“Sure.”

He enters Sara’s number. Then Marcos’s. Then his own. He does a few more things to the phone, then eventually hands it over to me. “You need a tutorial?”

I shake my head. “A friend from back home had one like this. I can figure it out.”

“Where’s back home?”

It’s a simple question, but it sets my skin on fire. It’s a question you ask someone you want to get to know better.

I clear my throat. “Kentucky,” I say. “What about you?”

His eyes linger on me for a quiet moment. Then he looks away and grabs the door handle, as if opening up a conversation with me is something he immediately regrets. “I’m gonna get some fresh air,” he says, opening the door. He closes it and walks away from the car.

I should probably be offended by his strange reaction, but I’m not. I’m relieved. I want him to be just as disinterested in me as I am in him.

Or at least as disinterested as I’m trying to be in him.

I look down at my phone and add in Natalie’s number. She was one of the few friends I had back home and I’ve been wanting to talk to her since last night. I’m sure she heard through her mother that my mother passed away, and if so, she’s probably worried sick not knowing where I am. It’s been hard for us to keep in touch since she left for college because I don’t have a phone. That’s a contributing factor as to why I don’t have a lot of friends. It’s hard to keep in touch with anyone when you’re technologically out of the loop.

I get out of the car and walk to an empty spot on the ferry to make the call. I face the water and dial her number, waiting as it rings.

“Hello?”

I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear her voice. Finally, something familiar. “Hey.”

“Beyah? Holy shit, I’ve been worried sick. I heard what happened, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is so loud. I try to figure out how to take the phone off speaker, but the screen is just numbers. I look around, but no one is near us, so I just muffle the phone with my hand to keep the call from disturbing anyone in the vicinity.

“Beyah? Hello?”

“I’m here, sorry.”

“Where are you?”

“Texas.”

“Why the hell are you in Texas?”

“My dad moved here. I figured I’d stay with him for the summer. How’s New York?”

“Different,” she says. “In a good way.” There’s a pause before she says, “God, I still can’t believe Janean is dead. You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. I had one good cry, but like…I don’t know. Maybe I’m broken.”

“Whatever. She was the worst mother I’ve ever met.”

And that’s why I like Natalie. She says what she means. Not many people are as forthcoming as her.

“What about your dad? Hasn’t it been a while since you’ve seen him? Is it awkward?”

“Yeah. It might even be worse now that I’m an adult. But he lives in a beach house, so that’s a huge plus. He’s married, though. Has a new stepdaughter.”

“Yay for the beach house, but oh no. A stepsister? Is she your age?”

“About a year older. Her name is Sara.”

“She sounds blond and pretty.”

“She is.”

“Do you like her?”

I think about that for a moment. “I’m still not sure what to think of her yet. I feel like she might be a locker room girl.”

“Ugh. Those are the worst. Any cute guys, at least?”

Right when Natalie asks that question, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I turn my head and Samson is walking toward me. He’s staring, like he might have caught the end of my conversation. I clench my jaw. “No. No cute guys. But hey, I gotta go. Save my number.”

“Okay, got you.”

I end the call and grip my phone in my hand. I swear to God, he shows up at all the worst times.

He takes a couple of steps closer until he’s next to me at the railing. He narrows his eyes in my direction, looking at me curiously. “What’s a locker room girl?”

I hate that he heard that. I really do like Sara. I don’t know why I said that to Natalie.

I sigh and then turn, resting my back against the railing. “It’s what I called the mean girls at my school.”

Samson nods, like he’s processing my answer. “You know…when Sara found out you were coming, she moved to the guest room. She wanted you to have the better room.” With that, he pushes off the railing, walks around me and heads back toward the car.

I turn and press my hands against my face and groan.

I have never made an ass out of myself in front of one person so much in my life, and I’ve only known him for half a day.

EIGHT

It’s late by the time we get back and I get all my new stuff put away. These last twenty-four hours have been grueling, to say the least. I’m exhausted. Grief might even be catching up to me. And even though Sara and I shared an entire bag of chocolate donuts, I’m still hungry.

I go to the kitchen and find my father sitting at the table, a laptop in front of him and several books spread out over the table. He glances up when he hears me.

“Hey,” he says, straightening up in his chair.

“Hi.” I point to the pantry. “Just grabbing a snack.” I open the pantry door and grab a bag of chips. When I close it, I fully intend to sneak back up to my room, but my father has other plans.

“Beyah,” he says as soon as I reach the bottom step. “You got a sec?”

I nod reluctantly. I walk over to the table and take the seat across from him. I pull my knee up and try to seem casual. He leans back in his chair and rubs a hand across his jaw like whatever he’s about to say is going to be a little uncomfortable.

Did he hear about my mother? I don’t know that there are any people that connect them other than me, so I don’t know how he’d have found out.

“I’m sorry I didn’t go to your graduation.”

Oh. It’s about him. I stare at him for a moment, then open my bag of chips. I shrug. “It’s fine. Long drive for someone with a broken leg.”

He presses his lips together and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “About that,” he says.

“I don’t care, Dad. Really. We all tell lies to get out of things we don’t want to do.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to be there,” he says. “I just…I didn’t think you wanted me there.”

“Why wouldn’t I have wanted you there?”

“I just got the impression that you’ve been avoiding me for the past couple of years. And I don’t blame you. I don’t feel like I’ve been a very good father to you.”

I look down into my bag of chips and shake them around. “You haven’t been.” I casually eat another chip like I didn’t just deliver the worst insult a child could hand to a parent.

My father’s expression falls into a frown, and he opens his mouth to respond, but Sara spills out of the stairwell and into the kitchen with way too much energy for this time of night.