Page 46 of Stolen Summer
The memory tugged at my heart. We hadn’t been back to the library together since before his accident. Despite being more than capable, Dad had turned into a recluse.
For a moment, I forgot how much our life had changed, how much he had changed, and that I was no longer a little girl looking up to her father.
“Arie,” he said, closing the book and setting it on the table next to the drink, which he grabbed.
The glimmer of memory lane vanished when he put the drink to his lips and finished it off in one go.
That’s who my father was now.
I went to the couch and sat at the end closest to him, the coffee table between us. Picking up one of the worn throw pillows, I hugged it to my chest. “Is the book any good?” I asked.
“It’s decent. I haven’t figured out who the killer is yet.” Dad loved a good crime story. He prided himself on predicting who had done it before the reveal. He was pretty spot on with most books, a testament to how many he’d read.
“Perhaps you were a detective in another life.”
“Did you eat?” he asked gruffly. “I think Sadie saved some leftovers and put them in the fridge.”
“I’m fine. I ate earlier,” I said, unable to stop thinking of Cole. “Actually, I wanted to let you know that I won’t be around most evenings. I took another job, and the pay is too good to pass up. I’ll still be working my shifts at the diner, so I might not be around as much this summer.” The lie rolled off my tongue too easily despite the bitter taste of betrayal stinging my throat.
His weathered face tightened. “You work too much, Bee.”
I wanted to tell him I had no choice, but I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat.
“It’s my fault,” he added, the familiar guilt on his face. “Don’t think I don’t know it. You shouldn’t be taking care of me. It’s my job to take care of you.”
“I’m a big girl now. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I know what I’m doing, and we need this.” I need this, I silently added. “Things will get better around here, just wait,” I assured, reaching over to squeeze his hand.
“Arie, I?—”
“Don’t,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “I know what you’re going to say. And I don’t want to hear you tell me how sorry you are.”
He went to pick up his glass again, only to realize it was empty. “I can’t help but feel like I’m holding you back. You shouldn’t be stuck taking care of your old man.”
“You’re not that old,” I argued with a smile, trying to make light of the situation. I couldn’t handle deep emotions right now. My body was beat, and it wouldn’t take much to send me tumbling into a dark place.
After days of strong winds and gloomy skies, the sun finally glared brightly, chasing away the lingering cooler air and heating the earth. It felt fucking wonderful on my face as I walked to work.
The bell chimed as I pulled open the diner door, my steps lighter than they’d been since I was sixteen, thanks to the check I deposited to the bank this morning, and until my shift ended, I would ride this financial freedom high. Only then would I allow myself to think of Cole and the bargain we struck.
When I pulled my hair back into a claw clip, the wavy, blue ends waterfalled over the fastener. I had on my usual attire, my diner polo, a pair of cutoff jean shorts, and my once white sneakers. The diner didn’t have a strict dress code. The only requirement was the logo shirt, but even then, Ann didn’t mind if one of her girls showed up without as I had a time or two, stumbling into my early-ass-morning shift still drunk from the night before.
Those had been rare instances, which was why I suspected Ann never said anything but forced me to drink her hangover cure and eat before starting my shift. She’d always taken care of us, especially me.
In a way, all the girls who worked for Ann and Forest were misfits and often in need of something. I believe she hired us for a reason. We were her girls when she couldn’t have children of her own. She cared for us when often no one else would or could.
Ann stood behind the counter, wiping down the surface, her white, glossy hair pulled into a loose bun, tendrils framing a face that defied her age by at least ten years. The same couldn’t be said for Forest, her husband. He looked every bit his sixty-two years, and then some. What I loved about the couple was their I-give-no-shit attitudes. They weren’t what I would call a sweet old couple. They were rough around the edges much like the diner itself, which reflected the owners perfectly.
“What are you doing here?” Ann asked, her surprised blue eyes lifting when the door clattered closed behind me.
I strolled to the counter, setting my bag down as confusion lines crinkled on my forehead. “Don’t I have a shift this morning?” Had I mixed up my days?
“Not anymore,” Ann replied, her voice raspy from decades of smoking a pack of cigarettes a day. Her tone wasn’t harsh, not like an employer who was firing an employee. If anything, her expression looked as perplexed as I felt. She seemed to be under the assumption that my not having a shift wouldn’t be news to me.
But it was. I would remember quitting a job I desperately needed. Even with Cole’s money in my bank account, I had no intention of stopping work. “What do you mean? Are you firing me?” My heart plummeted to the bottom of my stomach. Never in a million years had I ever thought Ann would let me go.
I’d made some questionable choices over the years, but I’d always considered myself a reliable employee. What could I have done to upset her so much that she would let me go?
Ann dropped the rag in her hands. “Of course, not. There seems to be some confusion. Your fiancé came by yesterday?—”