“It wasn’t Jacob’s a moment ago,” he said, “but we didn’t visit it under its former name either.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll go.” Another breath. “Wait here.” She could tell it took him some effort to turn away. For his sake more than her own, she hoped nothing would alter the timeline and cause him to return to an empty street corner.
She watched from her lounging post as Maxwell went through the pantomime with Jacob—explanation, reassurance, picture of the thief, promises. She saw Jacob look carefully at the drawing, holding it close to eyes apparently more nearsighted than they had been twelve years ago, before he shook his head. Was there a wedding ring on his left hand? There must be, after all this time. She wouldn’t wish it otherwise.
Maxwell left the shop with a reasonable imit
