“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.

I drop our backpacks by the bed and fall onto the mattress. I lie on it, staring out the glass balcony doors. It’s so bright out there. So warm. So happy.

I stand up and snatch the curtains shut, then crawl back into bed. I just want today to end already and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

I toss, turn, and stare at the ceiling for over an hour. I just can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen. How long will he be in jail? Or does this mean he’ll actually be sentenced to time in prison? If he truly does have that many charges against him, what kind of time is he looking at? Six months? Ten years?

I’m not going to be able to fall asleep without some kind of assistance. My mind is racing too much. I open my door and wait until it sounds like the kitchen is clear. I walk back downstairs and go to the pantry. I know there’s a section in here where they keep their medicine. I thumb through the bottles, but find nothing that might help me sleep.

Maybe they keep it in their bathroom. My father and Alana should be on their way to work by now, so I go to their bathroom and open their medicine cabinet. There’s nothing in here but toothpaste and spare toothbrushes. Some sort of ointment. A container of cotton swabs.

I slam the door to the medicine cabinet shut, but startle when I see Alana standing behind me in the mirror’s reflection. “Sorry. I thought you were at work.”

“I took the day off,” she says. “What are you looking for?”

I turn and look at her desperately. “I just need NyQuil or something. I need to sleep. I haven’t slept yet and my mind is racing.” I wave my hands at my face, trying to push back the tears that have been miraculously kept at bay since last night.

“I can make you some tea.”

Tea? She wants to make me tea?

She’s a dentist, surely she has a prescription for some horse-strength tranquilizers somewhere in this house.

“I don’t want tea, Alana. I need something that works. I don’t want to be awake right now.” I bring my hands up and cover my face. “It hurts so much to think,” I whisper. “I don’t even want to dream about him. I just want to sleep and not dream or think or feel.”

It all starts to hit me in the center of my chest.

Everything Samson said on the phone slams into me so hard, I have to lean against the sink for support. His voice echoes in my head. “I’ll be here for a while, Beyah.”

How long do I have to go before I’m happy again?

I don’t want to go back to who I was before I met him. I had nothing inside of me then but bitterness and anger. No feeling, no joy, no comfort. “What if he’s gone for so long, he doesn’t want to be part of my life when he gets out?”

I didn’t mean to say that out loud. Or maybe I did.

My tears start falling and Alana immediately responds. She doesn’t say anything to make me feel bad for feeling sad. She just wraps her arms around me and tucks my head against her shoulder.

It’s a comfort that’s completely unfamiliar, but one I desperately need right now. The comfort of a mother. I sob against her for several minutes. It’s everything I didn’t know I needed in this moment. Just a small morsel of sympathy from someone.