“Let’s find out, sweetheart,” I said, taking her hand tightly in mine.
We started walking toward the customer service desk at the front of the store. A bitter voice inside my head whispered that I was being a fool because nobody ever handed me anything in this life. But then my mother’s voice rang clearer in my memory, reminding me that we don’t take what isn’t ours. I asked myself if I was really going to start stealing at seventy years old with my granddaughter watching me.
Right as we reached the front, a woman burst through the sliding double doors. She was in her mid-forties, mascara was running down her cheeks, and one of her sneaker laces was untied. She glanced frantically over her shoulder like someone was chasing her down the street.
“Please! Has anyone turned in a diamond ring?” she shouted at the employees. “I was right here twenty minutes ago!”
