It was late July. Summer Sturridge was watching her brother, Stephen, eat an ice cream for the first time in nearly ten years. Aside from their surname and the fact that their father had an alliterative ear, they had nothing in common except ice cream . Ice cream joined them together at all the best and worst moments of their lives and then Stephen had been in his accident and no more ice cream until today. Summer stretched her legs and flicked at a tiny piece of dust electrically dancing in front of her face, airy and fresh as if all the doors had suddenly been flung open.
Someone had come in. But they were hiding. Stephen had told her and she believed him.
