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“I should’ve called,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” I went over to the turntable and put on Bronski Beat, Smalltown Boy.

“But you don’t believe me.”

The old Lorrie would’ve made a joke, or turned the whole thing around until I was apologizing for having a schedule. This Lorrie stood there with her hands around her mug of coffee, looking down into it as if the answer might be hiding under the grounds.

“That’s fair,” she said quietly.

I wished she’d argued like she used to. Lorrie had come into my store in March with expensive shoes, lots of opinions, and a big mouth, and for months we’d had whole conversations that sounded like fights to anyone who didn’t know better. This was different, and I didn’t trust different from her any more than I trusted customers who said they were only browsing while carrying an empty tote bag.

“I didn’t know if you were coming back,” I said.

“I am.”

“Just for this week?”

She looked up as the song turned over on the turntable, the soft space between tracks filling the store. Outside, State Street moved past in pieces through the front windows. A girl on a ten-speed went by with a Walkman clipped to her shorts, one hand pressed to the headphones. Two guys carried a milk crate full of records while a couple argued over a parking meter.

Lorrie set the mug down. “I don’t know yet.”

I nodded, because there wasn’t much else to say unless I wanted to ask questions I had no right asking. Where had she been? What had changed? Why had she walked in looking at the store like it was something she’d lost and found again? What was going on with Paul?

Instead, I said, “I can give you Wednesday closing.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her purse. “That’s it?”

“For now.”

She looked toward the schedule tacked to the corkboard behind the register, where Alice’s name sat in the Saturday slot that had been Lorrie’s for months.

“Wednesday,” she said.

“If that works, we’ll figure out the rest.”

“The rest,” she repeated, not quite looking at me.

I almost said her name. I almost said a lot of things. Instead, I reached for the stack of cassettes Brian had abandoned and straightened them into a neat row.

Brian appeared at the end of the aisle, saw us, and immediately became interested in the folk section.

Lorrie picked up her purse from beneath the register. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to.”

The words came out too quickly.

A small smile touched her mouth, but it didn’t last. “I told my mother I’d be home before Henry came over to go swimming.”

“Henry with the water wings?”

“He’s upgraded to shark patrol.”

For one second, we were back on solid ground. Then she glanced at the Purple Rain display, and whatever was bothering her settled around her again.

“I’ll see you Wednesday,” she said.

I wanted to say I’d be here, but I nodded toward the counter instead.