into the envelope. She did it neatly, pressing each crease as though controlling the paper might help. I wanted to take her hand. Instead, I asked whether she had seen somewhere worth stopping.
She pulled the cord.
We got off near a record shop beside a café. A speaker in the doorway played a slow piano song, and sunlight reached a little square of pavement between the building and a low planter. Elise looked at the storefront, then at the list, and smiled in a way that made me wary.
