Chapter 5
The four missing entries became eleven.
Monica called me back to the regional office and showed me copies of repair forms, with the customer names covered. She wasn’t asking me to investigate. She wanted to know which pieces I had handled and who had given me instructions.
I recognized a watch with a cracked face.
“I took this in,” I said. “Mr. Hale told me the customer never collected it.”
“Did you contact the customer?”
“He said he had.”
I recognized two rings. I had written their descriptions in our intake book, then left them in the locked drawer where repairs waited for pickup.
My signature appeared on the original forms. It did not appear on the cancellation notes.
Monica did not tell me what she had found elsewhere. She asked for my account and thanked me.
When I got outside, I called Priya. She was working in another branch while our store’s records were reviewed.
“I keep remembering things,” I said.
“Me too.”
“Why didn’t we question him?”
“I did, once,” she said. “He took me off the schedule for three days.”
I remembered her calling in sick that week. I had complained about covering her shifts.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“You didn’t know why I was gone.”
“I could’ve asked.”
She gave a small, sad laugh. “You sound like me now.”
That evening, my mother came by with groceries. She found me sitting at the table beside a stack of notes.
“You haven’t been eating properly,” she said.
She put bread, soup, and apples on the counter. Then she saw the notes.
“Is all that about Richard?”
“Some.”
“He says they’re accusing him of stealing.”
“I don’t know what the investigation will find.”
“He hired you when nobody else would.”
“I’m grateful he hired me. That doesn’t decide whether what he did was right.”
Mom opened the soup. She moved as though she knew exactly where every pot belonged, even though I had lived on my own for years.
“I saw him at church,” she said. “He looked awful.”
“I expect he’s worried.”
She faced me. “And what about you? You might lose your apartment. I offered to call Elijah Sterling.”
“Please don’t.”
“I could explain what kind of person you are.”
“I’m the person who said those things to him.”
“You’re my daughter.”
“I know. I need you to hear what I did.”
She put the can down.
I told her about Mr. Sterling’s arm. I told her about Mrs. Brooks making three trips for her locket. I told her how I had answered the young father who wanted earrings for his daughter.
Mom listened. At first, she looked ready to interrupt. Then she sat across from me.
“I’ve said things like that about who belongs in a shop,” she admitted. “I said them around you.”
“Yes.”
“I thought I was teaching you how to be careful.”
“I learned it.”
We stayed quiet. I did not want to make her the reason for my choices, and I could see that she knew it.
“I’m sorry,” she said at last.
“I am too.”
We ate the soup together. Before she left, she asked whether I wanted to stay with her if my income stopped. I said I might need to. She told me the spare room was ready.
The next day, Mr. Sterling’s daughter called. Her name was Simone. She oversaw customer relations for the company and wanted my account of the incident in my own words.
I told her.
“Did my father say anything cruel to you?” she asked.
“No.”
“He came home exhausted. My daughter asked why he looked sad on her graduation day.”
I gripped the phone.
“Did she get to wear the necklace?”
“Yes. He fastened it for her himself.”
I was glad for that, though it did nothing to change what I had done.
Simone told me the company had begun contacting customers whose repair records needed checking. She could not share details of the investigation. She wanted me to know that employee relations would make a decision about my position soon.
“I understand.”
Before ending the call, she asked one more question.
“When my father told you who he was, would you have apologized if he had been an ordinary customer?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it.
At the store, I had apologized after hearing his name. I had not said sorry while he stood in front of me asking to see a necklace.
“I can’t honestly say I would have,” I told her.
“Thank you for answering.”
After we hung up, I wrote that question on a piece of paper and left it beside my phone.
An hour later, Monica called.
May you like
“Claire, we’ve made a decision about your employment.”
I stood before she said the next words, as though being on my feet would help me bear them.
