“You think she’d let us use it?” I ask.
Samson shrugs. “Depends on if she’s awake or not.”
Marcos stands up. “No one can sleep through this noise.”
We all make our way to Marjorie’s, along with P.J., who was waiting beneath Marcos’s house.
Marjorie is sitting on her porch when we reach her street, watching all the commotion on the beach. She sees us approaching and says, “I figured you’d be here sooner than this.” She waves a hand toward her front door. “Be my guest.”
“Thanks, Marjorie,” Samson says.
Once we’re inside, he waits for Sara and Marcos to climb the stairs first, then me. When we reach the roof entrance, Sara is on her hands and knees as she crawls out the opening. Marcos tries to help her, but she shakes her head. “It’s too high. I can’t move.”
Samson laughs. “Try to get to the center of the roof. You’ll only see the sky instead of the ground.”
Sara crawls to the center of the roof. We all follow and I sit down next to her. Samson sits next to me.
“How do you walk around up here?” Sara asks him.
“I don’t look down,” Samson says.
Sara covers her face for a minute as she tries to lessen the dizziness. “I had no idea I was afraid of heights.”
Marcos wraps an arm around her. “Come here, babe.” She moves closer to Marcos, and seeing him hold her like that makes me very aware that Samson and I aren’t even touching. I glance at him, but he’s looking at fireworks that are being shot from somewhere down the beach.
“Is Marjorie lonely?” I ask him.
He looks at me and smiles. “No. She has a son. He’s a lawyer in Houston. He comes to visit her a couple times a month.”
That makes me feel good.
Samson sees the relief on my face, and then he leans toward me and gives me a quick peck. “You’re sweet,” he whispers. Then he grabs my hand, threading his fingers through mine, and we watch the fireworks in silence.
The more time that passes, the more there are. We can see them all around us, in the bay, coming from Galveston. Somehow, there are even fireworks being shot from way out in the ocean.
Marcos looks at Sara and says, “This would have been a great marriage proposal moment with all these free fireworks in the background. Too bad we just met over spring break.”
“Bring me back here next year,” she says. “I’ll pretend I forgot this conversation.”
They make me laugh.
After a few more minutes, Sara tells Marcos she needs down because she’s feeling nauseous. They leave, but Samson and I stay on Marjorie’s roof.
I find myself watching him more than I’m watching the fireworks. He looks enamored with everything.
“I’ve never seen Darya look this beautiful,” Samson whispers.
Wait. What? Darya is the name of the girl he said broke his heart.
“Look how the fireworks reflect off of her,” he says, pointing out at the ocean. I look at where he’s pointing, then back at him, confused.
“Are you calling the ocean Darya?”
“Yeah,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Darya means the sea. It’s what Rake used to call her.”
“You told me Darya was the ex-girlfriend who broke your heart.”
Samson laughs. “I told you Darya broke my heart, but I never said I was talking about a girl.”
I try to think back on that conversation. This whole time, he was talking about the water? “How does an ocean break a heart?”
“I’ll tell you on—”
“August second,” I finish with a roll of my eyes. I adjust myself and reach into my pocket for my phone. “I’m taking notes. You owe me a lot of explanations.”
Samson laughs. “Can I see the list?”
I hand him my phone after I add the last one. He starts reading off the list.
“Why don’t you like talking about your father’s rental houses? Who was the guy that interrupted our dinner? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Why don’t you like talking about your family? What’s the whole story behind Rake? How many girls have you had sex with?” He pauses and looks at me for a beat, then goes back to the list. “What’s your full name? How did the ocean break your heart?”
He stares at my phone for a moment, then hands it back to me.
“Ten,” he says. “But I really only remember nine. My memory of one of the girls is fuzzy.”
Ten. That’s a lot in comparison to me, but not much compared to what I assumed his past was like. He could have said fifty, and I don’t know that I’d be surprised. “Ten isn’t very many.”
“Compared to your one it is,” he says teasingly.
“I just thought there were more. The way Sara talked about you, it seemed like you slept with a different girl every week.”
“I rarely slept with them. I have no idea how many I’ve made out with, though. Please don’t ask me that question on August second because I won’t be able to answer it.”