Five Days in Summer

worked there yesterday afternoon?”
    Todd took a moment to consider the request. “Well, I don’t really see why not. Hold on a minute.” He disappeared into the back room and quickly returned. “That would have been Pam.”
    “Is she here now?”
    “No, she’s off today.”
    “I’d like to talk to her.”
    “I can’t give out personal information on my employees.” The smile, thick with silver. “I’m sorry. Policy.”
    “She may have been the last person to see my wife. I’d really like to talk to her.”
    “Well, sir, there’s just not much more I can do for you. Have you tried the police?”
    “Is there a supervisor I could talk to?”
    “I am the supervisor.”
    Will felt old, graduated into middle age not incrementally by marriage or fatherhood or professional accomplishment but abruptly and unexpectedly by Todd, Manager.
    “Is there anything else I can help you with?” Todd cheerily offered, that shiny smile shutting down any hope of information.
    “No.” Will started to walk away, then turned back to give Todd a little advice — he wasn’t sure what, something about lightening up, being a person and not a job. Or maybe just to vent his frustration at an easy target. But then, off to the side, Will saw Geary coming around the bank of shopping carts. The old man’s determination suggested the worst, and Will intuitively recoiled. He spun around and passed the wrong way through the first unoccupied checkout he saw, straight into the belly of the store.
    The aisles were long and wide, shelves densely packed with everything made under the American sun and beyond, pale green floors buffed to a glossy shine. He wove up one and down the next, feeling overwhelmed by choices he normally made with ease. His fool’s errand struck him hard. In looking for Emily, he was worse than lost; he didn’t know what his choices were, and even if he had, he wouldn’t know where to begin.
    At the end of the aisle, he turned left. He had to go somewhere, he was afraid to keep still.
    Maybe, if he kept moving, kept looking, she would materialize right here, right now, at the cocoa, comparing brands. She would look at him and her light, freckled face would open in a loving smile. She might wink at the fun of his having left haute cuisine to someone else so he could join her more mundane task at the grocery store. “Which one” — she would hold up two cans of powered chocolate — “do you think the kids would like best? Maxi would like this can with the bear, but David would like the good, dark chocolate. Sammie, I think, would like both.” She would have been there all night, choosing cocoa for their children, suspended in the crystallized moment of that single choice. A winter drink for a summer day. She wouldbe planning ahead. Emily would choose preparedness over sleep. How many mornings had he awakened to find her out of bed, getting something ready for someone? She would be pleased at having had a quiet breakfast before dawn.
    But when he opened his eyes, she wasn’t there. The deflation emptied him completely. His hands flew up to catch his face, and he stood there, alone in the massive store.
    “Ovaltine,” the voice said.
    Will looked up. Geary.
    “I’ve been drinking it my whole life and it hasn’t changed one bit.”
    Will drew a breath and then another. He felt the oxygen reach his brain.
    “I’m almost thirty years with the FBI, ten on the beat. When someone treats me like an irritating old loser because I’m retired, it gets me.” He slapped his chest. “I wasn’t filler for some title. I’m right here, on or off payroll.” He kept his eyes steady on Will while he reached over and took a large can of Ovaltine off the shelf, then lowered his eyes to read the label. “Some things never change.” He looked up at Will, unsmiling. “Don’t be an idiot.”
    Will got the point. “Checkout eight’s closed,” he said. “The manager’s useless.”
    “People in these jobs, they juggle their shifts all the time. Come on, we’ll ask around.”
    Will followed Geary, the receipt trailing out of the old man’s dirty pocket.
    At checkout six, a generously proportioned woman with blond hair and bare, tattoo-covered arms was ringing up the last customer on her line. They waited until she finished bagging the groceries and the customer had left.
    “Morning, Darlene!” Geary said.
    Will just then noticed the plastic name tag pinned to the shoulder strap of Darlene’s yellow tank