Cross the Line, Cross Them Out

During the holiday, my six-year-old son received his cleft-lip surgery. He wore a mask and sat quietly in our family bookstore, engrossed in a picture book.

A young man came in, pinching his nose dramatically as he swaggered up to the manager.

"Why did you let someone with an infectious disease in here?" he demanded loudly. "Get them out!"

The manager winced. "Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't have the authority to remove other customers."

Undeterred, the man marched up to me. "Be wise and get out of here. My girlfriend is Imogen Slater, CEO of the Slater Group. You don't want to mess with me."

I froze in stunned silence.

Imogen despised all men except me, and this guy claimed she was his girlfriend.

...

The bookstore manager seized Thomas Morrow's arm, his voice low but firm. "Sir, please keep it down. You're disturbing the other readers."

Thomas's eyebrows twisted into knots of rage. He jerked his arm free with a violent shake, growling, "Didn't you hear me? I'm your boss's boyfriend, and you want me to whisper? I can get you fired in a minute!"

He smoothed the wrinkles from his silk cuffs, then cast a disdainful glance at my simply short-sleeved shirt. "That kid and his father are clearly contagious. Clear the store and sanitize every surface."

His arrogance was staggering.

My son, Simon Hays, hadn't uttered a word or coughed once. He was quietly reading and hadn't affected anyone.

This guy was deliberately causing trouble.

The manager rolled his eyes discreetly, then leaned in close to me and whispered, "Sir, shall we escort this lunatic, who's impersonating you, out of the store?"

I shook my head calmly. The blatant discrimination against Simon already had my blood boiling, but curiosity burned hotter: just how many men did Imogen keep behind my back?

Meeting the man's haughty glare head-on, I fired back, "Wearing a mask means you're infectious? Then your baseball cap must mean you're brain-dead."

Before I could finish, Simon tugged urgently at my sleeve. His eyes were wide with worry, silently pleading for me not to argue. I ruffled his hair reassuringly, but my words ignited Thomas's anger.

In a flash, he yanked Simon's mask off. "My girlfriend owns this bookstore, and I say no masks are allowed!"

Then he flinched, shrieking as if he'd glimpsed something horrific. "What's wrong with his mouth? Is he some kind of freak? Get out of my store!"

I rushed over and shoved him back. "Hands off my son! If you can't speak civilly, then shut your mouth!"

I snatched the mask from his grasp, wrapped Simon in a tight embrace as he trembled violently, and carefully refastened it over his face.

Thomas planted his hands on his hips and bellowed at the staff. "Someone, throw them out!"

The employees stood frozen, their eyes darting nervously toward me.

This fueled his tantrum. "Fine! If no one acts, I'll call my girlfriend right now and have every one of you fired!"