There’s no way I’ll be able to live up to whoever she has in her head. I’m just a boring, normal girl. Or maybe she’ll be disappointed with how well I turned out, if it seems like I didn’t really need a mother. Maybe she’s expecting to swoop in and save me.

I don’t need saving.

I meant what I said: my dad had taken really good care of me. I like the life I have.

But last night was like a split in my universe. Every moment from my life will, from now on, be identified by whether it was before or after.

“Honey?” she says. I think she’s given up trying to remember that I’m not Amanda. “Is there anything you need me to do? I’ll do anything.”

And the weird thing is, I believe her. She would do anything for me. At least, I hope she will.

But can I really ask her to let me continue my life here uninterrupted? To let me live this lie of a life in semi-ignorant bliss.

“No, I’m okay,” I reply.

“I’m so happy to hear your voice. It’s like a piece of my life is back.”

Well, I guess I should be glad someone is happy.

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter

SEVENTEEN

I don’t believe in ghosts.

I’ve always been too practical about life and trusting of science to get freaked out by ghost stories or urban legends.

But now that I’m walking around my home, I feel as if I’m being haunted.

Everywhere there are memories of my dad, our former life, before.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Sheriff Gleason says as he pops his head into my bedroom. “Take your time.”

I nod as I shove more clothes into a bag. I have no idea when I’m going to be back here. I’ve been warned that there may be journalists outside the home when the story goes public, although I can’t really fathom why on earth a journalist would care what’s happened to me. It’s really nobody’s business but my own.

A photo of Dad and me at the lake catches my eye. We both look so happy and calm. Dad, holding up a big fish, and me, covering my nose with a book. I always had to take a shower immediately after we went fishing. Especially since Dad insisted upon cutting the fish as soon as we got home. “It keeps them fresh,” he used to argue. I’m pretty sure he did it because he knew it grossed me out.

I put the photo facedown on my nightstand. Every happy memory is now tainted by the fact that Dad was hiding something from me. Every moment we had has been tarnished, and there’s no turning back.

All this time …

I stomp out of my bedroom and go directly into Dad’s.