He walked past her.
He walked straight to Henry.
“Henry,” he said quietly. “Are you hurt?”
Henry shook his head.
“Did you get cut? Any glass?”
“No,” Henry whispered.
“You sure?”
Henry nodded.
Terrence looked at him for a long moment.
“Henry,” he said. “Did you knock over the cart?”
Henry looked at the broken glass.
His chin was trembling.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I was on the ladder. I heard it fall. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I bumped it. Maybe I didn’t set the brake right.”
He was crying.
“I’m sorry, Terrence,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I’m really careful. I’m always really careful. I don’t know what happened.”
Maybe I bumped it.
He didn’t even know.
He was taking the blame for something he didn’t do. Because she told him he did it. Because she said it loud enough. Because he’d probably been told his whole life that when something goes wrong, it’s his fault.
