An hour ago, I stood in the shop next door to get my lunch. I wasn't in the mood for the soup du jour, so I ordered a sandwich. While I waited, I wandered through the used books.

A cover caught my eye: Ann Beattie's "Another You." The cover shows a woman from the mouth down. Her photo is broken into two sections, with the bottom moved far to the side of the top, like the magician's sequined assistant.

The book still has its original price sticker. "The Book Cellar. RDU Airport. $8.00."

Someone bought this book for a flight. For one day, someone chose Ann Beattie as their companion. For one day, someone loved her in silence. And then, on returning home, discarded her on a shelf, only to dispose of her much later.

I bought her for a dollar.

I'd like to think I'm saving her. I'd like to think with me she will know again what she once did. But that's not true.

I'll take her home and discard her on a shelf of my own. For one day, someone loved her. But I won't even pretend.