I returned to work that following Monday looking for Eileen.
I spend the better part of the morning bagging the groceries of middleaged housewives in housecoats and sensible black shoes heavier than my own glancing over at the oaken door of Mr. Hennessy's office wondering if she was busy with some inventory records or some other task. But she never appeared. In fact I never saw her again. Just before my lunch break Mr. Hennessy called me into his office.
There were cigarette butts crushed into the dust-laden floorboards. I could smell his cologne and it was nauseous.
“You’re through here” he said. That was it.
I pushed open the heavy door and walking past the curious eyes of the other employees stepped out.