Chapter 30 Surfacing #2
Something flickered behind the doctor’s eyes, quick enough to miss if Daisy hadn’t been watching closely. “I would be very careful with that name, Daisy.”
Her chin wobbled as tears of frustration gathered in her eyes. “Sorry.”
Dr. Kawanja sighed. “We’re almost out of time. Until Wednesday?”
Daisy nodded. “Bye.” The screen went dark and she closed the laptop.
Her hands curled into fists and she pressed them hard against her closed eyes, fighting the sense of helplessness that surged inside of her. She was losing her mind and so far, therapy wasn’t helping.
Growling, she shoved the pillow and laptop aside and threw herself back on the bed.
Maryanne was coming for dinner in a few hours and the kitchen was bare of anything resembling a meal.
She needed to get up, to move and shop and cook and perform the ordinary rituals of a woman whose life was not quietly collapsing from the inside.
It wasn’t fair. Daisy finally had money and freedom, but she had no means of getting the one thing she wanted. Jack.
He saved her twice. He’d asked her to stay with him. Told her he read her essays and they hit a nerve. So why hadn’t he come for her? On paper, he had every detail he needed to find her.
You burned your file…
No. She had to believe he kept that information backed up on some secret hard drive. Otherwise he would have been way angrier than he’d been when she destroyed the files. And how else would they have paid her if that was the only trace of the tributes in existence.
Maybe he didn’t want someone he kept having to save.
The urge to defend herself erupted inside of her but there was no one to tell. Daisy had never been lazy or weak. She was strong and brave. But sometimes, that wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t possibly hold what happened against her. It wasn’t her fault. Every time she was attacked, she fought. She bit and kicked and scratched and clawed and did everything girls were taught to do while boys were taught things like how to throw a ball or a punch, how to hunt, and how to win.
Jaw locked, Daisy sat inside her fury for a moment, holding space for her anger that seemed to have nowhere left to go. Shoulders tense, her pulse thudding as it built and built, making it all the more difficult to swallow back down.
Being a victim of assault was a prison in itself. She pressed her palms flat against her face and screamed, muffling her rage into a small, manageable ball.
Something to discuss in therapy on Wednesday.
In the kitchen, she seasoned chicken thighs with salt and thyme. Then she chopped carrots and parsnips, adding everything to a pot with a splash of white wine. She diced an onion until her eyes burned and Maggie walked in just as she was dabbing her eyes.
“I bought us a toaster! Look—Oh. You’re crying?”
Daisy waved away her concern. “Onion.”
“Oh.” She set the toaster box on the counter with the ceremonial gravity of a woman presenting a firstborn. “Isn’t it lovely? I went with blue because it seemed cheery.”
Daisy managed a real smile. “It’s beautiful.”
“I know. I nearly cried in the shop.” Maggie drifted toward the Dutch oven, lifting the lid and inhaling deeply. “Oh, that smells unreal. We should have Maryanne over more often.”
Daisy laughed. “This is the only recipe with more than two ingredients I know how to cook. And I can make it for you whenever you want.”
“And as a thank you, I’ll buy you a cookbook so you can learn more recipes.” Maggie replaced the lid and pulled something from her back pocket. “Look what I found in the letterbox downstairs.” She slapped the envelope on the counter and pointed to the name. “Daisy Burdan. You’re official.”
Daisy frowned at the cream-colored envelope as she read the return address printed in the corner of the heavy stock.
The Seeds of Hope Trust
She didn’t recognize the name. “It’s probably junk. No one knows I moved.”
Maggie shrugged. “Maybe it’s the council welcoming us to the neighborhood.” She grinned. “Wouldn’t that be posh?”
Daisy ran her thumb along the sealed flap, then set it on the counter beside the toaster. She’d open it later.
The buzzer rang at half six, and Daisy wiped her hands on a tea towel before pressing the intercom. “Hello?”
“Daisy, are you sure this is the right building?” Maryanne’s voice crackled through the speaker, already suspicious. “There’s a doorman out here, and he’s looking at me like I don’t belong.”
“You belong.” She laughed. “Come up. Top floor.”
Maryanne muttered something in Spanish before the line clicked off. A moment later, the lift buzzed, and Daisy opened the door.
Maryanne stepped inside with the cautious posture of a woman entering a courtroom. Her eyes traveled upward, tracing the vaulted ceilings and the exposed beams as though she expected authorities to swoop in and charge her with trespassing.
She clutched her handbag against her ribs and didn’t move past the foyer. “What’s going on, Daisy?”
“Maryanne, relax. Come in.”
She crossed herself, then took a hesitant step forward. “Whose flat is this?”
“Mine and Maggie’s.” She stepped aside, and Maggie waved.
“Hi. I’m Maggie.”
Maryanne’s confusion sharpened into something closer to alarm. “Mija, what is going on? Did you rob a bank?”
Daisy laughed, a real laugh that loosened something in her chest. “Nothing like that, I promise.” She led Maryanne to the set table and pulled out a chair. “But I have a lot to tell you.”
And a great deal she could never share.
“Wine?”
Maryanne nodded. “Yes.”
Daisy poured as Maggie quietly ladled braised chicken into their bowls. They passed the bread in silence.
“This is your mother’s recipe.”
Daisy smiled, warm and tender, the way she always did whenever anyone remembered her mum. “Yes, it is.” Unfortunately, Daisy was too nervous to eat. “There’s something I need to tell you, and I need you to hear me out before you react.”
Maryanne’s hand stilled on her wine glass.
It was easier if she just blurted it out. “I’m not going back to work.”
The silence lasted exactly two seconds before Maryanne erupted.
“?Qué? No, no, no. Daisy, you need that job. You need the income, you need the structure, you need the—” She switched into rapid Spanish, her hands moving in sharp, emphatic gestures that made the wine in her glass tilt dangerously.
She set it down and frowned. “Your mother did not raise you to be irresponsible.”
“I’m not being irresponsible,” Daisy said firmly. “I promise. Everything is okay.”
“How?” The single word landed heavily with sharp skepticism. “You can’t afford a place like this on what you make. I should know.”
Daisy exhaled and reached beneath her dinner plate, withdrawing a folded slip of paper. She slid it across the table but kept her finger planted on top. “I have something for you. But I need you to trust me.”
She looked at Daisy with that maternal eye roll that told her she was on thin ice. “Of course, I trust you. You’re like a second daughter to me.”
She lifted her finger and gestured to the check. “Open it. It’s for you.”
Maryanne unfolded the check as if it were a utility bill. Her eyes moved across the printed line, and her entire body went still.
“Dios mío.” The fervent words left her mouth as the check fluttered to the floor. “Daisy, what have you done?”
She retrieved the check and handed it back to her. “It’s for you.”
“I can’t take that.” She wouldn’t even touch it. “How do you even have it?”
“Yes, you can.” Daisy set it on the table. “And I can’t tell you—”
“One hundred thousand pounds!” She pushed the check toward Daisy with both hands, her fingers trembling. “This is dirty money. What have you gotten yourself into? Are you in trouble?”
“It’s not dirty money, Maryanne. It’s my money. And there’s a lot more than that.”
“Money does not fall from the sky—”
“Sometimes it does,” Maggie chimed in, earning a sharp look from Maryanne.
She turned and lowered her voice, as if she was no longer comfortable speaking in front of an audience. “Listen to me, mija, you get your things, and I will get you out of here—”
“Maryanne, I say this with love and respect. If you don’t accept my gift, I’ll never believe you trust me again.
” She took her hands and squeezed. “I can’t tell you where it came from.
I wish I could, but I can’t, and that will never change.
But I swear to you on my mother’s honor that this money is legally mine, and I want you to have it. ”
The mention of her mother did what logic couldn’t. Maryanne’s resistance crumbled inward, and her eyes filled with tears. “Why?” came the broken syllable. “Why me?”
Daisy held her hands firmly and smiled as her vision blurred. “Because you showed up. Every single time we needed you.” Daisy’s throat tightened. “ Even on the days we didn’t realize we needed help, you were there. You’ve been a good friend to us.”
Maryanne’s chin trembled. “She was my best friend.”
“I know. And she’d want you to have this.” Daisy pushed the check forward. “She’d want you to get out of that job and use it to start over. Learn a skill. Move somewhere better. Do whatever you want, Maryanne. It’s yours.”
She finally picked up the check with shaky hands. The wall of tears trembling in her dark eyes collapsed. She looked up at Daisy. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Then don’t say anything. Just put it in your purse and have a slice of cake. We don’t have to make a thing out of it.”
Daisy understood the specific, devastating sensation of holding something in her hands that she’d been told her entire life she would never deserve, so she knew it would take some time for Maryanne to process.
They were all adjusting to new situations and still learning to measure just how unfathomable their future opportunities could be.
It was wild to receive such a gift. Exciting and awkward.
But to give a gift… That was where the true satisfaction hid.
Jack got to experience that every year, on a scale so far beyond what Daisy could give.
Her heart tightened at the thought of him. Did he know what his generosity looked like up close? Did he ever stay long enough to see the impact he had? Or did he always disappear in the end, the way a dream thins at the edges and fades when reality presses back in.
Maryanne stayed for dessert, and they laughed over old stories that made the penthouse feel more like a home than any furnishing ever could.
“Thank you for tonight. I needed this,” Daisy told Maryanne as they hugged at the door.
“I should be the one thanking you, mija.” She dabbed away another tear. “And I will see you in two weeks at St. Crispin’s Cemetery.”
Daisy’s throat tightened. After all this time, her mother would finally have the proper resting place she deserved. “Right under the pink cherry blossom tree.”
“I’ll be there.”
Once Maryanne left, she started on the dishes. Maggie yawned, and Daisy shooed her away. “I’ll take care of this. You go to bed.”
Maggie squeezed Daisy’s shoulder on her way out of the kitchen. “That was a good thing you did.”
Daisy nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. Her heart was full, despite being bruised. And for the first time since the feast, she felt like she could breathe easily again.
“Air that doesn’t smell of hunger,” she whispered to herself, smiling, as she slowly washed the dishes.
She dried the Dutch oven and returned it to the shelf, wiped down the counter, and folded the tea towel into a neat square beside their new blue toaster. The envelope sat against the backsplash like an afterthought, catching Daisy’s eye as she shut off the overhead lights.
She picked it up and slid her thumb beneath the sealed flap, already pulling open the cabinet that hid the bin. Her fleeting thought about the aggressiveness with which junk mail arrived cut off as she unfolded the paper inside, and the world tilted off its axis.
“Oh, my god.”