I pressed harder on the gas without realizing it until I saw the speedometer and forced myself to slow down.
I needed to reach Lily.
Getting into an accident would not help her.
When Oakridge Market finally came into view, I turned into the parking lot too fast, pulled across two spaces, and left the car crooked with the driver’s door hanging open.
I ran inside.
A cashier near the entrance was folding a receipt into a tiny square while another employee pushed carts near the doors.
Somewhere near the bakery, a floor-cleaning machine backed up with a steady electronic beep.
The ordinary sounds made everything feel worse.
People were choosing cereal and comparing prices while I had no idea where my child was.
“Lily!”
I called her name near the registers.
Then again near customer service.
I checked the toy aisle first because she always slowed down there.
