I don’t know why I expected him to remember. It was a one-night stand when he wasn’t much older than me. They were both probably drunk. I sometimes want to ask him how they met, but I’m not sure I want to know. I’m sure it was at a bar and there isn’t a romantic moment he would be able to recall.

I wonder how my father turned out somewhat normal while my mother turned out to be the worst version of herself she could be. Is it strictly because she was an addict? Was it an imbalance of nature vs. nurture?

“Do you think humans are the only species that get addicted to things?” I ask my father.

“What do you mean?”

“Like drugs and alcohol. Do you think animals have any vices?”

My father’s eyes scroll over my face like he can’t understand the questions coming from my mouth. “I think I read somewhere that lab rats can get addicted to morphine,” he says.

“That’s not what I mean. I want to know if there are addictive things in an animal’s natural environment. Or are humans the only species who sabotage themselves and everyone around them with their addictions?”

My father scratches his forehead. “Is your mother an addict, Beyah?” he asks. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

I can’t believe I’ve gone this long and still haven’t told him she’s dead. I can’t believe he hasn’t figured it out yet. “She’s not an addict anymore.”

His eyes are narrowed in concern. “I didn’t even know she used to be.” He stares at me, unwavering in his worry. “Are you okay?”

I roll my eyes at his question. “We’re sitting in a police station in the middle of the night. No, I’m not okay.”

He blinks twice. “Yeah, I know. But your questions. They just…don’t really make sense.”

I chuckle. It sounds just like my father’s chuckle. It’s my new least favorite thing about myself.

I stand up and stretch my legs. I walk to the door and look out of it, hoping to catch a glimpse of Samson somewhere, but he’s nowhere.

It’s as if there’s a gap sitting between the moment I sat down in the police car and the moment I’ll get to speak to Samson again. A huge emotional gap where I feel nothing and care about nothing else but that potential conversation.

I refuse to open myself up to whatever is happening, which is probably why my thoughts are all over the place while I wait. If I open myself up to this moment right now, I might convince myself that Samson is a complete stranger to me. But last night, that felt so far from the truth.

For the second time this summer, I find myself amazed at how much life can change from one day to the next.

Officer Ferrell returns, gripping a mug of coffee with both hands. I back out of the doorway and lean against the door. My father stands up.

“We have all your information. The two of you are free to go.”

“What about Samson?” I ask.

“He won’t be released tonight. Probably won’t be released for a while, unless there’s someone to make his bail.”

Her words kick their way down my chest. How long is a while? I press a hand to my stomach. “Can I see him?”

“He’s still being processed and will have to see the judge in a few hours. He’ll be allowed visitors starting at nine tomorrow.”

“We won’t be visiting him,” my father says.

“Yes, we will,” I counter.

“Beyah, you probably don’t even know the guy’s real name.”

“His name is Shawn Samson,” I say defensively. But then I wince and look at the officer, wondering if that’s something else he wasn’t honest about. “Isn’t that his name?”

“His full name is Shawn Samson Bennett, actually,” the officer corrects.

My father waves a hand at the officer while looking at me. “See?” His hands are on his hips when he faces Officer Ferrell. “Do I need to be worried? What exactly is he being charged with and how long will he be in jail?”

“Two counts of breaking and entering. One count of parole violation. One count of arson.”

That last one makes me choke on air. “Arson?”

“A fire partially destroyed a residence late last year. He was staying in the house without permission when the fire broke out. They have him on security footage and put a warrant out for his arrest. He stopped checking in with his parole officer after that, which leads us to his current outstanding warrants, along with the new charges.”

“Why was he on parole in the first place?” my father asks.

“Auto theft. He served six months.”

My father begins pacing. “So, this is a pattern with him?”

“Dad, I’m sure he’s just a product of a faulty system.” My father stops pacing and stares at me like he doesn’t understand how such a ridiculous statement can come from my mouth. I look at the officer. “What about his parents?”

“Both deceased. He claims his father went missing after Hurricane Ike and he’s been on his own since then.”

His father went missing?

Rake was his father? That explains so much about his behavior when we found his remains on the beach. I want to go back to that moment when he looked like he was in so much pain. I want to go back and hug him like I should have.

I start to do the math. If Samson has been honest about his age, that means he was only thirteen when Hurricane Ike hit.

He’s been alone since he was thirteen? No wonder I could tell he was damaged.

“Stop feeling sorry for him, Beyah. I can see it all over your face,” my father says.

“He was a kid when his father died. We have no idea what kind of life he lived after that. I’m sure he did the things he did because he had to.”

“Is that excuse still valid for a twenty-year-old? He could have gotten a job like the rest of us.”

“What was he supposed to do after being released from jail the first time if he was on his own? He probably never had any kind of identification if he didn’t have parents to help him with that. He had no family, no money. People slip through the cracks, Dad. It happens.” It happened to me and you never even noticed.

My father might think Samson’s behavior is a pattern he chose, but it sounds to me like it was a life he might have had no way out of. I know all about making bad choices out of necessity.

“Can we get a restraining order against him? I don’t want him anywhere near my property or my daughter.”

I can’t believe him right now. He hasn’t even spoken to Samson or heard his side and he feels threatened by him? “He’s harmless, Dad.”

My father looks at me like I’m the unreasonable one.

“It’s certainly within your rights to protect your property, but your daughter is an adult and would have to file her own restraining order to protect herself,” Officer Ferrell says.

“Protect me from what? He’s a good person.” It’s like they aren’t hearing me.

“He was pretending to be a good person, Beyah. You don’t even know him.”

“I know him better than I know you,” I mutter.

My father presses his lips together, but says nothing in response.

Whatever bad things Samson did in his past, he didn’t make those choices because he wanted to. I’m convinced of that. Samson was never threatening. He’s been the most comforting, non-threatening part of Texas for me.