My hand shook as I reached into the top of the box and picked up the photo of me and Rick the day we were married. I was wearing white lace, he was wearing a cheap grey suit that was two sizes too big for him. We were in love, but we were broke. Big dreams, but little purse strings. Still Rick insisted that I wear white and that he wear a suit. Even if he had to borrow it off a friend of his in business school.
Another photo came out, another bitter-sweet memory. I'd forgotten all the good years, all the good times, before...
I closed my eyes and fell back onto my pillow, hot tears spilling out behind closed lids. I thought I was done crying for my dead husband, for the dead father of my child. I thought there was no more room in my heart for him, now that Daisy was here and needed twice the love from me, because he was gone.
Of course, I do blame him. Not for everything. No. I'm to blame for that night, but Rick is to blame for every heart wrenching moment leading up to it. For every misstep we took, for every vile bit of that world he uncovered. For every second we lived a life that was a lie.
I pushed the box off the side of the bed with an angry shove of my arm. The photos spilled out onto the carpet, fanning across the floor in a drunken mess. Rick had been drunk on the lifestyle, on the money McLaren had paid him. On the lie.
He never wore a borrowed suit ever again. He'd died in a tailor made jacket that cost more than a year's worth of Daisy's and my rent.
"Damn you, Rick," I whispered. My head shook softly as I curled up into a ball on top of the bed. The bedside lamp was still on, the television flashing silent images, but I couldn't stand the thought of making the room dark.
The world was dark enough and getting so much darker.
The sound of cartoons blaring out of the television woke me at some God awful early hour. Quickly followed by Daisy's carefree giggles as the characters on screen did something amusing to her young mind. I rolled over and smiled. She beamed at me from her position in the other bed, but when I patted the sheet next to me, she scuffled over without hesitation and burrowed under the blankets, snuggling into my side.
"I'm hungry," she announced and the first hurdle for the day was uncovered.
Thankfully this was one I had come prepared for. I reached into my handbag and pulled out a muesli bar and small box of juice.
"Breakfast of champions!" I declared, handing over the stash, then watched on with a heavy ache setting up home inside my chest as my child willingly ate her makeshift breakfast without so much as a complaint.
Was this how it was going to be from now on? Breakfast on the run in some scuzzy motel in a neglected suburb of a big city? How is this being a good mother?
I couldn't stifle the sob before it escaped, so covered it up with quickly rolling over and slipping out of the side of the bed. I was at the door to the bathroom by the time I could speak without sounding like I was about to break down.
"Don't answer the door to anyone, OK?"
A muffled, "Wokay," was offered up in reply.
No miraculous epiphany came to me under the hot stream of water in the shower. No solution to our dire situation flashed inside my mind as I brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush and toothpaste I'd picked up yesterday on our way here. Only more fears and worries and heartache as I dressed in my hastily dusted down and spot cleaned clothing that had been airing on the rail in the bathroom overnight.
When I came back out into the main room I was presentable, refreshed and clean, but none the wiser.
"Your turn, Missy," I instructed, herding Daisy into the bathroom and helping her through her own morning routine.
By the time we were done it was eight-thirty. Check out wasn't until 10am. So, I didn't see the need to hurry. Besides, where would we go? I sat down at the small table in the corner of the room and blindly watched Daisy laughing at the TV. The shoebox was sealed again, all the mementoes tucked away for another day of bitter-sweet.
I was at a complete loss. I didn't have that much money saved, but every time I accessed it, would it place us in more danger? How far would McLaren go? He'd sent one tattooed freak after me because of a visit from a cop. What would he do now that I had run and given him reason to believe I still had what he wanted? And even if I did think handing it back would help us, I couldn't contemplate doing that with Daisy counting on me to keep her safe.
And there wasn't anywhere I could put Daisy, anyone I could put Daisy with, who would make me feel safe enough to leave her and confront McLaren's man to hand over the goods.
No matter what way I looked at it, McLaren now thought I still posed a threat. He'd obviously believed I'd learned my lesson all those years ago. It was a harsh lesson to learn, after all. And I'd led him to believe I no longer possessed what I took, at the cost of my husband's life. Bile rose up my throat at that thought and I gagged slightly as I swallowed the bitterness back down.