Chapter 3

Emory

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A small tap on my window pulls me from the thoughts clouding my brain. I hurry over to catch a man in a long overcoat standing beneath my window. A bright cherry, the only color against his blacked-out form. Dragging something from his pocket, he strides toward the mailbox, relieving it of the lock that holds it closed.  

The door bounces slightly as he stares up at me. The bud of whatever he was smoking, gingerly shifting from red to orange, then pausing for a moment on yellow. What is he doing? I place my hand against the window, craning my neck, trying to get a better view. What is he waiting for? Is he wanting me to meet him? His gaze never falters, so I push off the glass, grabbing my coat as I stumble down the stairs. 

Fumbling with the locks on the door, I managed to jar it open, finally. Fuck Its cold. The man is halfway down the street before my foot makes it past the welcome mat. Calling for him to stop, I followed. In my pursuit, he manages to look over his shoulder, his body nothing but a silhouette against the streetlamps. 

Who is he? My view is obstructed by a vehicle rounding the corner. The car pulls away, and I am left speechless, as he is nowhere to be seen. Did he get in? He vanished as if he were a ghost. Have I met him before? My thoughts wander as I try to discern his identity. Reality brings me back as my mother’s black SUV approaches from the opposite direction. I swiftly returned to the mailbox to retrieve the letter. Hurrying to my room, closing my door the same moment the front one opens. 

I can hear my mom's laughter from downstairs. Knowing she was content was a pleasant change. The man's voice was quiet as they exchanged a few words. A second of listening, and I could tell it was Peter. I look back at the parchment in my hand, breaking the seal. A waft of Whiskey, Honey, and a slight tinge of smoke tickles my nose. That is a scent I won't forget soon. Retrieving the letter from within its wrap, I allow the packaging to drop to the floor. Suspense builds as I unfold it, then begin to read:  

 

 

My Dearest, 

 

I hope this message finds you in good health. You and your sister have always meant everything to me.  I would love to speak with the two of you, if allowed the honor. My home address is featured below. Stop by anytime. 

 

As I read the words on the page, my face distorts. Confusion builds inside me, a Trojan horse presenting itself with innocence. Who is this guy, and how does he know my sister and me? Further down the page, the address shows he lives in Owings Mills, Maryland. That’s a twelve-hour bus ride if planned right, a choice I would have to make since my car was totaled. Evelyn’s rehab center is around there, somewhere. Glancing at the bottom of the letter, I see the name of the sender: 

 

Sincerely, 

Alfred Tobias Selby 

 

 

My heart drops, and I can feel liquid pooling in my eyes. Daddy? Haziness eclipses my vision. Blinking away a single tear, I allow it to cascade down my face. My father was everything a child could ever ask for. When he left, our hearts were shattered. I stare at the calligraphy on the page till my mind transfigures it. A tidal wave of reminiscences crashed down on me while a tsunami of emotions rushed my senses. 

Before I can register what to do next, the house phone chimes. I can hear my mom's voice as she addresses the person on the other end. It could just be the note, but as she starts to speak, a pit forms in my stomach. 

Her voice is muffled as it travels through my bedroom door. Growing louder, providing little assistance in the clarification of her words. Sneaking into the hall, I hear her hang up, aggressively, I might add. The familiar sound of the phone slamming against the receiver repeatedly indicated it wasn't a good call. 

Sobbing filled the house alongside an occasional scream. When she spoke, her speech was incoherent, broken, and shaky. “WHY!!!! NOT MY BABY. WH-WHAT AM I GOING TO DO. . . WHAT AM I GOING TO SAY? . . . . . H-HOW WILL I TELL HER SISTER!!! I got to go, I MUST GO!!!!!”. All is quiet for a heartbeat. “I can’t be here right now,” she breathes.