And for the first time in twenty-eight years, I opened my mouth.
“There’s no need to speak to him like that,” I said.
The woman turned on me.
Fast. Like a snake.
She looked me up and down. My old jeans. My Duluth Huskies sweatshirt. My ponytail. My lack of makeup.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“There’s no need to yell at him,” I said. “It was an accident. He said he’s sorry. He’ll clean it up.”
“Excuse me,” the woman said again. Louder. “You didn’t see what happened.”
“I saw you screaming at him.”
“You didn’t see what happened,” she said. “You weren’t here. You don’t know. This—this boy—”
She pointed at Henry.
“—knocked over an entire case of glass bottles. Right next to me. I could’ve been seriously injured.”
“Ma’am, I don’t think—”
“I don’t care what you think,” the woman said. “Mind your own business.”
