Chapter Four

I folded my coat over my arm and pulled my hair back into a ponytail as I made my way around the corner from where the bus had dropped me off to my apartment, combatting my body's efforts to break out into a sweat. The pale blue cardigan I had on over a lace-trimmed tank kept kept me exposed enough to help me cool down, even under the unblinking stare of the sun.

This was the way it often was when fall came around in Seattle. You needed a winter coat in the mornings and evenings, but—when it didn't rain—the sun warmed the afternoon temperatures drastically.

I stopped when I reached the front of our building to check the mail, like I did most days of the week. I flipped through the pile of letters casually. There was the usual junk mail, a newspaper, bills, my father's paycheck. But, behind all that was a large, think envelope that caught my attention.

Upon closer inspection, I saw it was from Pacific Lutheran University. I had applied to several safety schools, but this was the application I'd worked hardest on, the essay I'd spend day and night revising, over and over. It was the college whose acceptance I wanted the most.

I clutched the letters in one hand as I made my way up the stairs and up to my apartment, my steps surer and faster than they usually were. My heart pounded in nervous excitement, though, even without opening the envelope, I knew I had to have gotten in. After all, why would they waste so much paper on someone they were only going to reject?

I unlocked the door quickly and stepped inside, dropping my things beside the door less meticulously than I usually would have. I left the rest of the mail on the breakfast bar that divided the kitchen and the living room before tearing open the letter in my hands.

I pulled the pile of papers out of the sleeve and stacked them, leaving the envelope on the counter and focusing my attention on the cover letter that sat on top. My face broke into a smile as I read the first paragraph to myself.

"Dear Emilia Baker, Pacific Lutheran University is delighted to offer you early admission for Fall 2014. Your hard work and determination have earned you a spot in the PLU class of 2018! Congratulations! Since early admission to Pacific Lutheran is a very selective process, you should take pride in this accomplishment."

I grinned to myself, jumping up and down a little in place before I made my way to the bedroom, plopping down onto the twin-sized bed inside to read the rest of the letter and the information enclosed at my leisure. This was it. I'd gotten into college. It wouldn't be long until I left this place, for good.

"Emma!" I heard my father shout, hours later, from the front door, as he walked in and slammed it behind him. From the slur in his voice, I could tell he'd already gotten started for the night.

"I'm in the kitchen." I called out, less loudly, as I pulled the pot roast I'd been cooking out of the oven. "Dinner will be ready soon, if you're hungry." I threw over my shoulder, as his loud, thunking steps lead up to the breakfast bar.

"Mmm." He grunted, noncommittally, shuffling though the papers and letters I'd left out for him as I adsorbed myself in dishing us up a couple of plates. "Bill. Bill. Bill." He muttered to himself as he sorted, like he always did when he was half way in the bottle. "Crap. Bill. Hmmm, paycheck came early this month."

I heard him pause and I froze for a second when I realized I'd left the envelope to my acceptance letter out. I had been planning to tell him, I knew I couldn't get away with keeping it from him, at least not for long. I'd just been hoping to do it on a weekend morning before he'd had a chance to get himself a drink.

"What's this? Pacific Lutheran?" I turned around, the counterfeit smile I'd perfected when I was 14 plastered across my face.

"Yeah, it is. It's down in Tacoma. I applied to a lot of places that are closer, too, that's just the first place I've gotten into. They're offering me a free ride, isn't that great?" Although I was genuinely excited, I had to force the enthusiasm into my voice as I told him. After all, I knew better than to expect the same joy most parents felt when their child got from him.

He made a noise low in this throat, halfway between enthusiasm and indifference and nodded, setting it back down on the counter before taking the plate and the beer I'd offered him. Making his way into the living room, he plopped down on the sofa, hunching over the coffee table as he dug in. Still wary of him, I purposefully choose to take my meal in the chair to the far side of the television.

To my surprise, dinner passed by uneventfully, my father mindlessly occupied with the food and beer he was shoveling into his gullet and the reruns of Antiques Roadshow playing across the screen in front of him.

I cleaned up our dishes and the mess we'd both left in the three foot area in front of the door that we didn't use for much other than coats, shoes and bags before excusing myself to do my homework. Although I'd been given a light load today, I knew taking care of it earlier rather than later was a better idea, especially when everything here seemed to change so quickly.

Later that night, as I lay on my bed studying, I heard a pounding at my bedroom door. I jumped a little when I heard it, snapping the book that I'd been studying from closed and setting it to the side. As my father stumbled through the doorframe of my small, dimly-lit, closet of a bedroom, I opened my mouth to ask him what he wanted, but he beat me to the punch.

"I'm so proud of you, Emma." He said, his voice sloppy and drawn out. I could have sworn I saw tears in his eyes, but with the lights so low I just couldn't be sure. "You're so smart. Just like your mother." He hiccuped a little, covering his mouth as he waited for what looked like a wave of nausea to pass. I waited for it to pass, too, hoping if he threw up he would turn and do it on the linoleum in the hall and not the shaggy carpet in my bedroom.

"Thank you, Dad." I said, softly, hoping that some part of him really meant what he'd said.

When he somehow kept himself from emptying the contents of his stomach all over the floor, I stood from the bed. "Why don't we get you to bed?" I asked, careful to keep my voice soft and soothing to keep from incurring his anger. I grabbed one arm and led him away from my bedroom and into his, knowing that if he stayed standing, he wouldn't be able to control his stomach much longer.

"I love you, Emma." He insisted, as I helped him sit down and moved to take off the shoes he hadn't bothered to kick off at the door. "I do."

"I know, Dad." I said, with a gentle smile, as I rose. I leaned in and kissed him on the cheek like I had when I was a little girl before I left the room, closing the door before I began to clean the living room of the mess he'd made. It was relatively minor compared to the messes he usually left me, just a few beer bottles here and there.

When I returned to my room, I locked the door and allowed myself to collapse down on my bed, glad I'd bothered to change into my pajamas a few minutes earlier so I wouldn't have to get up again. If I was being honest with myself, most of the things I said and did for my father were to placate him than anything else. He wasn't the man he once was. It was hard enough to let myself think that he was what I had left in this world, let alone that he loved me. If he loved me, why would he do this?

I shook my head at the thought, pulling the covers over me and shutting off the reading lamp on my bedside table before I closed my eyes and allowed myself to sleep.