“You used half the bottle, didn’t you?”
His face changed.
Barely.
But I had spent seven years raising a son and ten years managing a public library. I knew guilt when it tried to stand still.
“I assumed more soap meant cleaner clothes,” he said.
I closed my eyes.
“Of course you did.”
His eyebrows pulled together. “That’s not correct?”
“No, Mr. Hotel Childhood, that’s not correct.”
He looked down at the detergent bottle like it had lied to him.