“Was there anything in my instructions for tonight that was unclear to you?” he said. Curt. Cold. There’d be no forgiving me anytime soon.
“No, sir,” I answered.
He turned around. “Then being thirty-minutes late would be your thoughtless disobedience, wouldn’t it?”
I wanted to defend myself, especially in front of these strangers, but I had the sense that arguing would just make the scene with Jackson worse. “Yes, sir. But I do have an explanation,” I said, hopefully.
“Was it an emergency?” he asked.
“No, sir.”
“A matter of life and death?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, sir.” I felt as if I were growing tinier by the second.
“An act of God?”
“No, sir.”
I prayed he’d ask, ‘Did your husband call?’ But of course, he didn’t.
“Then you don’t have a justifiable excuse.”
