Disclaimer: Belongs to SM.
March, 2012
~5~
I pull my old pickup truck into the lot, staring over to the apartment complex where my father and I live. We have an eclectic mix of people, ranging from the elderly, the newlywed, the newly arrived to America, and everything in-between. We even have a couple families with sons in our local motorcycle gang, the LPR's. I can see Sam working on his bike deep in the lot, and knowing he is too focused right now to notice me, I head into my apartment.
Dad is standing in the kitchen when I walk in, listening to the classic rock station on the radio and mixing a salad to go with the pork chops I can smell in the oven. His flannel shirt is tucked into his jeans, his thinning hair outshined by the mustache adorning his top lip.
He lights up when he sees me.
"Hey, Honey!" he says, giving me a kiss on the cheek. "How was your day?"
"Better now that I see I don't have to cook." I reply, a smile in my voice.
Dad smirks. "Come on. Tonight we eat like the middle class to which we aspire!"
I roll my eyes and we dig in.
~SW~
I fall back, his hand holding my head to soften the blow. My legs are wrapped around his hips, feet pressed into the back of his thighs. My hands are moving, trying to touch as many parts of him as I can reach in the confines of his car. His mouth is devouring mine, sending sparks shooting through each nerve ending in my body.
I can feel my shirt riding up, his hand pressed onto the hot skin at the small of my back. I can't help but think that this is what heaven must feel like, that this is something I could do for an eternity. His eyes burn into mine with love and adoration, reflecting everything that I know.
I slide my hand up his thigh.
"Edward!" I shoot up in bed.
My power-nap after supper has quickly turned into a long, deep sleep, waking me up in the middle of the night. I know it is unlikely that I will fall back asleep anytime soon. My wandering eyes fall onto the boxes hidden at the top of my closet.
Mom's things.
I haven't touched them since she split almost two years ago.
Slipping out of bed, I reach up and grab the first box. Inside I find a picture of her and I, arms wrapped around each other, enormous grins in place. I crumple it up, and toss it into the waste basket.
At the bottom of the box is a tiny envelope. Opening the flap and tipping it into the palm of my hand, a small key falls out; a key for a safe deposit box.
What would Mom need with a safe deposit box?