The store is on the same bus route as the one they take to get home. Shelly pushes the button for their stop and she and Grandma exit the bus. There are cars outside of Zhou’s already—people getting an early dinner or a late lunch. Shelly watches a woman about her mother’s age disappear inside as she and Grandma walk past the restaurant and into the thrift store.

“Where did you want to look?” Grandma asks her. “Tapes?”

Shelly shakes her head. There are shelves of books on the opposite side of the store from the tapes. “I’m going to look at books,” she says. “You can look at the tapes, though.”

Grandma looks around the mostly empty store and considers this. “All right,” she says. “It shouldn’t take me long to see if there’s anything Joseph would like.”

It shouldn’t take Shelly long to see if her mother’s at Zhou’s, either. She heads to the book section, stopping as soon as she has a shelf to hide behind, and waits until she’s sure Grandma’s not looking. Then she leaves the shop, jogs to Zhou’s, and pulls open the door, stepping inside.

The restaurant smells comforting and familiar, like fried meat. Shelly’s instantly transported back to sharing milkshakes and fries and pork with her mom. She gets a sudden, intense craving for Chinese food, stomach gurgling even though she’s not hungry.

The lady behind the counter smiles at Shelly. “Hello,” she says. “Are you here for pickup?”

Shelly scans the restaurant for any sign of her mom. There’s a rubber bin of dirty dishes on their usual two-person table. The kitchen is noisy, but the restaurant itself is pretty empty. Shelly’s spent hours building this up in her head, hours telling herself maybe—that Zhou’s was a secret just between them, so there was a chance.

Only there’s no hint of the dead in Zhou’s. It’s just a nice family restaurant and Shelly shouldn’t have pinned her hopes on this one thing.

Shelly looks at the lady behind the counter and shakes her head. “No,” she says, around the lump forming in her throat. “I’m just looking for my mom, but she’s not here. Sorry to bother you.”

Shelly swallows her tears on the way back to the thrift store. She slips inside and heads toward the back corner where the tapes are kept.

Grandma meets her halfway. “No luck?” she says. “Me neither—nothing Joseph would like. It’s all classical and country.”

“Let’s go home,” Shelly says. “I want to go home.”

“Of course,” says Grandma, sighing and putting a hand on Shelly’s shoulder, squeezing gently. She keeps doing that now, holding Shelly’s hand or touching her shoulder, like she’s worried Shelly is going to run away on her.