Terrence’s face changed.
Instantly. The polite manager face fell away.
“Henry?” he said.
“Henry.”
“Is he okay?”
“He’s crying,” I said. “She’s demanding you fire him. She says he knocked over a cart of juice bottles.”
Terrence was already moving.
He grabbed a radio off his desk. He pressed the button.
“Gloria, I need a mop and a broom in aisle seven. Glass cleanup. And somebody stand with Henry. Don’t leave him alone. I’m on my way.”
He started past me toward the door.
“Wait,” I said.
He stopped.
“There’s something you need to know first,” I said. “Before you go back there.”
Terrence looked at me.
“My daughter saw it happen,” I said. “The whole thing. From the cereal aisle. Through the gap in the end cap.”
I looked down at Zoe.
“Tell him, Zoe,” I said.
Zoe looked up at Terrence.
Way up. He’s six-three.
