It was just the kind of locket for which she’d been searching — large enough for a recognizable photo, ornate without being froo-froo. She pried it apart with her thumbnail; the sides winged open; each held a portrait of a child. Why hadn’t the photos been removed? Forgetfulness? Tragedy?
Her thumb caressed the locket’s edge; the children’s faces made her melancholy. Then, one of the children winked; the mouth of the other twitched. She snicked the locket and her jaw closed in alarm and hurried to the shopkeeper. She held out the locket, opened her mouth, and said,
“I’ll take it.”
Her thumb caressed the locket’s edge; the children’s faces made her melancholy. Then, one of the children winked; the mouth of the other twitched. She snicked the locket and her jaw closed in alarm and hurried to the shopkeeper. She held out the locket, opened her mouth, and said,
“I’ll take it.”
