He circled once, twice. The clerk shrugged. “Lady walked toward the payphone, I think.” No payphone stood outside. The rain stopped pretending and began to fall for real.
Matt parked, ran inside, and scanned every aisle: chips, neon candy, a rotating hot dog that looked like a mistake from last week. No Sarah, no joke to end the joke.
He dialed her cell. Straight to voicemail. He laughed then—thin, brittle—because panic always starts by telling you to laugh it off.
