Chapter 2 - KEANE’S FAMILY PHARMACYMy brother answered the phone.
Not Brian.
Dennis.
That mattered.
“Greene residence.”
I came down the stairs as Dennis listened.
“Who?”
Brian moved toward him.
“Give me that.”
Dennis turned away.
“No.”
The room was still full of people.
Some relatives had started cleaning kibble from the floor because human beings will perform housekeeping during almost any crisis if given access to paper towels.
Melissa stood near the kitchen doorway.
She looked sick.
Dennis covered the receiver.
“Walter.”
“What?”
“It’s a pharmacy.”
Brian said:
“Hang up.”
Dennis ignored him.
“Keane’s Family Pharmacy.”
I stopped.
The merchant descriptor on my statement had been abbreviated.
KEANEFAM RX 2147
That was it.
Dennis continued:
“They’re asking for Melissa.”
Melissa walked forward.
“I’ll take it.”
I held up one hand.
“No.”
“It’s my prescription.”
“Then why did Brian tell me it was a school fundraiser?”
Silence.
Melissa looked at him.
Brian said:
“I forgot what charge you meant.”
“Twelve monthly pharmacy charges averaging five hundred dollars?”
“Dad.”
“Don’t call me Dad while explaining the dog food.”
Dennis looked genuinely exhausted.
He returned to the phone.
“Yes, she’s here.”
Then listened.
His expression changed.
“What’s the patient name?”
Brian lunged.
I mean actually lunged toward my sixty-seven-year-old brother.
Dennis stepped back.
Two cousins caught Brian by the shoulders.
I said:
“Stop.”
Brian shouted:
“Hang up the damn phone!”
That was the answer before the answer.
Dennis slowly lowered the receiver.
He looked at me.
“Walter.”
“What?”
“It’s not Melissa’s prescription.”
The dining room seemed to shrink.
“Whose?”
Dennis swallowed.
“A boy named Eli Parker.”
I had never heard the name.
At least I thought I hadn’t.
Then something in memory moved.
Not Eli.
Parker.
April Parker.
A name Elaine had spoken nine years earlier.
A woman who once sent our house a certified letter.
A woman Brian swore was lying.
I looked at my son.
He knew I remembered.
His face told me.
“Brian.”
“Dad, this is not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“Who is Eli Parker?”
Melissa started crying.
Brian said:
“Don’t.”
I asked again.
“Who is Eli Parker?”
No answer.
Dennis put the phone back to his ear.
“Sir?”
A man spoke loudly enough that I could hear only pieces.
Recurring diabetic supplies.
Standing account.
Payment rejected.
Need alternative card before Monday shipment.
Dennis said:
“We’ll call back.”
Then hung up.
Diabetic supplies.
A child.
Parker.
I looked at Brian.
Nine years collapsed.
Elaine standing in our kitchen holding a certified envelope.
Brian shouting:
“There is no kid.”
I heard his exact voice in memory.
There is no child. She’s trying to get money.
May you like
I had believed my son.
Now my seventieth birthday dinner was covered in dog food, and a pharmacy was calling my house because the card used to buy a boy’s medical supplies had just been blocked.
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