At the drugstore

Mill puts the receipt for the glasses in her wallet and leaves the store, bell klingeling. She crosses the street to Whitney Chemists. The bell rings.

She fishes in her wallet for Carlisle’s prescription.

“Ten minutes,” the pharmacist tells her.

“I’ll wait,” Mill says and sits in the solitary chair.

She fishes in her satchel for a plain white envelope, a pen, and a roll of stamps. She writes Carlisle’s address on the envelope and puts the receipt for her glasses in it: $386.

“Here it is,” the pharmacist tells her. “$127.”

“Do you have his insurance card?” Mill says.

“Viagra isn’t covered. We called.”

Mill gives the pharmacist her credit card, signs, then tucks the receipt in the mailer.

When she gets to Carlisle’s building, she gives Umberto the packet from Whitney Chemists.

“Thanks, Umberto.”

“You’re welcome, Miss Mill. Still working?”

“Still working,” she says.

Mill drops the envelope in the mailbox at Broadway then walks the three blocks home.