“It’s not here,” Sara Lindley said as she dug through her purse.

Her husband Alan looked over her shoulder into the bag. “It’s gotta be there somewhere.”

“It’s not,” she told him, her tone of desperation growing. “It’s gone.”

“But you had it earlier.”

“I know I had it earlier. But I’m telling you it’s gone now.”

“Could you have left it somewhere? One of the shops?”

She was already shaking her head before he finished. “I never took it out.”

“Are you sure? Maybe you did but didn’t realize it.”

She looked at him, exasperated. “Now why would I have done that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someone asked you for ID?” he suggested, trying to keep his voice calm. “I’m just trying to think of possibilities.”

Sara closed her eyes and took a breath. “I know. I’m sorry. Here.” She held out the purse to him. “You check.”

Not taking it, he said, “Honey, I believe you.”

“A second set of eyes is always a good thing.”

He almost smiled at that. It was something he’d said to her in the past. He let her give him the purse, then carefully searched through it. She’d been right. Her passport was definitely not there.

“Oh, God,” she said as he handed the bag back to her. “What are we going to do?”

Alan looked at the traffic that was backed up on the road beside them, each car waiting its turn to reenter the United States from Tijuana, Mexico. Unlike those in the vehicles, he and his wife had left their car in a stateside parking lot and walked in.

“Let’s retrace our steps, and see if someone found it,” he suggested. “Maybe you just dropped it somewhere.”

Though the frown on her face made it clear she didn’t think their chances of success were very good, she said, “Okay.”