Chapter 10: The Pharmacy Counter

The pharmacy was busiest on Monday afternoons, when everyone's weekend prescriptions ran out together.

I stood at the counter in my smock, counting pills into an amber bottle.

The woman waiting for it had a husband just home from the hospital.

"I'm sorry to hear about all the trouble at your house, hon," she said, and patted my wrist.

"Thank you."

"People are saying all sorts of things."

"I'm sure they are."

She meant well, and I filled her bottle and gave her the little bag and thanked her again.

The bell over the door rang.

Blaine came in.

He wore his work jacket with the company logo on the chest.

He walked straight to my station and ignored the line.

Three people stood behind the glass, pretending to read the labels on cough syrup.

"Winona."

"I'm working, Blaine. Take a number."

"Two minutes."

"There's a line."

"Then I'll wait in it."

He took his place behind a man holding a blood pressure cuff, folded his arms, and watched me for six customers.

I did my job.

I rang up, I counted back change, and I did not drop a single pill.

When he reached the window he leaned both hands on the counter.

His voice dropped, so low that nobody else could hear.

"You want to know why," he said. "Eighteen years of why. I'm going to tell you."

"You can tell me when I'm off."

"Kenzie is mine."

The pen in my hand stopped.

"What?"

"She's mine, Winona. My daughter. I've known since she was a baby."

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