I root around in my purse for change. He asks if I need a lid and holder and I say no to the lid and yes to the holder. I take my change, blow on the coffee, and drop some coins in the tip jar. Then I turn to Sam—

And he’s not there.

“Sam?” I feel like I’m going crazy. He must be here. He was right here a second ago. “Sam?!”

I turn back to the man at the cart. “Did you see the kid who was with me? He was right here...”

He cranes out of the little to-go window, scanning the scene and looking back to me like I’m crazy.

“You had a kid with you?”

I raise my voice, and a few people near us look around: “Has anyone seen a ten-year-old boy?” I say.

Some just look confused or annoyed. A twenty-something looks up from her phone and shrugs helplessly. A middle-aged woman stares at me, stricken, her mind clearly racing to the dark places mine’s determined not to go. Which way did he go—right, back the way we came? Or left, towards the hotel?

He might not remember the way to the hotel that well. And besides, he was in a temper: he’ll have wanted to go the way we weren’t going. So, right, I decide. Back the way we came.

I push the coffee cup back into the man’s hands and take off, scanning the streets, telling my heart to stay calm.

He has a phone, I remind myself, and pull mine from my pocket and scroll to his number. No answer.

Maybe I should have gone left at the cart instead of right.