Brenda came out of the dry storage pantry, her clipboard tucked under her arm. She did not say a word. She just looked at the mess, then looked at me.
“I will clean it,” I said, my voice barely reaching her over the fan.
Toby handed me the plastic broom and the red dustpan without looking at me.
I knelt on the wet tile, the heat from the dish machine pressing against my back. My hands were cold as I began picking up the larger pieces of broken porcelain.
“Use the broom, Cara,” Brenda said from the doorway. “Do not get your blood on my floor.”
I did not look up. I kept my eyes on the white shards, sweeping the last of them into the red bin.
The green sign for Crestview Gold was the only light working on the corner of Market Street when I got off my shift.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of old brass and damp wool. Arthur was sitting behind the high glass counter, a tiny screwdriver in his hand. A yellow microfiber cloth lay next to a tray of pocket watches.
