Abby
Once the health inspector has his samples, I see him and Mr. Thompson off at the door. Mr. Thompson gives me that disappointed look of his again, and it makes my heart sink even further than it already has.
“The tests should come back from the lab within a week,” the health inspector, Mr. Harrison, says in that matter-of-fact tone. “For now, you are formally requested to close your restaurant.”
Without another word, he hands me an official health department notice that I’m to put up in the restaurant window. My hands shake as I take it, and my eyes fill with tears. The health inspector walks away, leaving just me and Mr. Thompson in his wake, standing in the doorway of my restaurant.
“Mr. Thompson, I—”
“Abby,” he interrupts coldly, “if you receive any requests for interviews, ple
