I’d been back to visit every couple years to see my Grandpa, and the feeling struck me every time I was here. This whole place was a strange little bubble–completely insulated from the outside world. Once or twice, I’d fantasized about packing up and moving out here, but there wasn’t exactly work for someone with an M.B.A. in business in a small town like this. No. To me, this place was a dying reality.

“Just do it,” Billy urged.

“You promise he won’t get mad?”

I whistled a little louder. Being a good dad wasn’t always easy. But it was always worth it. I repeated that to myself like a mantra. It was a mantra I’d decided to drill into myself when I found out I was going to be a father. I might be a lot of things, but I was never going to be him. My own father was a narcissistic asshole who saw his kids as trophies. He didn’t even give a shit about gramps or his failing health. If you didn’t serve a purpose, he’d cast you out of his life without a second thought.

A small hand suddenly clutched mine and Molly started tugging like she was trying to break free from my grasp.

I looked down at my daughter and felt my stomach drop when she met my gaze. She did the breathing exercise I’d taught her when she was scared, never taking her big eyes from mine. Oh, shit. What did you put her up to, Billy?

“He’s not my daddy!” she screamed.

Her voice might as well have been a gunshot. Every pair of eyes in the small store was on us in an instant. For the longest second of my life, nobody moved.

The only sign that time hadn’t frozen was my precious little daughter tugging against my hand like I was the one holding her. I stared at her. Curly brown hair and big blue eyes. She had the face of an angel, and a few steps behind her stood the little devil who took after his dad. Billy was watching with the wide eyes of a pyromaniac who had just lit a fire and was somewhere between awe and terror at how quickly it had grown.

“Billy,” I said very carefully while Molly continued to tug at my hand and repeat that I wasn’t her daddy. “Tell these nice people this is your idea of a joke.”

I moved toward Billy, dragging Molly behind me as she continued her act of pretending to pull away from me. I reached for him.

That turned out to be a mistake.

My own son met my eyes, grinned for an instant, then clapped his hands to his face and did his best Home Alone scream.

I chuckled nervously, lifting my free hand while I looked around the shop. “These kids,” I muttered. I knelt down to get in their faces. Molly was red in the face from screaming and Billy’s mouth was open so wide I could see his tonsils.