He stepped out, adjusted his jacket, and walked toward the glass doors. His first thought was not for the manager or the company's reputation. It was for Willa. He had been called to that store as a son, and that remained the most important part of his identity no matter what his business card said.
Derek saw him through the entrance before anyone else announced his arrival. He noticed the tailored suit, the calm walk, and the apparent wealth. In the half minute it took Terrence to reach the door, Derek constructed a new approach. This must be the woman's son or another relative, he thought, perhaps someone successful enough to be embarrassed by the situation. If he offered a polished explanation and a discreet exit, perhaps the man would persuade Willa to leave and keep the matter private.
Derek moved into his path with one hand extended. "Sir, I'm Derek Caldwell, the manager. I'm glad you're here. We've been dealing with a difficult situation involving the lady at the jewelry counter, and I'd appreciate a moment to explain."
Terrence did not shake his hand. He saw the wheelchair beyond Derek's shoulder, the white hair beneath the chandeliers, and Nadine leaning close to his mother. He walked straight past the extended hand without answering. Several employees turned as he crossed the department. The store had never seemed longer to him than it did during those few steps.
He stopped beside Willa and knelt on the marble. His trousers pressed against the cold floor. "Mom," he said.
Willa looked up and gave him a tired smile. "I told you not to rush."
"You told me to come." His voice was gentle. "Are you all right?"
"I'm here. Nadine's been looking after me."
He saw the swollen knuckles against her blouse. "What happened to your hand?"
Willa did not answer at once. She had never liked burdening him with her difficulties, and old habits were hard to put aside even when the evidence was visible. Terrence reached for her good hand first, then carefully examined the injured one with her permission. She flinched at the smallest movement. His stomach tightened, but he kept his expression steady for her sake.
"I need a doctor to look at that," he said.
"After we finish here," Willa replied.
He gave a short, incredulous breath. "Mom, what could possibly be more important than—"
"Amara's present," she said. Her voice was quiet but firm. "I came for one thing, and I'd like the chance to buy it. Then we can go anywhere you want."
Terrence stared at her. He remembered her making the long trip to choose school shoes for him when he was a boy, examining the soles because she did not want him to slip on wet sidewalks. He remembered birthdays she arranged even when the store was struggling. He understood that the pendant was not simply a necklace to her. It was proof that her body, her illness, and the world's impatience had not taken away the ability to do something loving for her granddaughter.