It’s been two weeks since my last crying jag in the washroom in the back office of the store, and there have been a total of thirteen days without incident.
Noah’s made sure of it, in his own, odd way.
We’re going on day fourteen, and I don’t know if I’m going to make it.
Noah’s taken care of talking with Anthony Ricci, the new building manager. The guy has even passed by a few times in the past couple of weeks to walk around the store and familiarize himself with our retail space, including today.
The guy’s smarmy with his expensive-looking suits and his too-shiny shoes. He looks around the store like he already owns it, like Mrs. Bristol hasn’t paid a dime in rent since the store was opened. I don’t like him, at all, and I’m thankful that Noah’s been talking with him more than I hav
