“I know,” Emma whispered.

“I saw her name written on the inside of the closet door in blue pencil.”

We finished our ice cream without speaking again.

I dropped the two empty paper cups into the green trash barrel by the park gate, and we walked back across the leaf-covered grass, holding hands against the wind.

At half past four, the afternoon light faded from the store windows, and I went into the back office alone to close up for the day.

My wooden desk sat under the bare light bulb, its green blotter completely clear of legal papers, yellow dock slips, and county maps.