Clouds were filling the sky and the afternoon light was fading when Bill finished his beer and Lucy drank the last of her Bordeaux. They were tired of walking, so they joined the commuters descending into the Métro station. There was quite a crowd surging through the turnstiles, and the platform beyond was packed with people, as was the train when it arrived. Lucy doubted there was room on the train for them, but found they were carried along by the pressure of the crowd. The doors closed and she let out a sigh; she’d never been in a rush hour crowd like this, not even in New York. But, she decided, looking on the bright side, she didn’t have to worry about pickpockets, because they were all so tightly crammed together that there was no room for a pickpocket to operate. The train sped along the track, and Lucy checked the map on the wall above the windows and discovered they could get off at the next stop, the Gare d’Austerlitz, and switch to the line that ran near their apartment.

When the doors slid open, Lucy was able to worm her way through the packed bodies, but Bill, she realized with horror, wasn’t able to make it out of the train before the doors closed. She stood, horrified, on the platform, watching helplessly as her husband was carried away.

What to do? She knew that Bill depended on her to navigate the complicated system and wasn’t at all confident that he could manage on his own. It was like that silly song about Charlie who got lost on the MTA and had to ride forever beneath the streets of Boston. But no. Bill was smart. Bill was sensible. He’d surely manage to get off at the next stop. Hopefully, he’d remember to cross over to the other side of the tracks, and he’d show up on the next train. Hearing the announcement that the train for Saint-Ouen was approaching the station, she ran up the stairs and over to the other side, making it just as the doors closed and the train swooshed away. She glanced up and down the platform, but there was no sign of Bill in the crowd of debarking passengers.

Her chest was tightening, and her anxiety was growing. What if he got confused? Who could he ask? He didn’t speak French. She doubted he even knew the address of the apartment, so he couldn’t even take a taxi. She sat down on one of the benches and tried calling him, but her cellphone didn’t work in the underground station. Lucy tried to calm herself, watching as a train arrived on the opposite side. She checked the electronic sign on her side, learning the next train was in three minutes.