The wheels of Joan’s stroller wobble as she pushes her way over the worn-out carpet. She pauses by the hallway bookshelf, looks down at the loaded shelves, and takes a few seconds to catch her breath.
Thirty copies of Abroad Horizons sit there, abandoned—much like Joan. Fading spines hold well-thumbed pages in place; suncream-smudged fingerprints still visible. The scribbled notes, once significant, bind the disappearing memories of her youth. Locations have merged in her mind; the only order now remaining, alphabetical.
She shuffles on and flops heavily into her high-backed chair, thankful that she has survived one more treacherous journey.