She was shouting loud enough for half the store to hear.
People were coming. From the other aisles. An older man with a shopping basket. A young mother pushing a cart with a toddler in it. Two teenagers. A guy in a Carhartt jacket.
They stood at the ends of the aisle.
Watching.
Nobody said anything.
“Look at this mess,” the woman said. To the people watching. Like she was presenting evidence. “Look at it. Eight bottles. Glass everywhere. I could have been cut. My shoes could have been ruined.”
She turned back to Henry.
“Do you even know how dangerous this is? Do you even understand what you did? Can you understand?”
Can you understand.
Slow. Loud. Every word separated. The way people talk to small children. Or dogs.
Or people they don’t think are people.
Henry’s face went red.
He looked down at the broken glass. At his wet sneakers.
