Page 3 of Stolen Summer

“By the time first responders arrived, the only car on Hickory Road was yours, Miss. Quinn.”

I hated formal names. “Arie. My name is Arie.”

The officer nodded. “What can you remember leading up to the accident?” he asked as his partner adjusted his pen and prepared to take notes.

“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “I can’t.” Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, frustration ribboning through me.

The officer asking the questions shifted his weight, his mustache twitching under his lips as he frowned. “If there is anything you do remember, anything at all, give us a call. Even something that might seem insignificant could help us track down the other party.”

The tension in my muscles made the already aching parts throb. “My father? No one has been able to tell me about his condition. Is he…” I swallowed, unable to form the words. I didn’t even want to think his death into existence.

“He’s alive. In surgery. That’s all the information we have.” He dropped a business card on the side table beside my bed. “I hope to hear from you, Arie.”

I doubt I’d call him.

Hours later, a very exhausted doctor shuffled into my room. Dark bags shadowed under his eyes. He stopped in front of my bed and raked a hand through his sandy hair. The youthfulness of his features surprised me. “Arie?” he asked in a fatigued voice.

I nodded, eager to finally hear some news. If I trusted my legs and head to behave, I would have already been out of this bed demanding answers, but every time I attempted to get out of bed, the world spun, and I feared I’d end up blacking out again.

“Your father is out of surgery,” the doctor said, but something in his grim expression made me feel as if there was more to come, and the relief tearing through me halted in my chest. “As you know, the accident was severe, as were his injuries. We did all we could, but he suffered spinal cord trauma.” His hands shifted into the overside pockets of his white coat. “I know that sounds scary, and there are some complications, but the positive side is the accident didn’t cause complete paralysis.”

Spinal cord? Paralysis? Those words stood out, echoing over and over in my mind as I attempted to grasp what the doctor was explaining. “What does that mean?” I heard myself ask, but my voice didn’t sound like me. It seemed too far away, the buzzing in my ears blocking out most of the noise in the room.

The doctor readjusted his glasses. “I’m sure this is a lot to take in,” he continued, tailoring his voice to be more sympathetic. “But what I’m trying to prepare you for is the prognosis of your father walking again is slim. Even with treatment and physical therapy, he most likely won’t regain the use of his legs.”

Those words would change the course of my dad’s life and my future forever.

Chapter One

PRESENT DAY

“Arie! Table four needs a refill!” Miranda bellowed into the diner’s kitchen.

I’d been waitressing at Oaks Diner since I was fifteen. My first of many jobs, but it was the one that continued to stick. Mostly because the owners, Ann and Forest, thought of me as their granddaughter. They’d been there through the most difficult time in my life. Without them, I didn’t know how I would have gotten by.

After the accident, they’d organized a fundraiser to help pay for medical bills and equipment needed to make our house wheelchair accessible. The outpouring of kindness and donations from local shops and businesses floored me. It was the only time the community had shown me any kindness.

But their generosity only lasted so long. The funds ran out nearly as quickly as they’d been received.

I’d never forget Ann and Forest’s generosity, so I continued to slave at the diner barely making minimum wage.

It wasn’t a horrible place to work. Not like some of the other shops, restaurants, and businesses in this small coastal town. If there was one thing the locals of Fallen Oaks knew, it was how to take care of their own. It was the places owned by the rich summer residents you had to watch out for.

Grabbing two hot plates from the cook, I set them on the round server tray and whirled toward the double-action doors leading into the dining area. “Thanks, Mir,” I said with a tired smile as we passed each other.

Miranda Moore was one of four waitresses at the diner, me included. A single mom to the cutest four-year-old little boy who often came to work with her, coloring in the corner booth, Mir had been here only two years. If I ever had kids, I wanted them to be as well-behaved as Ethan.

Using my hip to push the door open, I entered the dining area, trading the heat of the kitchen for lively chatter. I delivered a burger with fries and a meatloaf sandwich to table six before grabbing the empty cups to refill at table four.

I rubbed the back of my hand over my damp forehead as I dumped out the old ice and scooped in fresh, sneaking a cube for myself to rub over my flushed neck. The diner had no air-conditioning, and we were having an unusually hot June day. Despite being located on the harbor, close to the ocean, the breeze through the screens could only do so much to combat the heat.

I’d been on my feet since five this morning, and my soles were protesting. Wiggling my toes in my frayed white sneakers, I filled the drinks. My shoes were one lace away from unraveling at the seams, as was most of what I owned.

Next week, I’ll look for a pair on sale.

It didn’t matter that I’d been making the same promise to myself for weeks. Somehow reciting it again and again gave me false hope.

“Yo, sweetheart,” someone called out, and I groaned before turning around, plastering on a smile.

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