Lovesick (24 page)

“Poor thing,” Cookie cries.

Her compassion takes me by surprise.

“Don’t you worry,” Sid comforts his wife. “She’s fine. Look.”

He’s right. The puppy regains her bearings and races off.

If it were up to Cookie, she would avoid even the simplest pleasantries, but Belinda won’t have it. Belinda provokes Cookie out of sport.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Brewster. Lovely to see you,” Belinda says, accentuating every word as she ducks down to make eye contact with Cookie.

Cookie takes a red plastic shopping basket.

“You should have that looked at,” Cookie says casually of Belinda’s lip ring. “It looks infected to me, unless that blister’s always been there.”

Belinda narrows her eyes. Then gives Cookie a forced smile.

Sid is early. He’s carrying a small brown box, not so unlike the anonymous packages piled up right behind me in the corner. He brazenly hands me the contraband right in front of Lara; thankfully, she’s too self-involved to notice. Then he gives me a long, hard wink and takes his favorite seat at the lunch counter while Cookie shops.

“How is your sister feeling?” Sid asks Lara.

“She’s doing okay,” Lara answers. “Everybody is always so worried about Paige. I’m coping here, too,” she mumbles.

“Of course I want to know how you’re doing, too, honey. I thought because you’re the big sister and all …”

“Sid, lemme ask you a question,” I say suddenly. “Why don’t you get your medication from the VA Hospital?”

“What? My money’s no good here?” he asks.

“What money?” Lara mutters.

“All I’m saying is the Veterans Affairs Hospital is literally one town over and you’d get most of your meds for free.”

“It’s a hassle,” he says, swatting the idea away like a fly.

“Uh-huh,” I patronize him.

“I’m not going to make Cookie drive me there every time. Plus I don’t like their doctors,” he complains, “and they force those generic pills down your throat.”

“The horror!” I yell, pushing past Lara to get ointment from the far corner. “If you change your mind, I’m here for you, Sid, and I’d be happy to drive you.”

The walkie-talkie clipped to my belt belts out a loud irritating beep.

“Andy, Manny, this is Manny. Over,” he yells over the two-way radio.

As if he could be Andy.

I unhook it. “Go,” I tell him.

“So I’m doing my deliveries, and I get to Ada Winchester’s house, and I realize that I haven’t got her osteoporosis pills,” he says.

Only now do I realize that I forgot to refill Ada’s prescription. I press the button on the radio and apologize, “Sorry, the day got away from me, Man.”

“Yeah, well, she was pretty upset,” Manny says. “She kept saying: ‘Where’s my Boniva?’ ‘I need my Boniva.’ ‘Boniva this and Boniva that.’”

I tell Manny that if he comes back now I’ll give him the pills.

“That’s just it. Okay, so don’t be mad, but I’d just picked up a bunch of Boniva samples at Dr. Platt’s office and they were just sitting there on the seat.”

I frantically search for the volume button and turn Manny down, missing the last part of what he says. I’m trapped—whether it’s coincidence or on purpose, Lara is cutting off my only exit, and she’s doing everything in her power to eavesdrop. I huddle in the corner. Cupping the speaker, I slowly turn up the volume. Manny is still talking.

“Stop talking,” I whisper loudly. He does. “Please don’t tell me that you gave Ada Winchester drug samples. Please, Manny, I’m begging you.”

“Not all of ’em,” he insists. “Just a box of twenty-four.”

“Are you serious?” I cry. “People are supposed to take those pills once a month! You just gave her a two-year supply.”

“Aw, crap.”

But we may have bigger problems. I jam the walkie-talkie in my pocket.

“Move,” I tell Lara.

She steps away from the pharmacy computer terminal and I feverishly punch a few keys.
Janus
, I ask,
does Boniva come in different dosages?
Janus scours her memory banks.
Please, please, please.
Manny’s muffled voice emanates from my pants.
No, GlaxoSmithKline
only makes Boniva in one dosage
, Janus tells me.
Ada is safe.
The samples match her prescription.

I burrow myself back in the corner of the room.

“What do you want me to do?” Manny pleads.

“No more deliveries for you. You’re cut off. Return to the mother ship. Repeat,
return
to the mother ship,” I tell him, turning the radio off.

“Andrew!” Lara yells, urgently. “Can you stop doing whatever you’re doing? You have a customer.”

Waiting for me at the register is Brianna McDonnell. She has a Blue Cross of California white plastic clipboard tucked under her arm. She smiles at me with those big brown eyes and perfectly tweezed eyebrows.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” she says back, with an awkward pause. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, totally,” I try.

“You’re sure?”

“Indubitably.” All of a sudden I’m the Queen of England.

“I don’t know what to say,” Brianna begins. “I was heartbroken to hear about Gregory.”

Brianna leans in closer than I’m comfortable with. I love the way she smells. I quickly check to see if Lara’s watching, and she is.

“I still can’t believe I’ll never see him again. That I’ll never pester him again,” she kids.

“We all miss him,” Sid chimes in from the lunch counter.

Lara comes up behind me.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Lara says.

“Brianna, this is Gregory’s spinster daughter, Lara Day,” I tell Brianna.

I don’t say the spinster part.

The two of them shake hands.

“Is this your fiancée?” Brianna asks.

Lara, Sid, and I shout no in unison.

“Brianna is from Blue Cross of California,” I tell Lara.

“I knew your name sounded familiar,” Lara says. “I have at
least three letters with your signature on them. We owe you some paperwork.”

“I was crazy about your father,” Brianna says. She puts her hand on her hip and adjusts her crooked stance. “You could tell he really cared about his customers.”

Lara thanks her.

Cookie stops in her tracks as soon as she lays her eyes on Brianna. Cookie creeps closer, like Brianna’s an endangered species.

“Brianna, here, oversees all the insurance claims for the pharmacy,” Sid informs his wife delicately.

“Why don’t you stand up straight?” Cookie demands. “I’m decrepit with scoliosis and a cane, and I still have better posture than you. You’re a spring chicken. What are you, thirty-four?”

“Twenty-six,” Brianna says.

Cookie drops her shopping basket, leans her cane against the shelves, steps up behind Brianna, and places both of her hands on Brianna’s shoulders.

Brianna cringes.

“See,” Cookie says, pushing down hard on the left side as if she can even them out with a little force. “You’re all lopsided.”

“What the—” Brianna screams, lopping off the expletive.

Then Cookie clamps on to both of Brianna’s arms, squeezing and shifting them up and down like udders.

“Please don’t touch me,” Brianna commands Cookie, breaking away. Her eyebrows point inward like little daggers. “I have chronic back problems.”

“Mankind takes thousands of years to evolve, so how is it that in the last ten years, everybody now has ‘chronic back problems’?”

“It’s a slipped disk.” Brianna’s all offended. “I’ve had my back examined.”

“You should have your head examined,” Cookie tells her.

Brianna’s finished mollifying Cookie. She turns her back to Cookie and asks whether there’s any chance Lara could get her that paperwork.

I subtly check with Sid on whether Brianna’s request is reasonable. His eyes widen and he slyly shakes his head no.
So this is
why Gregory was so unwilling to cooperate with Brianna in the past. This is why he was so annoyed with me the day I offered to give Brianna the records—the very same day I proposed to Paige.
If my yell-fest with Manny didn’t spill the beans on our little sample sale, then I’m guessing Gregory’s records will.

“If you tell me what you need, I’ll start putting the documentation together for you now,” Lara assures her.

Brianna starts digging through her portfolio.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I yell, but it’s too late.

None of us sees this coming, especially Brianna. Cookie has helped herself to a tube of Aspercreme. I can smell the menthol from here. She’s squeezed out a heaping pile of goop, and in one swift motion, Cookie lifts the back of Brianna’s blouse and slabs the medicated gel all over it. In that split second, I get a brief glimpse of Brianna’s lacy white bra and tan, flat tummy. Brianna is mortified and more concerned with covering up than anything else.

“Why are you torturing me?” Brianna screams, adjusting herself. “Ah!” she yells as her clothes cling to the ointment. “This is silk,” she says, pulling at the material. “You’ve completely ruined it.”

“Who told you to pull your blouse down so quick?” Cookie yells.

“Get out!” Lara screams at Cookie louder than any Day has probably ever yelled in this pharmacy, which is saying something.

“I’m so sorry,” Lara tells Brianna. “We’ll pay to have it cleaned.”

Cookie grabs her cane and points at Brianna forcefully. “You’ll see. By tomorrow your back will be all better,” Cookie insists.

Was Cookie actually trying to help Brianna or help us get rid of her? It’s hard to tell. Probably a bit of both.

“Basket!” Cookie commands.

Sid slowly lowers himself off his stool, walks over to Cookie, and hands Cookie her shopping basket of goods.

“I’m so sorry this happened,” I say, trying to comfort Brianna softly. “That woman is crazy in the coconut.”

“I’m fine.” But she’s not. Brianna is on the verge of tears. “I’m going to leave now,” she says.

But she can’t, not with Cookie standing in her way.

“Loki, sweetie,” Cookie coos.

But Loki doesn’t come.

“We’re having a party in six weeks,” Cookie announces to the room. “It’s our sixtieth wedding anniversary,” she says proudly. “Sidney rented The Old Homestead and there will be chocolate cake. You’re all invited. Even you, skinny,” Cookie tells Brianna.

Brianna manages a meek smile.

“I’ll write down my address so you can send me an invite,” Belinda suggests, rubbernecking to see what Cookie’s got in her cart.

“You just got your invitation, missy,” Cookie snarls. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Be sure you charge her for that tube of Aspercreme,” I tell Belinda. “This isn’t your personal medicine cabinet,” I yell over.

“Add it to my tab,” Cookie says.

“We’re not doing those anymore,” Lara screams back.

But it’s too late. Red plastic shopping basket and all, Cookie marches out, knocking backward the bane of my existence, Tyler Rich.

Tyler Rich is dressed to impress in a tan linen sport coat and a black dress shirt with the top two buttons undone. He’s got gobs of gel in his hair, all slicked to one side.

“Hi there, Andy,” Tyler greets me as if we’re friends. Then he turns to Lara. “Ready?”

“Can you give me five? I need to print off these records for the insurance lady,” Lara explains. Brianna is at least six years younger than Lara. “And I want to change my outfit.”

Lara starts assembling the needed paperwork, but the coast is clear for Brianna to exit safely. Brianna begins gathering her things. Slowly bending down to hook Loki to her leash, Sid gives me the signal to stop Lara.

“Why don’t you give us a few more days to get you copies of everything,” I tell Brianna. “I’ll deliver them to you personally. I want to make sure you get
exactly
what you need, and our records are a total wreck.”

“They certainly are
not
a wreck,” Lara complains, rushing to prove it.

“Fine,” Brianna says, backing away. “What’s another week, right?”

“That’s not necessary,” Lara calls over. “I’ve got it all right here.”

“We appreciate it,” I say, walking over and placing a hand on Brianna’s shoulder, pointing her to the door.

Lara is beyond pissed. There will be hell to pay, but for the time being, it’s over and I’ve won.

Sid and I follow Brianna to the front of the store. She brushes past Tyler, without returning his hungry stare. Someone’s managed to knock the doorstop loose. Sid goes to jiggle it open for Brianna, but Loki’s leash gets tangled up in one of the wheels of her rolling bag. Loki lets out a tiny squeal. Brianna can’t take too much more drama. I separate them, jerk the door open, and Brianna’s free.

Tripping over Loki’s leash, I stumble outside and all of a sudden my face and Brianna’s are inches apart. On impulse, I almost hug her—Brianna needs a hug, but that would be inappropriate (and would only rub the ointment in more). We stare. The small schnoodle then drags Sid outside, and without a word, Brianna breaks for her car, tossing her heavy bag through the open window and onto her backseat.

“We really appreciate it,” I yell over to her and wave.

Brianna waves back without making eye contact. Quickly unparallel-parking, she manages to tap the cars on either side before zooming off.

“What are we going to do about her?” I ask Sid out of the corner of my mouth.

“A fair question indeed,” Sid answers.

I BRACE for complete meltdown, but it never happens. If Gregory were still alive, I’d be knocked over by a magnitude 6.0 or higher
before stepping foot back in the pharmacy, but his eldest daughter would prefer to ignore me.

Who would have dreamed I’d yearn for the days when Gregory asked me if I was disturbed. But Lara won’t give me the satisfaction.
The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.

Tyler Rich has hoisted himself up on the glass display case, feet dangling side to side. It’s plenty sturdy to bear his scrawny build, but I warn him anyway: “Please don’t sit on that. You’ll break it,” I demand, wishing he’d fall through.

Tyler hops down. “Uh, oh-kay,” he says with an air of disdain.

In the short time it took me to usher Brianna out, Lara has transformed into evening wear—high heels, a fashionable brown blazer, and some pink lip gloss. She looks prettier than ever—more like her sister than ever.