The man placed newspaper notices.
He asked anyone who remembered the fire to contact him.
But nobody knew the young woman’s name.
She had been a customer.
She had vanished before anyone could thank her.
“We have a small display upstairs about the fire,” the manager said. “It’s part of our staff training.”
He showed us another photograph.
The green coat.
The crown.
The number 17.
“Every member of our staff was told the story.”
Daniel looked embarrassed.
“I recognized the button. I just couldn’t believe it.”
The manager nodded toward Grandma.
“The woman who wore this coat is a hero to this store.”
Behind us, the rude woman had gone completely silent.
She stared at Grandma.
Then at the photograph.
Her cheeks reddened.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
Grandma barely seemed to hear.
The woman looked down.
“I’m sorry about what I said.”
Grandma gave her a small nod.
The woman glanced at the old photograph.
