by Dan Lopez
“Yeah, absolutely. Don’t worry about me. I’m just going to get through this pile, then lock up.”
“All right.” As she walks out she calls back: “Hey, say hi to your brother for me, okay?”
“Will do! Stay safe!”
Then Cecily is gone.
She checks her phone again. Still no word from Alex; nothing from Esther either. “Where the fuck are you?” she mutters to herself.
“Are you a pharmacist or a sailor?”
She looks up to find a large, bald man, midsixties, looming over the register. He wears an amused grin and she doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her at all. Instinctively, she surveys the immediate area. A shift leader straightens shelves nearby should she need assistance.
“I didn’t realize anybody was standing there,” she says, masking her surprise with a clipped tone that passes for harried friendliness.
“Busy day?”
“Something like that.”
“You’re not Sanjay.”
“You’re observant.” She lets a trace of an accent color her words. Patients tolerate a higher level of acerbity if you sound foreign, she’s learned. It allows them to feel superior even while she refuses to act deferential. “Sanjay left early. I’m Laila.” She flashes a smile and goes back to logging scripts in the system.
“Ah, mucho gusto!” the man says. “¿De donde eres?”
Great, a gringo who can string together basic phrases.
“Puerto Rico,” she says. Though she’s never been to the island, it’s what he expects, and giving him that is easier than explaining the diversity of the Latin American experience.
“Beautiful island. My son loves it. Do you have any kids?”
“I work too much. No time for kids.”
He grins. “You’re still young. You have time. Don’t wait too long, though.”
She glances up from the monitor. “How can I help you?”
He rocks back and forth. “Yo me llamo Thaddeus Bloom,” he says. “I’m picking up some pills... uh... pastelitos.”
He just said he was picking up some pastries. A smile stretches across her face, and she chooses to not correct him. “¡Ah, muy bien!”
“Gracias. My wife, Cheryl,” he continues, “normally gets them for me, but she’s busy at the house today. She’s getting everything ready for the storm, the huracán.”
Laila resists the urge to roll her eyes. “That’s good. Smart lady.” She types furiously, partly out of experience and partly in the spirit of theatricality. Something else she’s learned: purpose and concentration intimidate customers. If you look busy they tend to assume you are busy and leave you alone. “Last name Bloom, right?”
“Like a rose. I’m sure a pretty girl like you has plenty of roses. ¡Belleza!” He bobs his eyebrows. Laila fakes a short laugh in the name of customer service, sexual harassment’s complicit corporate partner.
“It doesn’t look like it’s been filled. I can fill it for you now, if you don’t mind waiting.”
She points to the waiting area, but Thaddeus lingers. “Take all the time you need. I’m not in a rush.” He whistles a little tune to himself.
Glancing out the drive-through window, she spots a feeder band working its way across the sky from the east. The bulk of the hurricane is still well offshore, but the first tendrils of the mighty system are already reaching across land. Her mind flashes back to the shots of Cocoa Beach on the news this morning. They’re finally getting some exciting footage, no doubt. It won’t be long now till Bill gives the go-ahead to shut down and still no word from Alex.
She grabs her phone and fires off a quick message:
Hey papo just checking in haven’t heard from you in a minute. lemme know ur alright, k? should be home soon and we can put up the shutters. hit me back
Alex’s mercurial nature requires a gentle touch, especially lately, but she’s running out of time and patience.
Glancing back at Thaddeus, she adds: u wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had!!! :/
Then it’s back to work.
The prescription—Fendiline, a common arrhythmia medication—takes no time to fill. In a moment, she counts the pills, prints the label, verifies the count, and steps up to the register. “I can ring you up,” she says, motioning him over.
“Wow, that was quick. Such service! I should come here more often.”
Her fingers fly over the register keys. “I’ll let Sanjay know.”
He hands her his credit card and she swipes it for him, then taps the keypad. “Just follow the instructions here.”
He labors over each prompt while the feeder band gets closer. If he’s not out the door before the rain starts she’ll be stuck with him. He’ll want to practice his horrendous Spanish on her while she has work to finish.
“It’s asking me for cash back,” he says. “But I gave you a credit card.”
“Hit the red cancel button on the bottom right and swipe the card again.”
The feeder band is maybe half a mile away. There’s still time, but they have to move a lot quicker than this.
“Let’s see here.” He takes greater care this time, pausing to put on his reading glasses before peering at the keypad. His lips pucker and he emits a thin, tuneless whistle. “Credit card. Yes, that’s what I want. Okay... Is this total right?”
Laila smiles at him with her eyes and bobs her head up and down quickly. Just hit yes, she thinks. Just hit yes.
“Yes.”
As soon as he does the register springs into action, the till and the receipt printer clang like a slot machine that hit the jackpot. She slams the drawer and tears the receipt off, practically throwing it at him. “Have a great day!” Then she’s back to the computer to finish inputting the scripts. At least this way Sanjay will have a clean start when he returns.
Bill texts her: Shut down and get home! Corporate gave the green light.
And just in time. Outside, the sky is black. The first volley of heavy rain pelts the corrugated roof of the drive-through like little explosions.
You don’t have to tell me twice!
A PAPER LANTERN SWAYS IN FRONT OF AN A/C VENT, bathing the rustic dining table in diffused light. Only one seat remains next to the highchair and Thaddeus fixes his sights on it, but Cheryl outflanks him and arrives first. Out of options, Thaddeus surreptitiously pinches Gertie’s arm, causing her to wail.
“Oh, what is it, princess?” Cheryl asks in an attempt to soothe that Gertie flatly rejects. With a sigh Steven suggests the doll. “Good idea,” Cheryl says. “I’ll go get it.”
When she stands up, Thaddeus slips into her seat. Success!
Cheryl returns a moment later. Doll in hand, Gertie calms down.
“Ha,” Thaddeus says. “I knew she’d love it! Didn’t I tell you, Cheryl? I said Gertie will love it!” He winks at Steven, who snorts begrudging assent.
“You took my seat.”
“What’s the difference? Here, sit here.” He pats the chair on his other side. “‘Take a load off, Benny. Take a load off, Marie.’”
She sits without further protest. “Don’t forget your pills.”
Peter enters from the kitchen with a pitcher of water, which he sets down beside Cheryl.
“Are you sure you don’t need help serving?”
“You’ve done all the cooking. The least I can do is serve,” he says.
While Peter ferries various dishes to the table, Thaddeus arranges a handful of colorful pills beside his plate. “Grandpa’s medicine,” he tells Gertie. He’s unsure what most of the pills do—Cheryl handles the particulars. He just knows to take them. Gertie studies him with silent, naked intensity, and he can’t decide if she’s curious or suspicious. “Well, the legal medicine, anyway,” he adds with a wink.
“Poop,” she says, prompting a stern glance from Steven.
With no water in his glass, Thaddeus opts to swallow his pills dry—reaching through the canyon of stemware for the pitcher poses too great a risk; he’s certa
in to knock something over. No big deal, he thinks. Everything’s going great. The hard part is over. In a minute, they’ll be eating and then they’ll be saying their good nights and then the past three years won’t matter anymore.
Peter takes his seat and the various dishes make their rounds. While Cheryl fixes his plate, Thaddeus tickles Gertie’s chin. She pulls away from his finger to focus on Talkin’ Tina.
“We shouldn’t allow toys at the table.” Steven sighs.
“It’s just for tonight,” Peter says.
“We went everywhere looking for that doll,” Thaddeus says.
Cheryl peels a flake off a roll. “We went to one store.”
“Your mother couldn’t decide which doll to get. I said, ‘Cheryl, it’s only the best for our granddaughter!’”
Gertie squeezes Talkin’ Tina and the doll emits a garbled but enthusiastic chirp.
“Seems to be something wrong with the best doll in the store,” Steven says, while buttering a roll. When he finishes, he shreds some chicken for Gertie. She devours a few pieces, then offers some to Talkin’ Tina. The doll declines, and after a moment she pops those into her own mouth to join the small handful she’s already stuffed in there.
“She seems enamored of it, at any rate,” Steven says with resignation.
“Probably just a loose wire. No big deal.” With his mouth full, Thaddeus adds: “Look at that smile. She loves it. Ha!” He breaks into a coughing fit and Cheryl fills his glass.
“Have some water.”
He does as he’s told, and when the coughing passes he resumes. “Don’t worry, beautiful. Grandpa will fix that loose wire for you right after dinner.”
Steven wipes Gertie’s mouth while Peter brings out a decanter of wine from a bamboo sideboard.
With one hand Gertie grabs her food and with the other she shakes the doll incessantly at her grandfather.
“Use your words,” Steven says in singsong.
She shakes her head and points at the doll.
“Is something wrong with your toy?” Thaddeus asks.
“Don’t reinforce her negative behavior,” Steven says. “The parenting books are very clear about that.”
“Parenting books.” Thaddeus nods. “You know your mother made me read one of those books when you were little, Stevie.”
Cheryl snorts. “I did no such thing. I’m not a masochist.”
Steven’s fork stops halfway to his mouth. He levels an expectant gaze, but Thaddeus doesn’t immediately continue. Whatever he planned on saying occludes in the roving fog that chooses this moment to descend upon his memory. His heart pounds. The words, he knows, are crucial. This moment is crucial because Stevie is indulging him long enough to give his joke a chance. All he needs to do is get a laugh and he’s home free, but he draws a blank. His lip quivers. Rather than stammer a non sequitur he fakes a broad, knowing grin and takes a series of deep breaths. He can pass the silence off as a buildup. If he can wait long enough, find some equilibrium, the punch line will come. But as the seconds stretch everybody begins to stare, even Gertie. His eyes dart from one adult to another, searching for some clue, for some funny quirk he can exploit, but he comes up empty-handed. He can sense the punch line is near, but it remains just beyond the edge, lost in the fog. He’s tottering on the verge of failure when his gaze rests on Gertie—beautiful little Gertie, stuffing piece after piece of chicken into her mouth. A hard peal of laughter emerges from him. Gertie’s face has cut through the fog like a powerful spotlight. Stretching his arms out as if to grab the elusive punch line, he continues:
“The book—maybe you’ve heard of it—a book called Everybody Poops. Ha!” He plays it straight at his granddaughter, drawing her in with funny faces. “You heard of it, Gertie? Huh?”
Gertie absently nods.
“Thaddeus,” Cheryl says. “We’re at the dinner table.”
Steven snarls and stabs at his food. But it doesn’t matter because then Gertie laughs, and watching that unabashed joy bloom across her angelic face—knowing he put it there!—makes him feel twenty years younger.
“Another joke.” Steven massages his eyes as he talks. The tips of his fingers are raw, the skin cracked. He grunts. “Peter and I are the ones who have to deal with her bad habits on a day-to-day basis. You don’t have to encourage her. At least Mom understands that much.”
Stretching against the highchair straps, Gertie coughs.
“What do you mean ‘that much’?” Cheryl says. “I don’t spoil her.”
“Gertie’s fine,” Peter says. “One toy isn’t going to spoil her.”
Gertie coughs again.
“Kids love jokes,” Thaddeus says. “You used to love jokes.”
“No, I didn’t, and its not one joke I’m concerned about, Pop. It’s a pattern of influence.”
Thaddeus brushes away his words. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Stevie. No need to make a federal case. I’m very—”
Gertie’s cough cuts off mid-breath and turns into a wheeze. Her arms shoot up, and her chin drops down. Most things may have faded from his memory, but what he’s seeing is unmistakable. He recognizes the signs immediately.
“She’s choking!”
In that quick snap of time, the proper procedure for a choking infant crystallizes in his mind. His duty is to protect Gertie—that much he knows—and propelled by instinct he lunges for her. But everything is in the way—plates, glasses, a bowl of sagging mesclun—and he crashes through it all, sending it spilling into a slick across the table that bombards Stevie, who, anyway, appears stunned motionless. Thaddeus tries to rise, but the table betrays him. The purchase he needs to find his footing is lost in all the mess and broken glass. His hand slips and he topples in the wrong direction, away from Gertie and into Cheryl. “No!” he shouts, as Cheryl screams. All is lost, and for the first time in his life a thought strikes him with immutable certainty: She is going to die. Gertie is going to die.
Peter moves faster than Thaddeus. Darting from his chair, he swoops past him and lifts Gertie from her highchair. He stands her up on the table and positions himself behind her. He forcefully presses his fist into her chest until she spits up a ball of slobbery chicken bits. But she doesn’t take a breath.
“Oh, God,” Thaddeus says. Finding the purchase that eluded him a moment ago, he rises to his feet. Cheryl is up, too, and peering around his shoulder. Only Steven remains seated, still stunned.
“Come on, sweetie,” Peter coos. “Take a deep breath.”
Her breathing returns with a violent shudder, followed by a brief collective silence, which in turn gives way to a caterwaul that shivers the remaining glasses on the table and that finally shakes Steven from his trance. He springs from his seat, sending his chair screeching across the floor, then he yanks Gertie from Peter’s arms.
“Oh my God!” he says, rocking her, trying to soothe her, but she is irreconcilable.
“It’s okay, Steven,” Cheryl says. “She’s just scared, but she’s okay.”
“Looks like her eyes were bigger than her throat, that’s all. Look who’s here, beautiful.” Thaddeus shakes Talkin’ Tina in front of her face. “You remember the doll old Grandpa brought you, right? You’re not scared anymore. You have to be brave for Talkin’ Tina.”
Gertie’s screaming halts as she examines first Thaddeus and then the doll. He squeezes the doll’s midsection so that it emits a high-pitched coo. Gertie begins to come around.
“Ha!” Thaddeus smiles, but Steven’s fist pounding into the table cuts short the celebration.
“This isn’t a fucking joke,” Steven screams. “She could’ve died!”
“She’s fine,” Peter says. “It was just an accident.” He rests a placating hand on Steven’s shoulder, but Steven shakes it off.
“Just an accident,” Thaddeus echoes. “You just weren’t paying attention. Could’ve happened to anyone.”
“I’ll tell you what it was,” Steven shouts, maneuvering around the table until he’s standing right bes
ide Thaddeus. “It was that damn doll!” He snatches Talkin’ Tina out of Thaddeus’s hand. Gertie immediately begins to bawl. “I was distracted because of this insulting piece of trash.”
“Calm down,” Peter says.
“Steven, it was an accident.” Cheryl sits down. She tidies her place setting before continuing in a soothing tone. “These things happen to every parent. Now, let’s just sit down and finish our dinner. If we act like everything is fine, so will she.”
“Everything is not fine! My daughter could’ve died because of him. Why should I continue to forgive him and forgive his insensitivity? Jesus Christ, when is he going to start taking responsibility for his actions?”
“Stevie—”
“It’s nobody’s fault,” Peter says. “That’s what we’re trying to tell you.”
Thaddeus tries to retrieve the doll but Steven yanks it out of reach—the sudden movement further frightens Gertie.
“Just an accident, Stevie,” Thaddeus says. “Let’s move on. Hey, I got a joke for you! Huh?”
For a moment, he captures everyone’s attention—even Stevie’s, who goes so far as to shrug, which is certainly better than the yelling. So he tells the joke: “A man walks into a bar and, finding his friend there, he asks: ‘Did you see the baseball game last night?’ ‘Nope,’ the friend says, ‘but I hear Ramirez struck out.’ ‘What about the funny car derby on channel eleven?’ the man asks. ‘Missed that one, too,’ the friend replies, ‘but I hear the trick transmission really backfired.’ The man takes a drink. What are we supposed to talk about? he thinks. His friend hasn’t seen any of the things he’s seen. There must be something they’ve both seen. Then it hits him. ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Well, I bet you seen that sword-swallower on the evening news.’ The friend grins. ‘Nah,’ he says, ‘but I hear he really choked!’”
For a long time afterward—too long—everything is silent.
Cheryl slowly shakes her head. “Oh, Thaddeus.”
“Hey, don’t shoot; it’s just a joke.” But nobody laughs. “Stevie,” he pleads. “Come on, it’s just a joke. Just something to lighten the mood.”
