Paige was driving down a busy four-lane road, horns blaring from somewhere behind her. Faster cars whooshed past, leaving a blast of cold air in their wake. She knew she needed to accelerate to keep up with the flow of traffic, but her foot didn’t seem to cooperate with her decision. “Come on, we’ve got to move a little faster.” She tried again, and this time the car jerked forward.
But now her hands felt shaky. They trembled despite themselves. She looked at the steering wheel and did not recognize the hands that were grasping it. Papery, translucent skin hung in veined wrinkles all over the back of her hands, and the shaking had crept through her body, her arms and legs quivering in rapid jerks.
A car horn blared directly behind her, and she knew she was about to crash. She swerved to the side of the road but turned too hard. She saw a tree trunk directly before her and whipped the wheel back around, and directly toward a green SUV. She saw the huge blue eyes of the toddler in the back seat before she heard the crunch of metal. Suddenly her whole body catapulted toward the broken windshield, and it was the last thing she saw before the world went black.
Paige splashed cold water on her face. “Get a grip, Paige, it was just a dream.” The same dream she had lived through dozens of times. Still, the wrenching of the seizure seemed so real, the smell of hot metal so pungent, how could she just forget it?
She walked back into the living room and sank onto the sofa. The same reality show that she’d been watching before she fell asleep played on the television. Just more women and men scheming against one another. Paige pushed the power button and dropped the remote onto the side table.
A quick glance at the bronze hands of the grandfather clock told her it was only eight p.m. It was time to change the focus back to the here and now, the only thing that really mattered. Her mother. She picked up the phone.
Her father answered on the second ring. “Hello.”
“How are things going?”
He paused a moment before answering. “Best I can tell, things are going according to plan. Your mother’s sicker than all get-out, but I guess that’s what’s supposed to happen, hmm? They pumped her full of some sort of chemo today, and she got her first radiation treatment yesterday.” A mumbling sound came from the background. “Your mother would like to speak to you.”
“Don’t listen to your father’s exaggerations. I’m not too sick.”
She paused a minute and Paige could hear her take a shaky breath. Across the miles, Paige could feel her frailty. Her eyes teared without warning. It was so hard being apart. “You should see me, though. They’ve got me all marked up for my radiation treatments. . . . There are dots and lines all over the place. . . . Looks like a two-year-old got hold of me with a set of markers and tried to play connect the dots.”
Paige choked out a laugh. “Now there’s an idea. Dot to dot on your mother. I never thought of that.” “It’s about the only thing you didn’t think of when you were a kid.” The pauses were agonizing, but Paige knew her mother wanted to talk. She waited. “I never did get the marker stain out of my best tablecloth.”
“Maybe not, but wasn’t I a cute little thing?”
Her mother started a laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Sorry about that.” She coughed again. “I can’t seem to shake this annoying little cough.”
Paige’s fingers tightened around the phone. There was no such thing as an annoying little cough to someone undergoing the kind of treatment her mother was undergoing. Any bacteria, the tiniest of viruses, had the potential to wreak tremendous havoc on a body whose defenses were being decimated by chemo. “Mom, I’m going to let you go rest. Is Dad staying with you at the hospital tonight, or is he going back to the apartment?”
“I think he’s planning to stay here, but I keep telling him to go get a good night’s sleep. Nobody listens to me anymore.”
Paige’s father came on the line. “I told her, for the first time in our lives, you and I have a choice in the matter. Personally, I plan to take the chance while I’ve got it. Soon as she feels better, she’ll be bossing us all around again.”
Paige could hear her mother saying something in the background. She was glad to know that cancer had not taken the good-natured teasing from her parents.
Not yet at least.
“Morning, young ’un. How are ya?”
Paige smiled at Ora as they walked into the lobby together. “Fine.” She fumbled through her purse for the keys and thought of the upbeat tone in her mother’s voice the night before. She was determined to let that memory overtake the return of the recurrent nightmare. “Quite good, actually.”
“That sounds promising.” Ora’s boots clacked against the floor as they walked. “And that looks promising. Hello there, young man.
You look like you’ve got something on your mind.”
Paige looked up to see Cory standing at the pharmacy door, looking from Paige to Ora then back again. “I . . . uh . . .” He shifted on his feet but didn’t continue.
“Does your mom need a refill?”
“Not exactly.”
Ora pulled gently on his arm. “You need to scoot, she can’t open the door while you’re standing there.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry.” He moved two steps to the right.
Although Cory was not particularly a quiet person, in Ora’s presence, he seemed downright tongue-tied.
Paige opened the door, killed the alarm, then wondered what she should do. He obviously needed something.
Ora glanced toward him. “Well, young man, you coming in or not? Paige needs to lock the door behind us. Too early for customers, you know.”
Cory followed obediently, looking suspiciously at Ora. “Aren’t you a customer?”
She plopped into her seat in the waiting area. “Of course not. The pharmacy doesn’t open for another hour. How rude do you think I am?”
Paige would have given money to read Cory’s thoughts at that question. His face had gone bright red. “Well, I . . . I . . . probably need to get going.”
Ora crossed her arms, her lips set firm. “Nonsense. You came here for some reason, right? Get on with it. Don’t mind me. I’m just waiting for my coffee.”
“Your coffee?”
“Yep. Name’s Ora Vaerge, by the way.” She extended a hand.
Cory shook it. “Uh, pleased to meet you. Cory Griffin’s mine.”
“You like coffee, Cory? Paige always makes a pot.” She looked over his shoulder toward Paige. “Go ahead and get it started. I’ll keep young Cory company in the meanwhile.”
Paige held her giggle until she got to the coffeepot, then allowed her shoulders to shake with the force of it. It took all of her willpower to remain focused on coffee making. She really wanted to watch the exchange that was taking place behind her.
When the Mr. Coffee started sputtering, she walked out to the front in time to hear Ora saying, “I drink a cup with her every morning. She doesn’t make very good coffee, but I’m working with her on it.”
Paige laughed outright this time. “What can I say? I’m a slow learner.” She looked at Cory. “Sorry to keep you waiting. What’s up?”
“I . . . uh . . .” He looked toward Ora. She tilted her head ever so slightly toward Paige.
He licked his lips. “There’s a new deli on the other side of the square. You want to try it at lunch?”
Ora shifted in her seat. “Kids these days. No idea how to ask a girl for a date.”
Paige willed the earth to open up and swallow her right then. Could this be any more embarrassing? She looked at poor Cory and realized it was even worse for him. “Well . . . sure. I usually take my break about noon.”
“I can go anytime. Why don’t you just come find me upstairs when you’re ready?”
She nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
“Okay, see you then.” Cory nodded toward Ora, then walked out of the store.
Ora cackled. “That one’s got it bad, I’d say. Anytime they lose their tongue like that, you can count on it.”
“You’re the one who intimidated him into silence, not me.”
“Girl, you need to open your eyes.” Ora set down her cup. “I’d say he’s a prime candidate for the mystery flower man. Wouldn’t you?”
“You gave me the wrong stuff.”
Only the fourth customer of the day and disaster loomed. Paige felt her breath go shallow, her blood leave her hands as she looked at the middle-aged woman who stood across the counter. She wished the robot Paige would take over as she had once before. Today . . . the robot did not come to help. It was the flesh and blood Paige, the one who was terrified. Alone. Put on a professional face, be courteous, get to the truth. Deep breath. “What seems to be the problem?” Her voice caught twice in the short sentence.
The woman smelled of sweat and fried foods, and she ran her fingers through her short, dirty curls. “I said—” her voice grew louder with each syllable “—you folks gave me the wrong thing. Like to have killed me, is what you did.”
Stay calm. Be professional. Turn and run. Paige somehow managed to shut off the last voice and reached out her hand. “May I see that?”
The woman pulled her hand back. “You ain’t taking it from me.
I might want to show it to my lawyer, and this here is evidence.”
“I promise I’ll give it back to you, just let me take a look.”
The woman finally handed the bottle to Paige.
Take one tablet daily. Zebeta 10 mg.
Paige opened the container and saw the white, heart-shaped tablets with B3 on one side. She looked at the name on the prescription label. “Ms. Feldhouse, this is Zebeta 10 mg in your bottle. This is the correct medication.”
“No it’s NOT! I felt all light-headed this morning.”
Warmth seeped back into Paige’s fingers. This was not about mistakes. “That can be a side effect with Zebeta—most beta-blockers, in fact.”
“I’m sure you’re right. And if I needed a . . . whatever block, I’m sure I’d have to deal with that. But I don’t need no block.”
“Your doctor must think—”
“My doctor does think, you’re right about that. I went to see my doctor this morning. He says this stuff you gave me is for blood pressure. My blood pressure’s just fine—in fact he says that’s the reason I’m dizzy, because it’s too low after this stuff you gave me.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I have high cholesterol. You were supposed to give me THIS.” She thrust a piece of paper in Paige’s face with the words Zetia 10 mg written on it.
Paige’s stomach knotted. “Ms. Feldhouse, why don’t you have a seat. I’ll pull out the prescription and call your doctor’s office. We’ll get this all straightened out.”
“Get your mistake straightened out. Yeah, why don’t you do that.” The woman remained at the counter. Paige frantically ran to the filing cabinet, praying that she would find the doctor’s handwritten prescription that called for Zebeta. She could show Ms. Feldhouse that the mistake was his, not theirs, call the office, get everything worked out. Soon she’d be going about her day, perhaps even with an apology from Ms. Feldhouse for being so rude.
She fingered through the numbered files until she pulled out the 25200 file. She set it on the counter and looked through until she found 25232. When she saw what was on the paper, she concentrated all her efforts on keeping her knees locked and her self upright.
The order had been called in to the pharmacy two days ago, taken on one of their blank pads. The handwriting was not Paige’s, for that she was thankful. But she also knew that it did not belong to Clarissa. That left one alternative.
Clarissa’s eyes looked red when she came into work that morning. “I think I’m catching a cold,” she sniffled and put her purse away.
Paige didn’t care if Clarissa had the pneumonia at this point.
But she knew she needed to wait until Dawn wasn’t around before she asked Clarissa about the prescription.
“Can I pay for this back here?” A teenager stood at the pharmacy counter, holding up a bottle of vitamins in her hand.
“Sure you can.” Dawn bounced down to the cash register and took the bottle from her hands.
Time to act. “Clarissa, I’ve got to talk to you.”
“So talk.”
“Ms. Feldhouse came in this morning with a bottle full of Zebeta 10 mg. She’d been taking it a couple of days and felt a little light-headed.”
“Yeah, that’s a common side effect.”
“But this side effect was caused because she was taking an anti-hypertensive when she was supposed to be taking Zetia for her lipids.”
“What’d the doctor write for?”
“He didn’t write for it. He called it in.”
“Well, then it’s his word against ours. The doctor can say what he believes he called in, and no one can prove he did or he didn’t.
That’s the unfairness of it all. She’s all right, right? Ms. Feldhouse, I mean?”
“Yes, she is all right. But Clarissa . . .”
“What?”
“That prescription was phoned in on Tuesday. The handwriting belongs to Dawn. You promised me you wouldn’t leave Dawn alone anymore.”
“What, are you a handwriting expert now or something?”
“Come on, it doesn’t take a genius to recognize Dawn’s loopy cursive, especially since you always print.”
Clarissa crossed her arms. “Yeesh. Are we getting a little worked up here?”
“Yes, I’m worked up. It’s illegal, it’s unethical, and besides that it’s just plain wrong and you know it. There are reasons that only a pharmacist is supposed to take a phoned prescription. Someone could get hurt. Clarissa, if this happens again I’ll have no choice but to call Gary Powell and tell him what’s going on.”
“You can tell him how you lied to him the first time while you’re at it.” Clarissa’s cell phone chirped in her pocket. She pulled it out and looked at the display. “I need to take this.” She walked to the back room.
Dawn tried to concentrate on her work, but given Clarissa’s current mood it was difficult. Something had happened this morning, and Dawn hadn’t quite figured it out yet. Clarissa acted all nicey-nicey when Paige was around, smiling at her, talking to her, teasing her about some apparent dinner with her uncle. But as soon as Paige was out of earshot, Clarissa was nastier than ever. Dawn understood why Clarissa first disliked Paige—Clarissa’s grandfather had hired someone without even consulting her, for crying out loud—but she didn’t understand why the anger continued, and now seemed to grow worse. Given all the hours Clarissa had been working, you’d think she’d be a little more grateful for the help.
Clarissa sank into a chair. “That’s what I hate about retail. One minute you’re so busy you can’t even breathe. The next, there’s nobody here at all.” She squeezed her shoulder blades together. “All this standing makes my back hurt.”
Dawn stretched and picked up a refill label. “I know what you mean.”
“I wonder what’s taking Perky Paige so long. I’ve never seen her take more than fifteen minutes for lunch.”
“Oh, I bet she’ll take the whole time today. I saw her leaving with that Cory guy from upstairs.”
“What?” Clarissa tossed a paper clip across the counter. “I hate this place.”
Dawn stared at her, hoping to find some piece of this puzzle that was Clarissa’s mood today. She saw nothing. “You okay?”
“Peachy.” Clarissa went to the sink and washed her hands.
Paige walked into the pharmacy, carrying a single long-stemmed pink rose. She put the flower in a water bottle and put it on the front counter, humming beneath her breath.
Clarissa walked over and pretended to smell it, but Dawn had the distinct impression she wanted to grind the petals beneath her feet. “My, my. Yet another flower for our darling little Paige? Everyone loves Paige, don’t they?”
Paige stepped back and looked at her. “Clarissa, are you all right?”
Clarissa smiled and batted her eyes. “Just peachy. How about you?”
“I’ve got some not so great news.”
Paige rarely answered her cell at work, but when she’d seen her father’s name on the caller ID she panicked. His voice, though they’d just talked last night, had lost all its levity. She had noticed the change over the last few days. The strength seemed to be oozing out of him, like a slow bleed that could not be stopped. “What is it?”
“Your mom’s blood test came back positive for RSV. Stands for respiratory . . .”
“Respiratory Syncytial Virus.” Paige knew what it was. The infection would manifest itself as nothing more than a bad cold in a healthy adult, but in infants or people with compromised immune systems, from chemo, say, it could be deadly. Just the thought of her mother gasping for breath made Paige’s own lungs burn. “Is she having trouble breathing?”
“Not yet. Still just that same little cough she’s had for a while now. Seems to feel okay other than being sick from the chemo. She’s still upbeat as ever.”
“What are they doing for her?”
“Well, they’re putting her in this tent for a few hours at a time and giving her some sort of medicine through the air in there.”
“Can I speak to her?”
“I’m back at the apartment. They don’t want me in the room while they’re doing the tent treatment, I don’t really understand why. Even when they’re done I have to wear this big yellow gown and mask. I look like a giant banana when I go into her room. They said I can get—whatever it is she’s got—and even though it wouldn’t hurt me, I can spread it to other patients around here. They told me I might as well sleep back in the apartment because they’re going to come in and kick me out every few hours anyway, so that’s what I’m doing. Sitting here and waiting.”
“I know how that feels.”
“I never realized just how bad it was for you to be back there, just waiting for information, not being able to do anything about anything, until today. I’ve felt so helpless here all afternoon. I’ve taken to watching televangelists just to fill the time.”
“Oh, Daddy. What are we going to do?”
“Just keep praying. That’s all we can do. Doctor says it’s a good thing we caught it early—should only need treatment for a few days.”
“That’s good, at least.”
“Yeah. She wanted me to ask you how things are going. She’s so worried about you.”
“Worried about me? With everything she’s got going on?” Paige knew her mother well enough to know it was true. “She never thinks about herself, does she?”
“Honey, as far as she’s concerned, you are herself. You’re what she’s leaving behind when she goes—whether this cancer takes her or old age.”
“I vote for old age.”
“You and me both.”
Clarissa looked around at the pharmacy she’d built. Here, after closing, was when she loved it the most. The peace and quiet after a day hard fought.
She was going to show them all. She was the best person to run any pharmacy, and it was time everyone realized that. But she needed to take steps to protect herself. She couldn’t have Paige going to the board because of something as idiotic as a five-minute break.
Time to take the offensive. She pulled out a clean yellow legal pad and rubbed her hand across the smoothness of the top page.
“You are my new best friend.”
She sat at the desk and tapped the pencil on her chin. Let’s see, what should I write up first?