Three

A nna slapped at the shrieking alarm, then rubbed her eyes, wishing she could drift back to sleep. Shuddering, she placed her stained uniform on the unmade bed, the drab material rasping against her callused hands. She shook her head. She needed something to brighten her mood. Maybe coffee would help.

After she'd set the coffee maker to work and taken a quick shower, the rich aroma drifted through the house to tease her senses. She returned to the kitchen, grabbed a cup, then scurried down the hall, swallowing a gulp along the way.

Behind the plastic organizer, her fingers found the new uniform, a crisp blue button-down and matching blue skirt. In its attempts to replicate a 1960s diner, Food to Remember allowed limited styles. The uniform wasn't worth its price, almost a day's wages.

Pulling back her hair into a ponytail, Anna glanced in the mirror. Flattering brown wisps fell around her face. The new uniform accentuated her fit frame, courtesy of walking laps in a diner every day, and her mood brightened before she hurried out to the car.

As she turned onto the main road, she slowed. Had she locked the back door? She twisted her grip on the steering wheel. Whenever she was anxious, she got this gnawing feeling of something left undone, likely a remnant from her childhood. Mother always headed out early to work, leaving Anna to dress and get on the school bus. She'd often had nightmares about arriving at school without something or with her clothes on backward. "Anna's shoes are on the wrong feet! Anna's shoes are on the wrong feet!" The taunting childlike voices would sing in her discomforting dreams.

Today, after everything the call dredged up, she was that little girl again. She shook herself. Better to focus on a day full of possibilities, Anna.

She veered past the diner's daily special in black letters on its vintage marquee, driving toward the back. Sunlight bathed the white stucco walls, the morning glow glistening off the silver panels, obscuring peeling paint that betrayed the building's age, and letting its striking architecture shine. The early shift had arrived hours before, and she claimed her usual space beside Sandy's 1970s yellow convertible.

She cringed as the strong scent of fried bacon brought an unpleasant taste to her mouth. She quickened her pace to the break room.

Evie leaned against the wall, blocking Anna's path through the narrow hall.

Chatting with an attractive male customer, Evie spotted Anna and raised her enhanced brows. "Well, don't you look nice today? New uniform?"

Embarrassed by the man's amused grin, Anna managed a nod. The bad taste still lingered. She reached into her bag and swigged a drink of water. "Thank you. Sorry, I can't chat right now. I'm running late."

They didn't move, so she sidestepped them and hustled into the dimly lit room. Great. The early shift had taken all the easy-to-reach shelves. She found a chair and stepped onto the wooden seat. Her toes wobbled as she stretched to stash her purse in an unfilled upper cubby.

At a rustling, followed by a kerplop, she glanced over her shoulder toward the corner. A shadow, a man's form, lurked there, then sped closer and closer, and stomping feet thudded. A force against her back hurled her sideways. The chair crashed, and her feet flew into the air. She braced for impact, closing her eyes.

She was floating, her grandmother's blue bowl beside her. She extended her arms and cupped her hands together as she tried to save the bowl. Her body slammed against the hardwood floor, and reality slammed straight into her senses. The toppled chair's legs pressed against her ribs. She shook her head clear. But pressure crashed against her eyes, and she dropped it back atop the slippery old magazines. She must've hit the table and knocked them across the floor. Deep breaths brought tears to her eyes, so she kept them shallow.

A gentle hand warmed her upper arm. Rowan Landinger, the new bookkeeper, leaned over, patting her arm. Dark-hair, athletic build, the disarming man somehow communicated a strong sense of self-confidence, even though she'd caught him watching her a few times too often. He could turn a girl's head. But something about him bothered her. Something she wasn't sure about. Something she couldn't peg. So she kept her distance. At least until she sorted it out.

"Are you okay?" He frowned. "I don't want to lift you unless I'm sure you're okay."

Lying there awkwardly, she tried to murmur something. He even looked attractive from the floor. She stifled a giggle. His copper-flecked brown eyes were mesmerizing as they spun in circles.

"Anna, Anna, are you okay?" Mr. Gray's no-nonsense voice sounded almost concerned.

Maybe she was hurt more than she knew. But his expression didn't match his words as frustration raised crease lines around his mouth and a vein bulged across his forehead. She definitely preferred looking up at Rowan.

Employees crowded into the doorway. Mr. Gray, squinting his eyes as he adjusted the rolled-up sleeves on his collared uniform, fell back into a more familiar form.

"Get back to work! You all need to go back to your duties. We have customers and a diner to run." His voice blasted like a loudspeaker. Too loud for Anna's throbbing head. And there was the ringing.

He peered at her over his glasses, his long sideburns angling toward his mouth. His scowl back, he tapped his foot. "You should have yourself checked at the hospital."

The pounding of his foot reverberated in her head. Stop tapping!

"Anna, just rest. We are taking you to the hospital." Sandy stood over her.

Dear Sandy now looked as compassionate as she had after Mother's sorrowful death. Anna could still hear those welcomed words at the funeral: "Anna, if you ever need me or need anything, you know where I am. I know you have the strength to get through this—your mother's strength. You're always welcome to visit me or stay with me in Grandville."

She didn't recognize herself after her mother's death, wallowing in grief. How she'd needed those words from Sandy.

She and her mother had been inseparable that final year. During Anna's high school years, Mother's health issues started. Things were manageable in the beginning, and Anna learned how to monitor medical devices, although it petrified her at first.

Over the years, more complications forced her to experience the heartache of unwanted questions. Why did bad things happen to good people?

She should've better appreciated her mother's glass half-full attitude. Why did we appreciate things after it's too late? Anna drifted, woozy, her mother's words swirling anew when she urged her to attend college. "You shouldn't put your life on hold. You have to push through. Make your own path."

After a couple of years, Anna did enroll. At the beginning of her third year, her mother was no longer able to work and was losing her battle. Anna's grades were suffering, and her mother couldn't stay home alone. Anna dropped her classes, but her mother wouldn't have it. She never understood why Anna wasn't stronger. When Anna would get anxious about the future, her mother would say, "Life is a mystery. Doesn't everyone like a good mystery?"

"I want to be here in case I'm needed," Anna had insisted.

Even now, she could feel the cool touch of her mother's hand on her cheek. "It's up to you to create your own ending, Anna. Don't let someone else write it for you." Her mother looked straight into Anna's eyes with strength Anna hadn't seen for a long time. The next day, Anna returned to the college. Later that week—her heart sank now with the memory—her mother died. After that, Anna didn't recognize herself. She had nothing left to fight for, no will to right the wrongs that had driven her toward a law degree. She couldn't go back to that school, couldn't stay in that house, that town.

"Anna, are you okay?" Sandy shook her. Her watery eyes blinked above puckered bright-red lips. Her face blurred as if part of a kaleidoscope, a spinning kaleidoscope. Why were there so many Sandys?

"I'll just close my eyes and rest a bit. Tomorrow's just around the corner." Anna shut her eyes, searching for peace.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," she said when some type of movement jarred her awake. Was she fine? An unpleasant taste soured her mouth. She felt a little—squishy. She twisted her neck for a better view, then rubbed a hand along her opposite arm to make sure she was still in one piece. Her head throbbed. Blood pooled next to her. It must've happened when her head bounced off the wood floor.

Huh. The floor was moving, taking her entire body with it. She willed herself to move—she couldn't! Something was wrong.

"Just relax. We gave you something to help with the pain. We're moving you out the door and into the ambulance," a new voice reassured.

"Okay, that's good. I'll just wait here." She started to drift off again. Her eyes snapped open when she remembered the shadow in the corner—a man's shadow. Her blood ran cold as he rushed toward her, his feet stomping. Had he been lurking in the shadows, waiting for her ?