Chapter 4

It was 7:00 am on New Year's Day.

"Shiloh! Get out here and cut up some fruit!" Mom's voice came through the bedroom door.

I closed my foreign language vocabulary book.

The book was just for show. My parents loved seeing me look like a hardworking student.

The truth was, I hadn't slept a wink all night. I'd stood on the balcony until 12:30 am before Dad and Mom finally remembered to let me back inside.

"Coming," I called out.

Several neighbors who had stopped by to wish us a happy New Year were sitting in the living room. The coffee table was covered with peanut shells and candy wrappers.

Fanny Wilson greeted me with an enthusiastic smile. "Oh, Shiloh. There you are! I haven't seen you in a year, and look how much you've grown. You've become a pretty lady."

Mom smiled as she took the plate of fruit from me and handed the biggest apple to Fanny.

She sneered, "Pretty? She's a complete blockhead. The girl's hopelessly stupid. All she knows is burying her nose in books. She's useless at everything else."

Fanny awkwardly tried to smooth things over. "Well, being quiet just means she's mature for her age."

Dad sat in the main seat with one leg crossed over the other. "Mature, my ass! She's just gloomy! Look at the way she stares at people. You'd think someone owed her a lot of money all the time. I had to beat her last night for hiding money from us.

"God knows how she's cursing me out in her head now. Kids like her are ungrateful little wretches. You raise them for years, but they'll never be loyal to you."

The atmosphere in the living room turned weird.

Fanny's smile stiffened, and she shot me a sympathetic glance. Don Larssen lowered his head and pretended not to hear. Emily Zahn awkwardly rubbed her hands together.

"Kevin, she's getting older. You shouldn't embarrass her in public. Be mindful and spare her dignity," Fanny advised quietly.

"Dignity? Does she deserve it?" Dad snorted, his eyes full of contempt.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, holding a knife and slowly peeling an apple, one strip at a time.

Dad ordered, "Go pour Fanny some coffee. Fill her cup. Don't be stingy."

I set down the knife and picked up the coffee pot. The back of my right hand was still swollen, and my fingers were too stiff to obey me properly. I'd spent two hours freezing on the balcony the night before, so my joints felt awfully rusted.

My hand trembled, and hot coffee splashed across the table.

"You're useless!" Dad shot to his feet and slapped me hard on the back of the head.

With a dull thud, my head struck the corner of the table, and my vision went black. The coffee pot slipped from my hand, spilling scalding liquid all over the back of it. The pain was so intense that my hand went numb.

I didn't move or cry out. I simply lowered my head and wiped up the spilled coffee with a rag.

Dad boomed, "You can't even pour a cup of coffee properly! What the hell can you do? I'd be better off raising a dog. At least a dog knows to wag its tail when it sees its owner. Look at you! It's New Year's Day, and you're moping with that miserable face. Are you trying to piss me off?"

Fanny jumped to her feet with her face turning pale. "Alright, that's enough! Don't hit her... I've got pelmeni cooking at home, so I'd better get going."

Don hurried to his feet as well. "I should go too. I've got things to take care of at home."

Emily was the last to leave. Just before stepping out, she turned and looked at me. Her eyes held sympathy and pity, but above all, they were full of helplessness.

Her lips moved as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she said nothing. She simply closed the door behind her.

The moment the door shut, the air in the living room seemed to freeze.

Mom shot me a disgusted glance and moved the plate of peeled apples away. "You useless piece of trash. You can't even entertain guests properly. You scared all three of them away! What's gonna happen to my reputation if word gets out?

"Clean up the peanut shells and get back to your room. Stop standing around here and getting in the way."

I picked up the broom, bent over, and swept the floor one stroke at a time.

"Oh, right." Dad suddenly spoke, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice. "Empty out that locked cabinet in your room."

I stopped sweeping. "Why?"

The lock had been broken when he'd pried it open the night before, but the cabinet was still the only little corner of this house that felt like mine. It held my diaries, sketchbooks, and the letters Aunt Janey had written to me.

"Why? What why? Why do you always have so many damn questions?" Dad glared at me impatiently from the couch.

He said, "Your Uncle Matt is bringing your Cousin Corey over tomorrow to stay for a few days. Corey said he likes that cabinet and wants to put his robot figurines in it. Gather up all your junk and throw it into a cardboard box."

"That cabinet is mine." I tightened my grip on the broom handle.

It was the first time I'd ever talked back.

The entire living room fell silent for a second.

"Yours?" Dad repeated.

He slowly rose to his feet and walked toward me. Then, he jabbed his finger into my forehead again and again, forcing me to retreat.

"Which item in this house belongs to you? I bought the house. I bought the cabinet. Hell, I even gave you your life! What gives you the right to say anything is yours?"

His finger kept jabbing at my forehead until the back of my head struck the wall.

"Empty it out! Don't make me lay a hand on you again on the first day of the New Year!"

Mom came over too, planting her hands on her hips. "Those stupid notebooks and drawings of yours are worthless anyway. Why keep any of that garbage?"

She reached out to grab me. "Come on. You're emptying it out right now, and I'm going to stand there and watch you do it."

"I'll take care of it myself." I stepped back to avoid her hand and walked into my bedroom.

Satisfied, Dad returned to the couch and continued watching TV.

Just one last time, I thought. I only had to endure this one last time.

After tonight, I'd give them back the cabinet. And I'd give them back my life, too.

I crouched in front of the cabinet and reached for the door. I wanted to take out my diaries and letters first. Even if I had to destroy them, I couldn't leave them behind in this house.

But the moment I opened the cabinet, my blood ran cold.

It was empty. The cabinet was completely bare.

The stack of diaries I'd treasured more than anything, the sketchbooks filled with all my dreams, and the letters from Aunt Janey...

They were all gone.