Muttering about old people.

My face burned. “Take those out!”

“What’s wrong? They’re practically new.”

“Then wear them.”

“Maybe you should learn some manners.”

“You threw dirty socks into someone’s groceries, and you’re giving lessons in manners?”

Two filthy white socks.

He smirked and headed toward the checkout.

For a moment, I considered leaving.

That’s what I’d done for ten years. Smile, swallow the insult, walk away.

Then I imagined Walter standing beside me.

“Margaret, you’re really going to let that idiot get away with it?”

You should learn some manners.

I almost laughed.

Not this time.

I grabbed a produce bag, picked up the socks without touching them, and followed him outside.

He was loading groceries into a black pickup.

“Sir, you forgot something.”

That’s what I’d done for ten years.

He turned. “Oh, it’s you again.”

I held up the bag. “Would you like me to give these to the store manager?”

“Go ahead. See if anyone cares.”

“Perhaps your customers would.”

He laughed. “Lady, nobody cares about your stupid eggs.”

Not this time.

He climbed into his truck.

That’s when I noticed lettering on the passenger door.

A plumbing company’s name appeared above a phone number.

Beneath it was one word.

Bill.

Nobody cares about your stupid eggs.

“So you’re Bill?”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Nothing, sweetheart. Have a lovely day.”

I returned to the store and asked the manager to preserve the security footage.

“Bill?” he sighed. “His company handles our plumbing.”

I noticed lettering.

“Wonderful. Then he should know socks don’t belong in food.”

He agreed to save the recording.

Outside, I called the number from the truck.

A woman answered. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak with whoever handles complaints.”

His company handles our plumbing.

“That would be me. I’m Linda, Bill’s wife. I handle the office and customer complaints. He’s the owner.”

I explained everything.

A long silence followed.

“Are you certain it was my husband?”

“He confirmed his name. The store has footage.”

I’m Linda, Bill’s wife.

Another pause.

“Would you come to our company’s anniversary celebration tomorrow?” she asked.

“Are you serving scrambled eggs?”

She laughed quietly. “No. But I’d like Bill to hear what you have to say.”

“Why?”

The store has footage.

“I’ve tried talking to him for years. Maybe he’ll listen with witnesses.”

I agreed, although I suspected there was more to her invitation.

I was right.

***

The following afternoon, I entered a banquet hall crowded with nearly eighty people.

Bill stood onstage wearing a navy suit.