Nothing.
I ran to the restrooms and called through the doorway.
Nothing.
I checked every bench along the front windows.
Empty.
I was heading toward the seasonal section when I heard a sound beneath the store music.
Crying.
Not loud crying.
The exhausted kind a child makes after she has already been scared for too long.
I followed it toward a display of patio cushions near the seasonal doors.
Then I saw a pink sleeve behind the stack.
Lily was crouched on the floor with her knees pulled against her chest.
Her shoulders were jerking beneath her sweater.
One shoe was gone.
Her lips looked dry.
In one fist she was gripping a yellow price tag so tightly that the thin string had pressed a red line into her palm.
I dropped to the floor beside her.
She looked up, and the moment she recognized me, she threw both arms around my neck.
