Chapter 3 - An Unpaid Prescription
The apartment in Humboldt Park was small, clean, and permanently smelled of lavender disinfectant and boiled chicken broth.
When Marissa pushed the front door open, the television in the living room was murmuring a rerun of a daytime game show. On the worn recliner sat Helen Miller, wrapped in a knitted afghan, her legs elevated on a cushioned footstool. Her silver hair was thin, and her breathing was shallow, but her face lit up when she saw her daughter.
“Home early, sweetheart?” Helen asked, adjusting her reading glasses. “I thought you had the double shift today.”
Marissa took a deep breath, forcing a bright, reassuring expression onto her face. She couldn’t tell her mother the truth. Not today. Helen’s systolic blood pressure had spiked past 160 last week; any severe emotional shock could trigger another trip to the emergency room.
“Kitchen had an electrical hiccup,” Marissa lied smoothly, walking over to press a kiss against her mother’s forehead. “Manager sent half the floor staff home with half-day pay. How are your ankles feeling?”
“A little swollen, but the tea helped,” Helen said, patting Marissa’s hand. “Mrs. Gable from downstairs brought up some mail for us. The pharmacy statement came.”
Marissa’s stomach clenched. She picked up the white envelope resting on the coffee table. Inside was the itemized bill from the neighborhood drug store: $238.45 for the upcoming month’s medication. Due in three days.
“Don’t worry about that,” Marissa said quickly, slipping the bill into her back pocket. “I’ll handle it tomorrow after my shift.”
“Are you sure, honey? You’ve been working seventy hours a week. You look so tired.”
“I’m fine, Mom. Really. Go back to your show. I’m going to make us some soup.”
Inside the tiny kitchen, Marissa gripped the edge of the laminate counter until her knuckles turned white. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling.
She had thirty-four dollars.
She opened her banking app on her cracked smartphone: checking balance, $81.12. Total available funds: $115.12.
She was still over a hundred dollars short for the heart medication, with rent looming right behind it. She grabbed a notebook from the drawer and began furiously jotting down numbers, crossing them out, calculating pawn shop values for her grandmother’s silver locket, her winter coat, her laptop from junior college.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
It was a text from Sarah, one of the line cooks at Harper’s Table:
*“Hey Mari. Greg is talking crazy smack about you. Told the morning crew you stole cash from the register too. Everybody knows it’s BS, but he’s calling the other diner managers on the strip. Don’t use him as a reference. I’m so sorry.”*
Marissa stared at the glowing screen. A cold, suffocating weight settled over her chest. Greg wasn’t just content with taking her livelihood; he was salting the earth behind her.
May you like
She sat down on the kitchen stool in the dim light of the single overhead bulb, her head in her hands, feeling entirely alone in a city of three million people.
***
