Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Evelyn

The diner fell into a tense silence, and I’m too stunned to speak. My dad had moved swiftly to stand beside me and now shot stern looks in Sandy and the man's direction. Neither of them responds. The quiet lingered until my dad spoke once more. Others were eager to say something, but they were all waiting for my dad to give them the go-ahead.

My father was an influential figure that inspired respect whenever he was around. Everyone followed his instructions, and I never saw him fail to get people to do what he wanted. He was physically imposing, virtually looming over others with his dark hair and grey eyes. His gaze cut through anyone as if he were peering through a laser beam. In contrast, I had lighter hair and so did my sister and mother too.

"Gareth, it's been a while," my father says, never taking his eyes off them. "It appears you're still in town. We'll need to talk later."

The words were not a request, but a command. There was a strange familiarity in the exchange, one that left me feeling as though I was missing some important piece of a puzzle. Was this man someone my father knew from the past?

Gareth stands and strides across the space to my father, head slightly bowed in a sign of submission. His steps are measured, his movements subdued and nonthreatening.

My father speaks a few words and then turns his attention to me. As his gaze notices my hoodie, an outburst of rage erupts from his mouth. His expression turns from calm to enraged, and he spits out his words with malice. “No! Not happening, Evelyn, take off the hoodie. We're leaving,” he snaps.

"Mr. Black," Gareth interrupts. "Don't make a poor decision now." Voices from behind distract me and I spin around to gaze upon the greenest eyes I've ever seen - so green that I can barely believe they are real and not some sort of expensive crystal. The man with stunning eyes rises to his feet, and his brother gazes at him with a troubled look. His next steps bring him even closer to me, as though they were expecting what he would do.

My father issues a warning to Gareth. “You need to keep a close eye on your boys or else it will not end well,” he says.

Gareth protests, “It’s better this way.” I can tell that his words are influencing him, though I'm not sure why. The conversation between the two powerful men is almost like a battle of wills. They are each trying to assert their authority and get the other to pay attention to what they’re saying.

Gareth appears to have won this battle, though my father wisely steps back from it. That's not usually his style. Dad gives me apprehensive glances, like he pulled out of the argument because of me. It's almost as if he was trying to contain himself.

My dad appeals to him, “We came back to Bluehills to raise our daughters and give them a connection to our past. This”—he points at Garrett's sons—”is not right. Don't interfere with the decision that has already been made.”

Gareth simply replies, “Mr. Black, please don't worry.”

"Gareth,” my father warns. “You keep a leech on your boys, or it will not end well.”

“It’s better this way,” Gareth argues. He is such a big guy, but the words coming out of my father are affecting him like I don’t know. It’s odd.

“This,” he says and points at Garrett’s sons once again, “is not happening. You don’t understand. This will not happen” He repeats himself.

“Mr. Black. Anthony, please, don’t interfere with what has already been decided.”

But my dad does not have it. His rage outburst. He slams his fist on the counter, making poor Sandy jump. He throws some bills on the countertop and grabs the food I have ordered. "Let's go, Evelyn," he says. "Leave that hoodie here."

I give him a strange look but follow his instructions. As soon as I take off the hoodie, I experience a strange sensation of discomfort, like something is off. The hoodie had a calming effect on me earlier, but now that it is gone, I feel increasingly anxious.

My dad places his arm around my shoulder and escorts me out of the diner, telling me not to look back. “Don’t look, Evelyn,” he whispers. “It will only make it worse.” I do as I’m told, and I exit the diner without another glaze. We remain quiet as he guides me to the car and drives away. My head is spinning with questions, and I can sense his anger. The further we go, the more anxious we become. I'm still confused by what just happened. My head is spinning with questions, and my father is shaking with anger. What the hell?

“Dad, is everything okay? Did I do something wrong?” I ask, turning to him. He exhales heavily and runs his hand through his thick beard. He then offers me a sorrowful smile and shakes his head. Tense energy had replaced his usual tranquil aura. It was obvious in the way he held his jaw, covered by his thick black beard.

Apart from a slight head shake, my dad stays silent as we drive down the winding country road to our new home. We are expecting some level of serenity and the opportunity to start fresh again at this place. I knew my dad well enough to know that this was a sign of his frustration and disappointment with our current situation. I sat in the passenger seat, looking out the window, my gaze tracing the curves and turns of the winding country road.

After what felt like hours, but probably only were minutes, he sighs: “I thought it would be different somehow.” He turns and looks at me. I’m sitting in the passenger seat, still holding the food. “I’m sorry that I have failed you, Evelyn,” he says, and a small tear escape and silently falls on his right cheek.

Hearing my father's words, it struck me with a wave of sorrow. His meaning was unclear, and I wanted to ask him what he meant by 'failing' me. But the words stayed locked in my throat. I have never seen my father so upset before. I get it. He is worried about me, and something about the situation in the diner reminded him of his past. My father, Anthony, is a loving, strong-willed, and caring father. His presence seriously demands respect. Perhaps it reminded him of a similar moment, or of a different time and place. He has a manner about him I haven’t figured out yet. It’s something we have never spoken about, and something tells me I should keep quiet for now. Nevertheless, his presence was strong and commanding, a reminder of the love and respect he held for his family and for me.

His usually solid form seemed to waver, and it filled his eyes with a deep sorrow I had never seen there before. I was accustomed to his wise, knowing eyes that seemed to take in the world around him and make sense of it. But today, there was a different emotion present, one that I didn't quite understand.

I longed to know what he was thinking, but also sensed that now was not the time to ask questions. He had a manner about him that few speaks about, yet everyone understood. It was something we had never discussed, but the strength of his power floated in the air.

I say nothing, instead I watch the small villages flash past us on the highway outside Bluehills. As we pull up to the country road to our new house, a wave of anxiety washes over me. I did not know what was in store for us, but I took comfort in knowing that we were in it together. In a swift move, we veer off the country road and onto an even smaller country road. Moments pass before he brings the car to an abrupt stop in the middle of a forest.

I am dumbfounded. Through the trees, I can make out a small structure that looks more like a tiny cottage than a house. There is something familiar about it, as if I have seen it before in my dreams or a distant memory. But how could this be? My father steps out of the car and walks up to the door.

Is this our property? It seems so small. The forest looks to have taken it over, like the trees of pine, grand fir, and Engelmann spruce have become one with the surrounding woodlands. The cottage placement gave the perfect integration of the landscape before the rise of the magnificent mountains.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The cabin my father had promised was none other than the decrepit shack standing before me, its walls flaked with paint, its roof sagging with age. Even from the outside, it was clear this cabin was far from the grand and cozy home I had imagined.

"Dad, you can't be serious," I said, unable to hide the anger in my voice. "Are we really supposed to live here?"

My father sighs. "I know it's not what you hoped for," he said, his shoulders slumped. "But it'll do for now."

He stepped forward and opened the tiny door, and I followed him inside. The cabin was even smaller than it appeared from outside. There was a small kitchen and a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. As my father switched on the lights, I noticed the curtains were drawn tight in the front window.

I couldn't believe it. This was our new home.

My father looks at me with an expression that reflects his own inner turmoil. I can tell he's trying to choose his words carefully. “Yes, we are going to make this our home," he tells me. "It won't be easy, but it will be worth it.” He places his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

I acknowledged my dad was correct. With hard labor and commitment, I understood we could turn the cabin into the home of my fantasies. I was getting the opportunity to begin again, without the presence of people who'd hurt me. I didn't really care about these things, though on a deeper level I did. It was simpler to envision that when I left, I would have this magnificent house, lovely land, and new possibilities. Moving to the bushland appeared like a setback, but I would keep an open attitude.

A few minutes later, my dad seems to have relaxed and smiles at me and says: “This is my childhood home. I was raised here, and I know it looks like it needs repairs, but we have time. We can fix it before mum and Allison arrive.”

As I hear him express his fondness for his ancestors’ home, I feel guilty for having a negative attitude. I want to take back the unkind comments that spilled from my mouth without thinking. But less than a second later, something in the air changes, making us both tense. I did not know what it was, but the hair on my arms stood up. Could someone be watching us? My dad didn't waste any time; he grabbed my hand and rushed to the front door, fumbling a bit with the locks before pushing me inside.

I stand in an old living room, taking in the musty scent of the space and a faint hint of something like lavender. The walls were adorned with paintings, some of them of landscapes, but others of faces that I did not recognize. The surrounding moved my thoughts to another state of mind. Uncertainty.

“I need to make a call, Evelyn. Please wait here in the kitchen, and I will be right back. Don’t get any ideas. Just do what I’m telling you. Okay?” I watch in trepidation as my father went to the next room.

He had given me a strict order—to stay in the kitchen and not to wander outside—but the temptation was too strong. Curiosity propelled me to the window, where I slowly drew back the curtains. As the dim light of dawn crept in through the window, it illuminated the figure of a large wolf standing outside the cottage. Its eyes were a deep, intense yellow. It feels like the wolf can see the debt of my soul. I’m bewildered. I’m surprised and, by all, terrified.

Terror ran through my body, and my pulse quickened. I was aware of the peril of the situation; I was in an unfamiliar place, alone with my father, deep in a dense forest. He had stepped away to make a call, leaving me there staring out the window at a wild wolf.

My dad re-emerges and I exhale.

"Dad, you can't seriously be suggesting we stay here. I just saw a wild wolf!"

My dad opens the door, showing no surprise. His eyes glint with excitement. He seems adamant about going outdoors and it’s freaking me out.

The strength of my father's presence is palpable. He carries himself with a commanding air and is, without a doubt, a born leader. When someone mentions him, this is always the first thing they point out.

"No, wait! Dad, don't go out there–the enormous wolf might still be there!" I pleaded, my voice coming out barely above a whisper. I'm so scared my legs are squishy like jelly.

My dad gave me some cautionary instructions: "You wait here. Hear nothing, see nothing, come out for nothing. I have something to attend to." The shadowy green of the trees seemed to emphasize his choice of attire — usually black clothing, apt for someone named Black.

I watched, my fear slowly turning to dread, as my dad slowly opened the door of our makeshift cabin. The gigantic wolf had disappeared, but something still convinced me it was out there, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce at any moment.

He then gave me a reassuring smile, closed the door behind him, and stepped out into the darkness. I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching him until he disappeared from my sight. I held my breath, my heart pounding, and waited for any sign of the monster out there.