“I’m exhausted. Maybe tomorrow night?”
She sits down on the sofa and grabs the remote. She leans her head back into the couch and looks at me upside down. “I’m glad you’re here, Beyah.” She powers on the TV and her attention is no longer on me, but her words make me smile.
I believe her when she says she’s glad I’m here. That feels good. It’s not often I feel like my presence is appreciated. Or even noticed.
When I get up to my room, I close and lock the door.
I walk over to the balcony doors and open them, wanting to listen to the sound of the ocean tonight while I sleep. But I also want to see what Samson is doing.
Marcos and Beau are still down at the fire. Cadence is walking away from the group in the opposite direction of Samson’s house.
Samson is walking over the dune crossing, heading toward his house. Alone.
Why does that make me happy?
I don’t want him to notice me up here, so I walk back into my room and close the balcony doors.
Before I crawl into bed, I take Mother Teresa out of the plastic sack she traveled in and prop the painting up on the dresser. It looks so out of place in this fancy room, but that makes me even happier that I brought it with me. I need a piece of home to remind me that this room and this house and this town are not my reality.
NINE
What the hell is that sound?
I put my hand over my ear, confused by the noise that’s forcing me out of a perfectly deep sleep. It’s coming from across the room. I open my eyes and lift my head off the pillow, and the sound gets louder. I glance outside and there’s barely any light. The horizon is gray, like the world is still preparing to wake up.
I groan and toss the covers aside so I can locate the source of all the noise. It sounds like it’s coming from the dresser, so I shuffle over to it.
It’s my new phone. I wipe sleep from my eyes so I can read the screen. It’s only 5:59 a.m.
An alarm is set on my phone. It says: Go watch the sunrise.
That’s all the alert says.
I cancel the alarm and the room falls silent again. I glance behind me, toward the balcony.
Samson.
It better be worth it.
I grab the comforter off my bed and wrap myself in it. I go out onto the balcony and look at Samson’s balcony. It’s empty.
I sit down in one of the chairs and pull the covers up to my chin. I stare out over the dark horizon. To the east, there’s just the smallest sliver of sun peeking out over the ocean. To the north, the skies are dark and occasionally burst with lightning. It looks like a storm is rolling in, threatening to snuff out the light.
I sit on my balcony and stare at the sun as it slowly illuminates the peninsula. I listen to the sound of the waves as they wash onto the beach. Thunder rolls in the distance while seagulls begin to chirp nearby.
I’m in a complete trance for several minutes as the wind begins to pick up. As bright as the sunrise began, it slowly darkens as the storm moves closer. The skies swallow up every hue of color that was attempting to burst through, and after a while, everything is a muted gray.
That’s when the rain starts. I’m protected by a roof over the balcony, and the wind isn’t extreme right now, so I remain outside, watching as everything that started out hopeful just fifteen minutes ago slowly turns to gloom.
I wonder if Samson knew there would be a storm rolling in with the sunrise today. I glance over at his house and he’s standing in his doorway, leaning against the doorframe, holding a cup of coffee. He isn’t looking at the rain or the ocean or the sky.
He’s looking at me.
Seeing him watching me stirs something inside of me that I don’t want to be stirred. I stare back at him for a moment, wondering if he wakes up every morning to watch the sunrise or if he just wanted to see what I would do about the alarm he set on my phone.
Maybe he actually appreciates the sunrise. Is he one of the few who doesn’t take this view for granted?
I think there’s a chance I might be wrong about him. I might have judged him a little too soon. But then again, what’s it matter if I am wrong? Things between us are awkward and I don’t see that changing unless one of us has a personality transplant.
I break our stare and walk back inside. I crawl back into bed.
I think I’ll just stay here.
TEN
I’ve spent the majority of the last three days in my bedroom. The rain coupled with the week I’ve had made me not want to face the world at all. Plus, this bedroom is becoming my favorite place because I feel secure here, encased by these four walls. I have an unobstructed view of the ocean, a television I’ve finally figured out how to work, and my own bathroom.