arms go around me while we kiss because it makes me think of being held, and being held is something more personal to me than kissing, or even sex.

I like kissing Samson. I like spending time with him. But I don’t like the idea of sharing something so intimate with someone who doesn’t want to share more than a few weeks of themselves with me.

His hands fall to my hips like I’ve trained them to do over the last few days. He kisses my jaw, then the side of my head. “I have to go,” he says. “I have a lot to do today.”

Every day he’s always doing something different. Helping someone repair a roof, rebuilding a dune. Most of it seems like busy work. I don’t know that he actually takes money for the work he does.

I slide off him and watch as he heads back toward the ladder.

He doesn’t make eye contact with me as he descends the ladder and disappears. I lean my head against the back of the chair and pop a grape into my mouth.

I’m sure he wants more than I’m giving him physically, but I can’t give him more if he insists on staying in the shallow end. Hugs and being held might seem like shallow-end stuff to him, but to me, those things are buried somewhere in the Mariana Trench.

I’d rather have casual sex with him than let him hug me.

That’s probably proof that I have some deep shit that needs unpacking by a therapist. But whatever.

Ocean therapy has worked wonders for me so far and it’s free.



Secluded was an understatement.

He brought us so far down the beach, the houses aren’t clustered in neighborhoods anymore. They’re sparse and scattered. There are no people. Just the dunes behind us and the ocean in front of us. If I were going to choose a place to build a house, this would be it.

“Why aren’t there very many houses here? Does the land flood too easily?”

“There used to be a lot of houses here. Hurricane Ike leveled everything.” Samson takes a drink of water. He brought sandwiches, water, and a blanket. He’s considering this our first official date since hanging out with Sara and Marcos doesn’t really count. He even pulled up to my stairs earlier in the golf cart to pick me up.

“Do you think it’ll ever be the same as before the hurricane?”

He shrugs. “Maybe not like it was before. The whole peninsula became gentrified in the rebuild, but it’s thriving more than I thought it would. It’s still a work in progress, though. It’ll take more than just a few years to even come close to what it was like before.” He points to a spot behind us. “That’s where I found Rake’s boat. There are probably still pieces of it buried behind the dune. They haven’t done much work in this area since the hurricane.”

I feed a piece of my bread to P.J. He rode in the back of the golf cart all the way here. “You think this dog belonged to one of the people whose houses were destroyed?”

“I think you’re the only person that dog has ever belonged to.”

I smile when he says that, even though I know I’m not the first person P.J. has ever loved. He knows commands, so someone spent time training him in the past.

I’ve always wanted a dog, but I never had enough food to feed one. I’d take in strays, but they eventually left me for other families who fed them more often.

“What are you going to do with him in August?” Samson asks, leaning across me to scratch P.J. on the head.

“I don’t know. I’m trying not to think about it.”

Samson’s eyes meet mine in that moment, and there’s a flash of contemplation that passes between us.

What will I do with the dog?

What will we do about us?

What’s goodbye going to feel like?

Samson stretches out in the sand. I’m sitting cross-legged, so he lays his head in my lap and stares up at me thoughtfully. I run a hand through his hair, trying not to think about anything beyond or before this moment.

“What do other people think of you?” Samson asks.

“That’s an odd question.”

Samson looks at me expectantly, like he doesn’t care that it’s an odd question. I laugh, looking out at the water while I think.