He took the box.
He held it against his chest.
“Thank you, Zoe,” he said.
I was standing by the end cap. Watching.
I couldn’t move.
I was watching my ten-year-old daughter do the thing I couldn’t do when I was thirteen.
She walked up to him. She said her name. She said his.
She didn’t pretend she didn’t know him.
Terrence came back out of the office.
He walked over to Henry.
“Henry,” he said. “Why don’t you take the rest of the day? Paid. Go home. Rest. Call your mom.”
Henry shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I want to finish.”
“Henry—”
“I want to finish the juice,” Henry said. “The shelf’s still empty. Somebody needs cranberry. That’s why she was mad. The shelf was empty.”
He looked at the broken glass. At the empty top shelf.
“I want to finish,” he said again.
