Show, The by John A. Heldt

think about how she was going to find a man named Smith in a metropolitan area of nearly three million people.
    She knew that finding Joel would not be easy and kicked herself for not making it easier. Had she had December 8 to do over again, she would have raced to the mine at dawn and waited him out for the rest of the day. But she didn't have December 8 to do over again. She didn't have May 29 to do over either. She only had the future, and she vowed to make the most of it.
    When Grace boarded the bus in Missoula at nine fifteen, she found it nearly full. She could not believe that so many people would choose to ride a bus in an age when seemingly everyone had a car. But she understood that some could not afford a car. Some could not afford their next meal. Grace reached into a pocket, fingered her financial assets, which now included two of the golden Sacagawea dollars, and wondered how many more meals she could afford.
    Grace scanned the interior of the bus and saw a few empty seats near the back but decided to pass them up in favor of something closer. She approached an elderly woman who occupied a place reserved for handicapped passengers. A large purse sat atop the aisle seat next to her.
    "Is this seat taken?" Grace asked.
    "It is now," the woman said. "Make yourself comfortable."
    "Thank you."
    Grace draped her coat over the seat and made herself comfortable.
    "Thanks again. I didn't really want to sit next to those rough-looking men in back."
    "Nor did I, dear, and I didn't want them sitting next to me . That's why I put the purse on the seat. It works every time."
    Grace laughed.
    "That's smart thinking."
    "I think so."
    Grace settled into her seat and kept to herself for a few minutes as the bus navigated its way through a business route to a freeway interchange and Interstate 90. She glanced out a window and admired the scenery, including a sunset over the Bitterroot Mountains, before returning her attention to the elderly woman clutching her purse.
    "My name is Grace, by the way. Grace Vandenberg."
    "It's nice to meet you, Grace. I'm Penelope Price."
    "Where are you traveling to?"
    "Seattle. It's where I live," the old woman said. "I came to Missoula to visit my granddaughter. She is a professor at the university. What about you?"
    "I'm going to Seattle as well."
    "Do you have family there?"
    Grace looked away and smiled sadly as she thought of the question. She did have family there – and friends. But they were family and friends that she would probably never see again. She missed Aunt Edith, Ginny, and Katie and wondered for the umpteenth time that day whether she had done the right thing. Leaving them so abruptly had been cruel. She had thought only of her happiness and a young man she may never find.
    "I used to, but not anymore. I'm going to the city to look for a boy."
    Penelope laughed.
    "Aren't we all, dear? Aren't we all?"
    The old woman patted Grace's knee and then repositioned her tiny frame in the seat. She had already wedged a cane between her window seat and the side of the bus. When she returned to her youthful traveling partner, she looked at her with inquisitive eyes.
    "I love your attire," Penelope said. "I haven't seen a gingham dress in a long time. It reminds me of outfits I wore in the forties."
    Grace smiled.
    It reminds me of outfits I wore last week.
    "I know it's not in tune with the times, but I like it. I like dresses. I'm very old-fashioned when it comes to clothing."
    "Well, there's nothing wrong with that. I wish more people did the same. Some of the clothes that youngsters wear today are positively dreadful."
    Penelope flipped on her overhead reading light, reached into her purse, and sifted through an assortment of papers, cosmetics, and other small belongings that looked like it had not been organized in twenty years. She pulled out a snapshot of a teenage boy wearing a football jersey, sunglasses, and low-hanging baggy pants. He positioned his hands and extended fingers at