The girl takes the prescription but instead of checking what’s written on it, she glances in my direction, then quickly looks away. “I’m great.” She smiles, but it seems artificial. “And how are you? Everything okay at home?”
“Of course,” Mrs. Pisano says.
The girl nods, reaches into the drawer under the cash register, then places a white paper bag on the counter. She hadn’t even looked at the prescription note.
Mrs. Pisano takes the package, but instead of saying goodbye, she remains in place. Nervous energy seems to radiate off her, matched by the pharmacy girl on the other side of the counter. The moment is brief, barely a few seconds, but it feels like the two are having a wordless exchange. And I doubt it has anything to do with settling the payment, either.
“Thank you.”
The
