MY DAD ALWAYS cut his hair short when he was trying to change, at least that's what he liked to claim. "New do, new me," he'd say, but his hair grew like a weed and it'd only take a few months for him to fall back into the same Graham Grant skin he always wore. The skin he belongs in.

The ghost of that man is in front of me now. Hair short and spiked at the top, not like the long ratty mess I'd seen him rocking in Judas Cradle's band photos. Grey streaks flow through it and his face is caught in a web of wrinkles but that's my dad, all right. He even has the nerve to smile. Looks like all that cash has got him a whole new set of teeth, because the crooked yellow ones he used to sport are now perfect and white. When he opens his arms to me, I freeze.

"Shit, look at you, babygirl. You're a beautiful woman now."

There it is: that grating voice I never thought I'd hear on anything but a radio again. My hands shake.

"Yeah," I say, "kids grow a lot in five years."

Behind him, Mom's eyes are wide with shock. "I'm sorry, Jillie. He showed up out of the blue."

Head spinning, I try to catch my balance with a table. I don't know why or how he's here—but he needs to get out now.

Dad moves toward me. "Come on, give your daddy a hug."

"Whoa." I jerk away, and hurt fills his brown eyes. Nothing about him looks like me; I'm the spitting image of Mom when she was seventeen, but what did Graham Grant give me? Nothing but trauma. I can't walk into a party without being bombarded by memories of him doing drugs. Some nights I still cry about how I wasn't good enough for him to stay, and wonder if maybe I won't be good enough for anyone else to stay either.

"Look, baby," Dad says, "you've got every reason to hate me, but hear me out a little, yeah? Come on, let's go for a walk, catch up a bit."

Those questions have haunted me for five years. Ever since I woke up on a grey Saturday morning and found Mom in tears on the front porch of our trailer, fat drops of rain pounding the dirt around the awning.

"He's gone, Jillie. He's not coming back."

All this time I thought he never would. But here he is.

Since then, I've had my first period, lost my virginity, failed tests, cried, written over ten songs. I've lived the most important parts of my life without him in it—and I sure as hell don't need him back now. Somehow, I'm too paralyzed to speak. Dad keeps smiling.

"Come on, baby. Let me explain myself. It's been five years, you can't give your daddy five minutes?"

Five years in five minutes. All the hurt he caused me, explained just like that. Easy as pie.

He isn't worth a minute of my time, let alone five, but I'm too stunned to react. I gravitate toward the door.

"Let's go," is all I say. Dad and I walk out together.

With my arms crossed, I pace ahead of him. We head to the park up the street. A boardwalk bridge crosses over the river, and once we reach it, my eyes sting. The last shred of sunlight bleeds from the sky until the swing set, monkey bars, and splashpad are drenched in darkness with a thin glimmer of red. The sound of the river trickles all around us. It feels like yesterday he was carrying me on his shoulders through that park, or spinning me on the creaky metal carousel. I wonder if any of those memories cross his mind as he looks over the bridge and breathes in the air. The air of the home he left behind, and the people he left with it.

"Crazy, huh," Dad says. "This place never changes one bit. Looked exactly like this when I was a boy. Every Hull kid's played in this park. It's what we've all got in common."

I swallow my fear, still shaky, still in disbelief he's really here. "Hull might not change, but the people in it do."

"I tried to keep a bit of contact with you over the years. I tried to send your mom more money."

"We didn't want your money. We wanted—" You, I almost say, but I don't want him to know how much I missed him. It'd be weakness to show the damage.

"Still." Dad leans his elbows over the railing and lights a cigarette. "I did try, in some ways."

"Why didn't you come back?"

He takes a long drag, and smoke puffs from his lips like pollution from a power plant. "First tour was a year long. Big break for us, opening for a huge Norwegian metal band. Really dug our claws into the industry over there, then moved all across Europe and other parts of the world. Hell, even played a show in Japan. Can you believe that? Anyway... I was gonna come back after the first tour, but then we got a hell of a record deal, and life happened, baby."

I grit my teeth. "What the hell do you mean 'life happened'?"

"I mean, we just kept playin' shows and recordin' albums and—"

"Stop. I don't care. I get it, Dad—you chose all that over us. You're not telling me anything I didn't already know. Why are you back?"

He sighs. "Look, I didn't come so I can try to preach that I'm a changed man, I promise you that. I just... wanted to see my girls."

"We aren't your girls."

"I'm sure your mom's moved on with her life, as I hoped she would. But you'll always be my baby, no matter what."

My veneer cracks in half, and it takes everything in me to not burst into tears. When he left me, all I wanted was for him to come back and tell me he loved me. Call me his babygirl again. It took me about two years to start hating him—but that old love I had before slithers its way to the surface.

"No," I say. "No, I don't believe you. This is what you do, Dad. You make people think you're better than you are. Someone can hate you all they want when you're not around, but once you're there, it's like—you make people want to forgive. It's like fighting gravity. But it's not going to work on me. Not this time."

"I don't expect you to forgive me. I just wanted to talk to you."

We fall quiet as a couple walks over the bridge and peeks at us as they pass. Once they're gone, Dad clears his throat.

"Well, what's goin' on in your life? You got a boyfriend?"

"I'm seeing someone." Hugging myself, I glance over the park. "Carson Blue."

"Yeah? Rock on, little guy always had a thing for you."

"He's not a 'little guy' anymore, Dad. He's like six-three."

"Shit, eh? Makes sense, his daddy's a tall sonofabitch. But hey, I'd love to shoot the shit with him sometime, maybe rock some pool out or whatever. We could all chill out together. What do you say?"

"Are you high?" I snap, even though I know he's not. His 'high eyes' are something I'm all too familiar with, and right now he's as sober as I've ever seen him. The bewildered look on his face make my fists clench.

"Jillie, come on," he says. "I know I was gone, but I'm here now, and I just wanna get to know you a little bit."

"Are you fucked?" Red flashes, and I don't care how high my voice goes, or if anyone walking around hears me. "I wrote songs about how much you hurt me, Dad! Everything I do, it's all because I want to be the exact opposite of you. I don't want to be someone who just puts themselves first always and disregards their family like they're nothing but fucking trash! You think you can just disappear for years like that then come back in and act wounded when I want nothing to do with you? You're such a piece of shit! You have no idea how much you hurt me!"

When the explosion settles, I shrink, hug myself, and cry. Though the tears alleviate the pain, the humiliation burns. Dad hovers his hands over my arms, but doesn't touch me.

"Listen, I know I messed up big, baby, but you've gotta believe me. I wanted to do right by you. And leavin' was the best choice, it really was. You don't know what it was like, Jillian. I was hurtin' you and your mom so much, and—"

"Don't give me that you did it for us bullshit. You left because you wanted to. You wanted to be free, do drugs, go wherever you wanted, and never have anyone around to say you shouldn't. That's all you've ever wanted: no responsibilities. And you never gave a shit who you hurt in the process."

He wrings his hand along his neck. "Shit, all right. Some of that is true, but you're wrong. I did care who I was hurtin' in the process. I always cared about you. I just didn't know how to show it." He digs into his pocket and pulls out a thick envelope. His fingers, lined with metal rings of skulls and spiderwebs, grip it for a long moment before he puts it in my hands. Dad's eyes are apologetic; he really believes he's sorry, but it means nothing to me. Still, I flip open the envelope, and inside is a stack of bills as thick as the dictionary.

"You have to be joking." I shove it back in his hands. "You're trying to buy me?"

"Come on, it's for your future. You always dreamed big. Wanted to go to that fancy university in New York, yeah? You'll need a lot of money to afford the crazy high rent over there. This'll at least pay for your tuition, help keep you on your feet. I know you're graduating soon and I wanted to get it to you before it's too late. You got in, right?"

"If you were here at all over the past five years, you'd know—" Choked up, I take a breath. It's pure insanity that I'd be ashamed to admit this to someone like my dad, but a part of me does feel like a failure. "I'm not going to New York next year. I can't leave Hull yet, I can't abandon Nolan, and I just haven't even had the energy to prepare. Unlike you, I'm not going to leave my family until it's a good time for all of us. Tim Mills pulled a you and disappeared on Nolan, and now Colleen's in rehab. So Mom and I are all he's got."

"God, Jillie, I'm sorry."

"Don't call me that."

"All right, all right. Sorry."

"I will be going, though. It's just a matter of when."

"Then take this." He gives me the envelope again. "Take it and use it for something to help yourself out, okay? Just keep it. Give yourself a future. You're a smart girl, you can be anything you wanna be."

"You don't know me. I'm not good at anything but guitar."

He laughs and puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Yeah, all I was ever good at too."

I dab my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. New York is expensive. I have my own savings, but it wouldn't be enough. Mom and I never wanted Dad's tarnished money, but after everything, why should I deny it? It's hard to see through, but behind my cloud of anger, I can recognize how big of a burden this would lift off me. I'd hate to say anything good about my dad, but a lot of men wouldn't come back with this—Nolan's sure as hell won't.

"I'll take it for my future," I say. "For the time I had to spend helping Mom instead of doing homework while you were travelling the world and living your dreams. And for what it's worth, I appreciate it. But this doesn't change anything. I still don't want you in my life. You missed your chance a long time ago."

"I know I did, but... look, I'll be stickin' around town for a while. The band's all takin' some time off and I've got nowhere else to go without them. So I'll be at the motel 'til I figure out what to do next. Room 104. Come see me if you change your mind about catchin' up, okay?"

I shake my head. "Don't count on it."

***

Mom's waiting for me in the diner when I get home. As soon as I walk through the door, I'm trapped in a tight hug.

"I'm so sorry, Jillie. I shouldn't have let him in. I was just so shocked."

"It's not your fault." I back away because I don't want to be touched by anyone or anything right now. Dad got on his motorcycle and drove off less than two minutes ago, and now that he's gone, it's like he was never even here. I'd think he wasn't if not for the cash in my pocket. "What did he say to you?" I ask Mom.

"He barely said a word before you came in, just that he wanted to see me. He said he was sorry he didn't call first, and he asked how I was doing. But... it all happened so fast." She breaks into a sob. Mom and I are alike in a lot of ways, but her tears are from pure sadness, and mine were from betrayal and anger. I'm done with it now; I've wasted too many tears on that man.

Sliding the envelope of cash from my pocket, I hand it to Mom. Sniffling, she stares at it for a moment.

"He gave you money?"

I nod. "For my tuition. Will you keep it safe for me?"

Face grim, Mom takes the envelope. "You did the right thing by taking it. This will help you so much, Jillie."

"Yeah, but we should save some for Nolan's future too. Does he know Dad's back?"

Mom sniffles. "Yes, I mentioned it to him."

"I should go talk to him." I head upstairs.

"Jillie, wait," Mom says, and I face her. With trembling hands, she grips the envelope. "Seeing him... startled me. But I won't let him get in my head again, I promise."

I force a smile. The only person who Dad has hurt more than me was Mom, and that's one thing I'll never forgive him for. "I hope not, Mom."

In the apartment, I shut the door behind me and press my back to it. My heart pounds, and Dad's words are a broken record in my head. "I always cared about you."

I don't know how to feel. Anger, sadness, and hope inebriate me.

He'll go again, I know he will.

But will this make it better?

Will the money help?

Shouldn't I have some sense of closure?

"Jill?" Nolan's voice calls from the bedroom, and I snap out of it. When he moved in, we stuck Mom's bed in the sunroom and brought Nolan's from his trailer.

I lean against the doorframe. Nolan is on his bed with homework splayed in front of him.

"Uncle Graham is back," he says. "Aunt Sharon said I need to stay away from him."

"That's right, you should. My dad's nothing but trouble, and we need things to go smoothly, especially while that caseworker is in our lives. You get that, right?"

Nolan is quiet. There's something up with him, so I step into the room. After a moment, he pulls his eyes from his textbook and says, "Why aren't you happy?"

I cross my arms. "Why would I be happy?"

"Because your dad actually came back."

Damn. Of course Nolan is still thinking that way—his dad leaving is fresh. When I was thirteen, I would've given anything to have mine back. But not anymore. Not after he skipped out on so much of my life.

"I'm sorry, bud," is all I can think to say. "Maybe when you're older, you'll get it. My dad hurt me too much—the damage is done. I never wanted to see him again."

"But I still want mine to come back," he says quietly, not looking at me.

Chest heavy, I sit on the edge of his bed. "I know," I eventually say. "But even if he did, he wouldn't be worthy of having you in his life. What he did wasn't right."

"Yeah." Nolan picks at the edge of his math notebook, scrawled with fractions in his messy handwriting. "He didn't even say goodbye."

"I know, bud..." My eyes sting, but I keep it together. "People always tell me to just forget him, but I know first-hand it's not that easy. It's complicated, and it hurts, but you just have to keep moving forward, you know?"

"Yeah." Nolan's eyes stay glued to the page. "Anyway, I have homework."

"Okay bud. See you later."

I leave and shut the door behind me, wishing Nolan didn't have to go through what I did. The apartment feels so empty. For a moment, I imagine Dad on the couch. The room full of warmth from his voice and melodies from his guitar. I slap the image out of my head.

He isn't welcome here. He never will be.

In my room, I try to practice my guitar, but the music won't come out. Every time I try to play, I see my dad's weathered face. Belinda, Colleen, Nolan. Mom crying. The life in New York I want, but each day seems so far away.

"Come on, just play," I mutter to myself. When I run my fingers along the strings, one of them snaps and whips me in the cheek. The pain is searing and the anger is instant. "Damn it!" I stand, ready to throw my guitar, but stop myself. Instead, I collapse onto the bed and cry. A frustrated, useless lump who can't even play a song right. Sobbing into my wrists, I picture what Carson's doing right now. Maybe he's practicing too, or maybe he's thinking of me. "You're allowed to take a break from all the stress, Jill."

I've always wanted to be the good kid. The kid Mom could rely on to do chores and listen to the rules. It made me feel special to be praised and thanked, like I was necessary. Like I could never be discarded, not by her.

But I'm sick of always trying to be mature. I might not be a teen parent like Mom and Colleen were, but I grew up way too fast, and I haven't felt like a kid since the day we bought Dee's. Val's always said I act too responsible, that I should let loose sometimes. Yeah, well, she's right. I'm sick of this diner, I'm sick of my cramped bedroom and sleeping alone in it. I love my family to death but I'm sick of them, too. I'm sick of this life.

So I sneak outside, get in my car, and drive to Carson's.