My dad was always a thrill-seeker.
Before he married Mom, they were both part of an amateur expedition team. After marrying her, he quit the original team, but was still rarely home. Instead, he formed a new group with other outdoor enthusiasts.
After I was born, he stayed home a bit more, but his free-spirited nature couldn’t be restrained. He still went on expeditions just as often.
In my memory, the only one ever truly tied down was Mom.
When I cried as a child, she would cry with me, often breaking down, then healing on her own, again and again.
She endured it all until I finally grew up and only then did she return to work as a nurse.
But Dad never considered Mom’s feelings. In fact, he found her boring.
Every time he conquered a new place, he would bring back a stone as a souvenir for her.
Mom’s vanity table wasn’t filled with jewelry or makeup. It was completely taken over by stones from all over the country.
And now, there was one more.
Even I felt it was too much, let alone Mom. I wanted to throw it far, far away.
But Dad just kept smiling eerily and asked, “What’s wrong, Margaret? Don’t you like it?”
“I like it,” Mom replied coldly, then told him to go upstairs, take a shower, change his clothes and get a good night’s sleep.
Dad didn’t object at all. He just smiled and went upstairs.
As soon as the sound of running water came from the bathroom, Mom grabbed my hand in a panic and dragged me into a corner.
“Evelyn! You must remember what I’m telling you! You must remember! That man is not your father! Your father died in Pinehill! No matter what he says or does, don’t believe him! He’s not your father!”
Dad had come back from the dead. But for our family, it was anything but a blessing.
I had long gotten used to it being just Mom and me at home. Now, with Dad suddenly back, I felt completely on edge.
Early in the morning, Mom left the house, saying she had something important to take care of that she might be gone for several days.
She transferred me some money and told me to take care of myself.
Before leaving, she gave me one final reminder.
[Whatever you do, don’t trust that man. He’s not your father!]
My heart leapt into my throat.
Just as I finished reading her message, I sensed a shadow behind me.
I turned around and saw Dad’s face, that fake smile stretched across his features.