publication she could find. With five magazines in hand, she sat on one of the
benches and flipped through them without saying a word.
Emily curled one leg beneath her, hunched slightly forward with her brow furrowed
in concentration. She flipped pages quickly, pausing only when a dress or floral
arrangement caught her attention.
William stood behind her for a few minutes, watching her eyes dart across the
glossy spreads. He sighed. “I’m going to look around,” he said.
“Kay,” Emily murmured, keeping her eyes on the magazine.
He wandered the store, drifting without purpose. He barely registered which aisles
he passed. His hand skimmed the edge of a nearby shelf, more out of habit than
interest. A man near the travel section caught William’s eye. He, too, stood with
slumped shoulders, checking his watch before glancing back toward the cookbooks,
where his wife browsed with intensity. They shared a brief nod, a silent
recognition of shared helplessness.
William kept walking. The baristas at the coffee counter glanced up each time he
circled past, and he returned their looks with a tight, uneasy smile.
While in the biography section, William heard faint whistling. He recognized the
melody, though he couldn’t place it. It could have come from a movie he had
recently watched. Without thinking, he followed it.
His footsteps softened on the carpeted floor. He didn’t know why the sound pulled
at him. He felt like he’d follow the melody off a cliff if that’s where it led.
It brought him to the art books. A woman stood there, long dark brown hair falling
past her shoulders, a paint-smeared satchel slung across one arm.
He tried not to look like he’d followed her. Grabbing the first book in reach, he
flipped it open without reading.