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Days later, I was asked to come in early. Mr. Sterling had called me at eight in the morning, his voice sounding uncharacteristically grave, and told me to be at the shop by nine sharp. I spent the bus ride over chewing on my fingernails, wondering if he’d seen the footage on the security cameras and was now holding a disciplinary hearing. I was convinced I was about to be fired for letting a “thief” walk out the door, even if I had paid for the merchandise. I walked into the shop, the smell of fresh roses and damp earth hitting me, and saw two adults waiting by the counter, their presence casting an ominous weight over the floral displays.
