Page 4 of The King's Maiden
The customer behind me coughed. Lightly at first, but then distinctly clearing his throat. He let out a heavy breath.
As if I didn’t know how long this was taking.
It required all the patience I possessed to stay focused on the pharmacist.
“Okay, well…” I swallowed the pride that hated having to admit, “I can’t afford that.”
“We can hold it for you for a few days.”
“Can you call my doctor and check the prescription with him? Maybe he entered it wrong by mistake? He’ll fix it if you tell him the issue. He knows how much I need this medicine.”
I had the copays for five follow-up visits to show for it.
The pharmacist sighed. “I can try.”
While I mentally bowed to him in thanks for doing his job, he disappeared into the back.
I pulled my clutch from the pocket of my oversized hoodie, ignoring the shuffle of feet behind me. Bypassing my debit card with its dismally low balance and glaring at my useless insurance card, I hunted for my remaining cash. But the wad of crumpled bills barely covered one puff of the overpriced medicine.
I needed it twice on a daily basis.
My breathing grew tighter. Shaking out my palms, I pulled in a breath through my nose, counting to four before trying to release it slowly.
It came out in a rush.
I’d run out of my medication yesterday, my last inhaler delivering nothing but empty air for my second dose. The only reason I hadn’t panicked then was because I had my appointment today. I planned to get the medication right after.
But if I couldn’t afford it…
My throat constricted reflexively, as if I needed the reminder. I pushed up onto the balls of my feet and sank down, staring into the back of the pharmacy like I could will the pharmacist to return with my mind.
Each slow breath I dragged in felt like sipping air through a straw—the one on the juice boxes they gave to kids.
I was just a kid. I wasn’t supposed to do this all on my own. My dad?—
“Your doctor said the prescription is correct.” The pharmacist set the box on the counter in front of me. “But we don’t have a generic version, and that’s all your plan covers. He sent in an order for your old inhaler, but he said to tell you the one he prescribed today would probably work better.”
My fingers itched to grab the box and run.
But before I could travel down that darker path, the pharmacist covered it with his hand and slid it back toward him, drawing my eyes up.
“How long would it take you to fill the prescription for my old inhaler?”
He glanced at the line of customers growing behind me. “An hour, maybe?”
Handing over my debit card, I prayed it would go through and asked him to try it. A second later, the computer beeped loudly with that buzzer sound.
Because having a card decline wasn’t bad enough unless everyone within thirty feet knew about it.
“Your card declined,” he stated, clearly for good measure. “Want to try another one?”
“No.” My pulse raced. Blood rushing in my ears, I tried to think past the need for oxygen. “Is there a coupon code or something?”
“I can check.”
I closed my eyes as he clicked away at the keyboard, already knowing how his search would end. Of course, there wouldn’t be a coupon. Or if there was, it wouldn’t be enough to cover all of what I couldn’t afford.
“I found one coupon code,” he said, perking my head up. “One hundred and seven dollars and four cents.”
