Even Ginger knew I was in no shape to be up and out of bed, much less getting her ready for school. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this sick, and the slightest motion set off a new wave of nausea. But I had a job to do, and I was determined to do it to the best of my ability, despite my own illness.

 

“Mommy, you should be resting,” she said as I stood in the kitchen packing her lunch and had to close my eyes as the smell of peanut butter hit me like rancid, fresh sewage. “I can call Daddy and have him take me to school.”

 

“No,” I snapped, and I instantly regretted it. Ginger’s face registered how hurt she was that I would yell at her. I had never really raised my voice to her, no matter what, mostly because she was so well behaved. She was precocious, but Dawson had been raising her right, teaching her how to act.

 

Ironic, considering the life he led.

 

“I’m sorry, baby,” I told her, reaching out to her and pulling her against my leg so I could hug her. I was afraid to bend over with the way my stomach churned. “I just don’t feel good and I will rest, after I get you to school, okay? I’m going to have a sick day and stay home, like some of your friends do when they have colds.”

 

“I think that’s a good idea. Daddy’s home, though. I saw him through the window outside when I got dressed. He was on the phone. He can take me so you can go to bed now.”

 

I didn’t know what to do. I really didn’t feel like it would be safe for me to get behind the wheel of a car in my condition, and the bed was calling my name. But Dawson was going to disappear, very soon, and I didn’t want Ginger to get used to being able to call on her father whenever she wanted. He wouldn’t be available when he was behind bars, and I still didn’t know when that was going to happen.

 

It hadn’t been that long since we’d all talked, but the whole weekend had been difficult. The discussion as Ginger packed her bags for an ‘exciting visit’ with me had ended in agony for both Dawson and myself, and I’d been sick the whole time. I’d brought the child home with me – a mere few feet away from the home she shared with the man she knew as her father – and struggled through Saturday and Sunday without giving in.

 

Since Dawson hadn’t appeared to be home most of the time, it was a little easier. Now, though, knowing he was available and that there was little danger in him giving his daughter a quick ride to school had me thinking twice about my resolve to cut all contact.

 

I’d eventually have to talk to him anyway.

 

The hopeful look in Ginger’s eyes got me, and I sighed heavily, hoping the fresh air outside might calm my stomach. “Let me get my sweater, and we’ll walk over to ask, okay?”

 

Her face lit up, and I felt a fresh wave of guilt wash over me. I’d managed to avoid that for the last two days, too busy trying not to throw up while taking care of Ginger full time, but the love Dawson and Ginger shared was deeper and built a stronger bond than any biological father and daughter I’d ever known. And I had all but forced the wedge that was going to be between them for god only knew how long.

 

In slippers and an old, ratty cardigan that was soft and thick and warm, I walked the five-year-old next door and reminded her to knock. It was her house, but I could never be sure there wasn’t something going on inside Dawson wouldn’t want her to see. Not anymore.

 

He opened the door, looking stunned to see us there, and if I hadn’t felt like I might collapse – and Ginger hadn’t gotten here first – I might have thrown myself at him. As it was, Ginger had her arms wrapped so tight around his denim-clad legs it looked like his knees might buckle from the pressure. He put a hand on the back of the girl’s small head, a loving gesture I knew all too well by now, and he looked at me with a question that quickly became concern. “Is everything okay?” he asked in a raspy voice that made my toes curl, even with my stomach churning.

 

“Daddy, Mari is still sick, and I told her to rest. Can you take me to school, just today?” I apparently didn’t have to say anything. The child was going to explain the situation for me.

 

Dawson’s eyes changed, and his concern grew deeper as he considered me. It was strange how I could see just that small difference in his expression. “You’re still sick? Mari…”

 

I held a hand up to stop him and closed my eyes against a fresh wave of nausea. Swallowing hard, I told him, “I’m taking the day and going to the doctor. There’s no need to worry, okay? I’ll be better by the time she’s out this afternoon.” It was wishful thinking, I was sure, but I had to be certain Dawson focused on his own problems and not mine.

 

“Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” he offered, still holding his hand on his little girl’s head.

 

It sounded lovely, not having to be strong and face it alone, but I couldn’t let him do it. I couldn’t give in like that. He had other things to do, and I had my own agenda that didn’t involve drawing Dawson back into my life when he was going to be gone for however long they put him away. “I appreciate the offer, but I can make it. Besides, I might have to call you to pick Ginger up, if the appointment is later in the day. I’d rather have her taken care of.” I knew I wouldn’t be able to count on him for things like that very soon, but I would find a way to make other arrangements, when that time came.

 

“Take care of yourself. I’ll get her to school. Are you ready, baby?” he asked, addressing Ginger now.

 

She nodded. “See? I’ve got my backpack and everything.”

 

With a smile and a nod, Dawson acknowledged her preparation and then looked at me as he told her, “Let me get my shoes on, and we’ll be on our way.”

 

I knew he was giving me silent thanks for letting him have some time with his daughter, despite our arrangement otherwise. I gave an almost imperceptible nod and started to walk away. I couldn’t keep staring at him and keep my emotions under control.

 

“Mari?” he called quietly. I glanced back over my shoulder, refusing to give into the urge to turn around and fall into his arms. “Can we talk later?”

 

I didn’t know if I was ready for that. We’d just had the hardest talk ever a few days ago, and I was still drained from it. From one of his men attacking me. From taking his daughter away. And from being so sick. But it was going to happen sooner or later and, for once, I decided to rip the bandage off. “Sure. Are you going to be here all day?”

 

He scowled, and I didn’t want to know what other obligations he might have. “Why don’t you call me after you see the doctor? We’ll coordinate.”

 

Again, I nodded and walked away. I couldn’t handle any more of this. I could feel the nausea welling up in my throat and needed to get to the bathroom, fast. Worrying that Dawson was meeting with the Valves made it worse, and the alternative that he would be meeting with the police to cooperate with their investigation wasn’t any better. One meant danger to Ginger, to me, and I couldn’t allow that. The other meant no less danger for Dawson and took him away from the only family he had.

 

It had been a long time since I’d thought how unfair life was, but right now, it was all I could think about as I stepped inside my house with every appearance of being calm. Then, I ran full throttle and fell to my knees in front of the toilet, nothing but acid and bile coming out. I hadn’t eaten much for the past few days – some crackers and sparkling water was about all I could handle – and it showed.

 

Exhausted, I sat down and leaned back against the cool bathroom wall, closing my eyes. I’d have to get over my aversion to food if I was going to make it through this. And I certainly wasn’t going to the doctor. There wasn’t anything he could do for me right now. I’d just suffer through it, for now.

 

Dragging myself off the floor, I rinsed my mouth, washed my face, and brushed my teeth, which had me feeling almost human again, and I went to the bedroom, gazing out the window to see Dawson pulling out of the driveway. For a split second, I panicked. Had I made a mistake? Anyone in the motorcycle gang could figure out that Dawson was most vulnerable when he was with his daughter, and they would guarantee he had her when it was time to go to school.

 

I shook the thought away. I couldn’t be with Ginger twenty-four hours a day, and that meant she was vulnerable anyway. At least with Dawson there, she had someone to protect her. For the moment. How was Ginger going to react when the extended stay at my house became a permanent one? Dawson was confident he wouldn’t get more than a year, but I still didn’t know what charges he could have against him. He’d given me a vague idea of the things he’d done that he wasn’t proud of, but he hadn’t laid it all out on the table in detail. What if he got hit with twenty years? Or a life sentence?

 

I couldn’t think about it, the worry churning my stomach worse. I forced myself to go to the kitchen and get some butter crackers, and I poured myself some strawberry soda, hoping all of that would help settle my stomach. I sat down at the kitchen table with the snack and my phone, though I didn’t know why I needed the phone. I wasn’t expecting a call from anyone. Dawson said to call him, and that would be later in the day. And no one else ever called.

 

Realizing that just made me feel pathetic. I didn’t have any friends. The few neighbors who had been friendly before seemed to have gone all righteous on me when I started seeing Dawson, and the same was true of my coworkers. Imagine how they would look at me when Dawson disappeared with no explanation, and I still had his daughter. Not just a fool and a harlot for being with him, but now a single mother, as well.

 

With my parents gone and my sister off gallivanting around the world as a flight attendant, I was alone, and the only friends I had were a beautiful little girl who had started to call me Mommy and a dangerous biker looking at heavy prison time. And they weren’t just friends; they were family. We were all going to be miserable.

 

I made it through half my crackers before my eyelids started to droop, and I took advantage of the fact that I might actually be able to sleep. I trudged to my bedroom, not bothering to clear the table, and fell into my bed.