“It isn’t a complaint.”
Marcus waited.
“I owe her an apology.”
That surprised him.
Patricia continued:
“And the woman with the child’s cake.”
Marcus’s face softened slightly.
“She isn’t here.”
“I assumed.”
Patricia looked down.
“I behaved terribly.”
Marcus said nothing.
“I have spent the weekend trying to explain it to myself.”
She gave a humorless laugh.
“I haven’t found an explanation that makes me look better.”
“That’s usually how those work.”
Patricia looked up.
“Is Tasha here?”
Marcus called her.
Tasha approached cautiously.
When she saw Patricia, her body stiffened.
Patricia noticed.
That alone made the shame worse.
A twenty-three-year-old supermarket cashier was bracing herself merely because Patricia had walked into the building.
Patricia held up both hands.
“I’m not here to complain.”
Tasha said nothing.
“I came to apologize.”
Tasha’s eyebrows rose.
Patricia swallowed.
“You were doing your job.”
“Yes.”
“And I tried to punish you for doing it.”
Tasha looked at Marcus.
Then back.
Patricia continued:
“The cake was not mine.”
Tasha almost smiled.
“No.”
“I knew that before the label proved it.”
That surprised Tasha.
Patricia looked toward the bakery shelves.
“The mother described the cake.”
“Her candles were in the cart.”
“She looked exhausted.”
“I knew.”
“Maybe not with absolute certainty.”
“But enough.”
Tasha asked quietly:
“Why didn’t you give it back?”
Patricia thought about lying.
Pride.
Misunderstanding.
Stress.
Bad day.
All true in some tiny way.
None sufficient.
Finally:
“Because I didn’t want to lose.”
Tasha stared.
Patricia’s eyes filled unexpectedly.
“It sounds pathetic when I say it.”
Tasha’s voice softened.
“It sounds honest.”
Patricia nodded.
She placed an envelope on the counter.
“What’s that?”
“Forty dollars.”
Tasha immediately shook her head.
“No.”
“For the mother.”
“The store refunded her.”
Patricia paused.
“You know her?”
“She came back yesterday.”
Tasha smiled.
“Her son loved the cake.”
Patricia closed her eyes briefly.
Relief.
She had not expected relief.
But there it was.
“Good.”
She picked up the envelope.
Then hesitated.
“Could I leave something else?”
“What?”
“A note.”
Tasha looked at Marcus.
He shrugged.
Patricia wrote.
Three sentences.
No justification.
No request for forgiveness.