Maybe corporate was looking for an excuse to reduce staff.
I couldn’t lose my job.
Not with Mom’s medication and the electric bill.
Not with my car barely running.
By the time I reached Mike’s office, my palms were damp.
I knocked.
“Come in.”
Mike was sitting behind his desk with a plain white envelope under his folded hands.
His reading glasses rested on his forehead.
He didn’t look angry.
He looked unsettled.
“Close the door, Hale.”
I obeyed.
“Sit down.”
I stayed standing.
“Mike, if this is about the woman yesterday, I know I shouldn’t have done it. But she had two babies, and she couldn’t afford the diapers, and I used my own card—”
“Hale.”
“I didn’t take anything from the register, so I thought—”
“Rachel.”
I stopped.
Mike almost never used my first name.
He studied me carefully.
“Yesterday, you helped a young woman with twin boys, didn’t you?”
I nodded.
“She couldn’t pay for everything, and you covered the difference?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the envelope.
Then held it out.
“She returned after your shift ended.”
I stared.
“She came back?”
“Just after ten. She asked me to give you this.”
On the front, written neatly, were the words:
**For Rachel, the cashier at register three. Please.**
The final word had been underlined twice.
