20 Questions — Bria Daly

For ten years they ran, hid, and cleaned light bulbs and switches leaving no trace of ever having lived wherever their running took them. For ten years Mary dragged her daughter with her, and for ten years Sam didn't ask her mom "Why?"
Her first question wasn't "Why?" but instead: “Did you kill anyone?”
Mary was happy not having to answer any questions for as long as she could because she always believed the truth would hurt more than the ten years of lies.
Mary realizes that the wall she built to protect her daughter was also standing tall and thick between them. Sam deserved to know why she did some of the crazy things she did, but Mary isn't ready to give up too much too soon.
When Sam was little they played a lot of games on their long road trips; a favorite was ‘20 Questions'. But now that she was older, the game was used to bring them closer. Sam starts asking questions following the rules of the game, and Mary has to answer with honesty and reservation.
As the questions are asked and answered, the wall Mary built starts to crumble and sheds a new light on the dark secrets she's managed to hide.
20 Questions is a story that unfolds in two parallel tales. The first is of Mary and Sam. The second is of Jack, the FBI's lead agent on the Whitney kidnapping case, as he befriends Patty Whitney, Mary's mother- in-law, friend, and accomplice.
Chapter 1
Every light bulb had to be removed, wiped down, or replaced with a clean one. I was done with the light bulbs, and almost done wiping down the door frames. I'd wipe the little knobs that hung from the chains to turn on the ceiling fans after that.
We owned four lamps, so I boxed two of them, and the other two I'd put in a garbage bag to drop off in a dumpster somewhere along the way. The bathroom light switches I had to do right before we left, and the toilet, tub, and clothes washer would each get doused in about a gallon of bleach.
I heard the whoosh and screech of the school bus's brakes, and I looked at the already wiped down wall clock in the kitchen; perfect timing.

“I'll call you later,” I heard Sam yell out to someone who was probably still on the bus.
No you won't, I thought to myself, because I won't let you...
I heard the front door open quietly, but no more than ten seconds later it was slammed shut with such force it made the whole house rattle.
Sam stormed into the kitchen where I had finished wiping the door frames, and spat out, “We're moving.”
It wasn't a question or even a statement; it was an accusation.
I put down the packing tape and looked up at the teen who had just stormed in, and whose eyes were throwing daggers at me.
“Yes we are. And I'm really sorry.”
Sam ignored my lame apology and picked up the backpack she had dropped on the way in.
“When?” she spat out.
“As soon as you're packed.”
I watched my daughter leave the room without another word, and I really wished I could still turn these things into adventures, just like I did when she was little.
When Sam was little, I could make it sound like we were going out to do some exploring, or like we were off to conquer the world. I'd give her a stick to use as a wand, a ball cap for a crown, an umbrella that was both a sword and a shield, and sunglasses that were supposed to make her invisible. Now that she's older, and considering the way she just looked at me, I'd hesitate to let her carry even pretend weapons for fear she might want to use them against me.
It took Sam less than forty minutes to pack up the trunk she always travelled with. In theory, the trunk was filled with all of her worldly possessions, which obviously didn't amount to much.
Sam and I could have done the packing in our sleep; experience came with having to move every four to ten months.
While Sam was at school, I had loaded the van with the boxes I packed earlier in the morning.
I had already taped an envelope on the fridge with a note inside, and put enough cash in it to cover the remainder of our lease