Heart Bones(69)

There’s a pause on his end. I’m not sure he heard the question, but then he sighs and says, “No. There’s no one.”

God, I hate that. P.J. and I really are all he has right now. “I don’t think my father is going to bail you out. He’s pretty upset.”

“It’s not his responsibility,” Samson says. “Please don’t ask him to do that.”

“I’ll figure something out, though.”

“I’ll be here for a while, Beyah. I really fucked up.”

“Which is why I’m going to help find you a lawyer.”

“I’ll be entitled to a public defender,” he says. “I’ve been through this before.”

“Yeah, but they’re overworked as it is. It wouldn’t hurt to try and find a lawyer who has more time to prepare and fight for your case.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m not actually rich.”

“Good. You know your money was my least favorite thing about you.”

Samson is quiet, even though it feels like he has so much to say.

“I’m going to spend the rest of today applying for jobs. I’ll start saving up to help you hire another lawyer. You aren’t alone in this, Samson.”

“My mistakes aren’t your responsibility, either. There’s nothing you can do. Besides, the court date won’t be for several weeks. You’ll be in Pennsylvania by then.”

“I’m not going to Pennsylvania.” He’s insane if he thinks I’m going to abandon him. Does he really think I’m going to leave him to sit in jail while I move across the country as if I didn’t grow a heart bone over the summer? “What about Marjorie’s son? What kind of lawyer is he?”

He doesn’t respond to my question.

“Samson?” I pull my phone back and the call has been dropped. “Shit.”

I press my phone to my forehead. He probably won’t get to call me back. I’ll have to wait and talk to him in person tomorrow. I have so many more questions I already need to add to the list.

But I also have work to do, so I walk across the street, straight to Marjorie’s house. I beat on her door until she opens it.

I forgot it’s still super early. She’s in her nightgown, tying her robe together when she opens the door. She looks at me from head to toe. “What in the world has got you so worked up?”

“It’s Samson. He’s in jail.”

A flash of worry floods her eyes, and then she steps aside to let me in. “What for?”

“The house he’s been staying in doesn’t belong to him. He was arrested this morning because the owners showed up in the middle of the night.”

“Samson? Are you sure?”

I nod. “I was there. He’s going to need a lawyer, Marjorie. One who can spend more time on his case than a public defender can.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.”

“Your son. What kind of lawyer is he?”

“He’s a defense…no. No, I can’t ask Kevin to do that.”

“Why not? I’m getting a job. I can pay him.”

Marjorie looks torn. I can’t say that I blame her. She admitted to me the first time she met me that she barely knew Samson. I’ve got more at stake here than she does, but she can’t ignore all that he’s done for her. One of Marjorie’s cats climbs up onto the kitchen counter next to her. She picks it up and brings it to her chest.

“How much did Samson charge you for all the work he’s done here?”

It takes her a minute to catch up to my question. Her posture sinks a little. “Nothing. He wouldn’t take any money from me.”

“Exactly. He’s not a bad person and you know it, Marjorie.” I hand her my cell phone. “Please. Call your son. You owe Samson this favor.”

She sets the cat on the floor and then waves a flippant hand at my phone. “I don’t know how to use those things.” She walks to the kitchen and picks up a landline telephone, then begins dialing her son’s number.



Kevin agreed to get in touch with Samson, but only because he knows how much Samson has helped out Marjorie over the last few months. He didn’t agree to take him on pro bono, or take on his case at all, but I’m one step closer than I was before I walked into Marjorie’s house.

Now that I’m walking out, she’s stuck me with two pounds of pecans. “I’m getting almonds next week,” she says.

I smile. “Thank you, Marjorie.”

When I’m back inside our house, I drop the nuts on the table and grab both backpacks my father brought over this morning. I’m walking upstairs when he comes out to the hallway. “Beyah?”

I keep walking. “I’ll be in my room the rest of the day. I’d rather not be disturbed; I’m going to bed.”

“Beyah, wait,” I hear him say.

When I make it to the top of the stairs, I hear Alana say, “She asked to be alone, Brian. I think she means it.”

Alana is right. I do mean it. I don’t feel like lectures from my father about what a terrible human Samson is. I’m too sad for that. And too tired.

I maybe got two hours of sleep last night at the most, and even with the adrenaline that’s been pumping through my veins since I woke up, my eyes are beginning to grow heavier by the second.