She kept on going until she had reached the back end of the store, which was where she found her son, examining a bicycle.

“What about this?” he asked when he saw his mother standing there.

“That?” she said, unable to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

The bike was about the right size for a boy Charlie’s age, but it was definitely from another era. The seat was one of those elongated banana seats, with the handlebars raised upward, like angel wings. The wheels and frame had rust spots, and the back tire looked flat. The bicycle was probably from the sixties or early seventies. And if all that weren’t enough, it was a girl’s bike, the center bars slanted down.

“It’s perfect,” Charlie said, swinging his leg over the seat, holding on to the handlebars and testing it out.

“The back tire’s flat. Charlie, it’s a piece of junk.”

“Oh, it’s still good,” said the proprietor, who had materialized out of nowhere. “I got a pump to put some air into that back tire. It might look rough, but it works. I had a kid trying it out the other day. I know it’s made for a girl, but, you know, these days we try not to judge, right?”

“Mom?” Charlie said pleadingly.

“Honey, we can go to Binghamton and find you one, or order it, like the man at the hardware store said.”

“That could take forever. It might not even show up before we have to go home. And I need it right now.”

“And why do you need it right now?”

“I got places to go,” Charlie said.

“And people to see,” said the store owner, laughing. “I can make you a good deal on it.”

Annie thought, if anything, the woman should pay her to take it off her hands. “I really don’t think it’s the right one for him. He’s never had a bike before, and it would probably need training wheels, and—”

“Mom! I don’t need training wheels. I’m not a baby. I already know how to ride a bike.”

“Since when?”

“I ride Pedro’s all the time.” Charlie’s friend from school. “But in the alley, never on the street,” he said, anticipating his mother’s alarm.

“Ten bucks,” said the shop owner.

“Pardon?” Annie said.

“I can let it go for ten.”

“I don’t think so,” Annie said.

“I have it,” Charlie said, digging into his front pocket.

He brought out a five, three ones, and some change. He was counting it out aloud, moving the funds from one hand to the other as he did so. “Six, seven, eight, twenty cents, thirty cents—”

“What you got there is just fine,” the woman said, holding out her hand. Charlie put his money into her palm, Annie watching, shaking her head.