Instead of circling the rows of parked cars by the entrance, Wren settled for a spot near the back of the lot. When she began running errands, the early spring sun was just above the horizon; presently, it cast short shadows. She slipped off her jacket and tossed it onto the passenger seat before stepping out of her vehicle and walking toward the big-box retailer. From inside the store, an elderly gentleman watched the automatic doors pull apart and recognized the change in Wren’s expression as she entered. In his line of work, he had grown accustomed to this phenomenon. He greeted her, but his words failed to register. She stood perplexed, partially blocking the store’s entrance. Other customers politely slipped around her, like water in a stream, redirected by a protruding rock. “Something I can help with, ma’am?” the old man tried. She looked at him, nonplussed by his question. “No, thanks. I, uh—sorry,” she sputtered. “Forget why you’re here?” His close-lipped smile revealed a hint of satisfaction. Wren’s mouth opened, then closed again. …