Gary Darby came hustling up from the customer service desk. He’s the store manager. Forty-four, khaki pants, a lanyard with about thirty keys on it. He’d been manager for two years and he liked to say that the customer is always right, usually right before he did something wrong.
“What’s going on here?”
“Your employee won’t let me leave with my daughter,” Wayne said. He was loud now. Hurt. Offended. A good performance. “I showed her my license. I showed her the birth certificate. She’s accusing me of, what, kidnapping my own kid?”
Darby looked at the license. He looked at the birth certificate. He looked at me.
“Loretta. What are you doing?”
“Mr. Darby, that little girl comes in every Saturday with her mother. She just told me that’s not her daddy. She’s scared to death. Look at her.”
Quinn had started to cry now. Really cry. That hiccupping cry little ones do when they’ve been holding it in too long.
“Kids say all kinds of things when they’re tired,” Darby said. “He’s got ID. He’s got her birth certificate. He’s her father, Loretta.”
“Then he won’t mind waiting five minutes while we call the police and make sure.”
Wayne Haller’s face changed. Just for a second. Just a flicker. If I hadn’t been looking right at him, I would’ve missed it.
But I saw it. It was fear.
“I’m not waiting for anything,” he said. “Get out of my way.”
“Loretta.” Darby’s voice went hard. “Step aside. Now. That’s a direct instruction. Company policy. We do not detain customers. We do not accuse customers. You are going to get us sued.”
I looked at Quinn. She was looking at me like I was the last lifeboat on the ocean.
“Mr. Darby,” I said, “please call the police.”
“I’m not calling anybody. Step aside or you’re done here.”
I’d worked at that store for nine years. I’d never been late. Never called in sick except the week of my gallbladder surgery. I’d never once been written up.
I stepped aside.
God forgive me, I stepped aside. And I’ll tell you why. Because there were two automatic doors, and I couldn’t block both. Because Wayne Haller was already turning toward the other one. Because Gary Darby had his hand on my elbow, pulling me back.
And because I already knew what I was going to do next.
Ethan Blake is a skilled Creative Content Specialist with a talent for crafting engaging and thought-provoking narratives. With a strong background in storytelling and digital content creation, Ethan brings a unique perspective to his role at TheArchivists, where he curates and produces captivating content for a global audience.
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