I laugh. “I have no idea. The rest of my day was contingent upon the outcome of this moment.”
“So was mine.” He grabs my hands and pulls them up to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. Then he tucks my fists against his chest and says, “I need to see Darya.”
His words remind me of a line in one of his father’s poems. I’ve read them so many times, I have them memorized, so I say it out loud. “Because when a man says I’m going home, he should be heading for the sea.”
I start to pull away from him so I can open my car door, but Samson grips my hand and pulls me right back. “My father wrote that. You have my backpack?”
It’s not until this moment I realize Samson probably assumed his backpack was gone forever. “Yeah. I took it the night they arrested you.”
“You kept my father’s poems for me?”
I nod. “Of course I did.”
There’s a pained look in his eyes, as if he’s trying to hold back tears. Then he closes the distance between us and slides his fingers into my hair, cradling my head in his hands. “Thank you for believing in me, Beyah.”
“You believed in me first, Samson. It’s the least I could do.”
THIRTY-TWO
When we finally got to the beach, he didn’t even pause to appreciate it. He got out of the car, took off his shirt and walked straight into her. I’ve been sitting in the sand watching him swim for a while. He’s the only one out in the water right now and I’m the only one on the beach. It’s empty because it’s October and Samson is insane for being in the water when it’s this cold.
But I get it. He needs it. Years of therapy, rolled up into a swim.
He eventually comes back to me, dropping to the sand next to me. He’s soaking wet and breathing hard, but he looks content. He said very little on the drive here, but I also haven’t asked very much. He’s been deprived of everything he loved for so long, I want to give him time to soak it all in before bombarding him with questions about the last few years.
He glances behind us. “Does no one live in Marjorie’s house?”
“No.”
He asks because it’s obvious the house hasn’t been taken care of since it’s been empty. There are shingles missing from the roof. Grass grown up around the foundation.
Marjorie passed away in March, so Kevin will probably put it up for sale soon. I hated that Samson wasn’t able to attend her funeral. I know she meant a lot to him. She even visited him a few times before she died.
Samson repositions himself so that he’s lying in the sand, his head in my lap. He stares up at me with a look of peaceful content. I drag my fingers through his wet hair and smile down at him.
“Where’s Pepper Jack Cheese?” he asks.
I nod my head at our house. “He’s an indoor dog now. He and Dad bonded.”
“What about you and your dad?”
I smile. “We bonded, too. He’s been great.”
Samson brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it. Then he grips it with both hands and presses my palm against his chest, holding my hand there.
Everything fell right back into place with him almost as soon as I laid eyes on him today. It’s like a single minute never even passed. I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but everything I need is tied up in this moment.
“You look different,” he says. “Better. Happier.”
“I am.” I can feel his heart pounding against my palm. “I’m not gonna lie, I was so mad at you in the beginning, but you were right. It was for the best. I never would have left otherwise.”
“It was awful,” he says with a contradicting grin. “Complete torture. I can’t tell you how many times I almost caved and asked Kevin for your address.”
I laugh. “Glad to know you thought of me.”
“Every minute,” he says confidently. He reaches a hand up and touches my cheek. I lean into his palm. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
I nod.
“Did you date other guys?”
I blink twice. I was expecting him to ask me that, but maybe not this soon.
He lifts up onto his arm until he’s face-to-face with me. He reaches around me and presses a comforting hand to the back of my neck. “I’m only asking because I’m hoping your answer is yes.”
“You’re hoping I dated other people?”
He shrugs. “Not saying I wouldn’t be jealous. I’m just hoping you actually had fun in college and didn’t treat your dorm room like a prison cell.”
“I dated,” I say. “I even had a boyfriend for a while during junior year.”
“Was he nice?”
I nod. “He was. But he wasn’t you.” I lean forward and kiss him briefly. “I made friends. I went out. I made good grades. And I even loved my volleyball team. We were pretty damn good.”