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Best. Reunion. Ever.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
ABBY IS SITTING on the edge of her rollaway bed in Jimi’s bedroom in her blue and white pajamas, frantically digging through her purse. I don’t know what she’s looking for, but when I see her pull out all her meds, two amber bottles and one box of Nitrostat, I know something is wrong. One of the bottles looks empty.
Jackie and Joel left to stay at an inn down the road and Jimi is sleeping downstairs with Sydney again until Sydney leaves tomorrow. Chris and Claire and the boys are in their rooms getting ready for bed, but I’m sure Chris or Claire—probably Chris—will be checking in on us shortly to make sure I don’t try to sleep in here with Abby.
“I don’t know what happened to my extra bottle of Xarelto. I thought I packed it,” Abby says, upending her purse so all its contents fall out into a pile on the bed. She continues sifting through the six different lip balms and three different makeup compacts, but there are no more medicine bottles.
Abby has to take Xarelto, a blood thinner, to keep blood clots from forming in her heart. Because of her heart valve disease, blood can sometimes pool inside her heart. If she doesn’t take the Xarelto, clots can form, travel through her blood vessels and into her brain, and cause a stroke. With this new form of Xarelto, she only has to take it twice a week. But taking the pills less often means there’s less room for error if she forgets to take one or if she runs out of her meds in the evening. Which is why all her prescriptions are filled at 24-hour pharmacies.
“Give me that bottle. I’ll call the pharmacy in Raleigh and tell them to transfer the prescription to another 24-hour pharmacy over here.”
“But they won’t fill the prescription twice in one month. It’s a ninety-day supply.”
“They will if you tell them you’re out of town and you left your meds at home. Then, when you go home and find the bottle you were supposed to pack, you’ll have a 180-day supply. Less trips to the pharmacy and problem solved.”
She hands me the empty Xarelto bottle and I quickly dial the number for the CVS pharmacy listed on the label. I’m on the phone with the pharmacy technician for no more than five minutes before they have the prescription transferred to a 24-hour CVS in Wilmington.
“See? All fixed. Now we just have to tell your parents we’re leaving at ten o’clock at night.”
Abby starts dumping everything back into her purse. “They’ll understand. Go wait outside. I have to change.”
I smile as I head out into the dark hallway and realize I’m finally going to have a chance to get Abby alone for a few minutes. This past week, not being able to touch her and kiss her anytime I want, has been pure torture. She’s my sunshine and the past seven days have been plagued by heavy overcast.
She comes out of the bedroom in her shorts and a tank top just as Chris comes out of the bedroom in a T-shirt and pajama pants. “What’s going on?” He looks at Abby’s hand and that’s when I notice the empty pill bottle she’s holding. “Are you sick? Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” she replies quickly, holding up the bottle. “I’m just out of my meds. Caleb is taking me to the 24-hour CVS in Wilmington. We should be back soon. Is that okay?”
“Of course. Yeah, go ahead. Go get whatever you need. Do you need any cash? Hold on, I’ll go get my wallet.”
“No, it’s fine. The meds are free.”
“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that?”
She chuckles as she tucks the bottle into her purse. “I’m positive. It’s part of the disability benefits. I… We should get going. We’ll be right back.”
And on that awkward note, Abby pulls me down the stairs and through the back door to the driveway, where my car is parked. Once we’re inside, I lower the top so we can feel and smell the cool sea breeze and she heaves a sigh of relief.
“How awkward, to have to explain to my millionaire dad that I collect disability benefits.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, backing the ’Cuda out onto Sandpiper Street. “I’m sure he probably figured as much considering you were born with that condition.”
“Still, it doesn’t make it any less weird.”
I reach across and squeeze her thigh as I head toward Lumina. “It’s okay, Abby. I’m sure it was way more weird for him than it was for you. Imagine knowing that your child was on disability because her adoptive parents wanted nothing to do with you. He’s probably feeling like a jerk for not being more persistent about being a part of your life.”
“And probably pissed that my parents wouldn’t let him help me. God, they really screwed this up.”
I turn left on Lumina, then I hop onto Highway 74. We pull into the CVS parking lot on Market Street about twenty minutes later. We rush inside and head straight for the pharmacy counter in the back. The pharmacist working is an Asian lady with a pleasant smile.
“May I help you?” she asks, flashing us a friendly smile when we approach the pickup counter.
“Yes, my prescription was just transferred here about thirty minutes ago. For Abigail Jensen.”
She furrows her perfectly shaped eyebrows together and shakes her head. “I haven’t gotten anything for that name in the last half hour, but I’ll double-check.”
She checks through the alphabetized bags hanging from the stack of rods behind her. She sifts through the A’s and the J’s twice before she comes back empty-handed.
“I’m sorry. I don’t have anything here under that name. Let me just check the computer. Give me a moment.”
She begins typing on the computer and I clasp my hand around the back of Abby’s neck as we wait. I massage her a little, trying to help her stay calm as the pharmacist’s fingers fly across the keyboard. Finally, she picks up her phone and dials a phone number.
“Hi. Yes, this is Karen Chen at 3822. Can you please verify that you have a prescription for forty milligrams of Xarelto for an Abigail Jensen? Please call us back as soon as you get this message.”
My heart sinks when I realize she’s leaving a voicemail. “No, you have to get that prescription. She needs it,” I insist as she sets the phone down.
“I’m sorry, but they must have transferred your prescription to the wrong pharmacy. And the one they transferred it to closed at ten. It’s almost eleven. You’ll have to wait until they open at eight a.m. to pick it up over there.”
“She can’t wait until tomorrow!” I reply, leaning over the counter to try to see what her computer says. “She’s only supposed to take it on Fridays and Saturdays. Tomorrow’s Sunday. She needs it now.”
“Caleb, it’s fine,” Abby says, pushing me away from the counter. “Thank you for your help.”
“You can’t skip that pill until Friday. That’s dangerous.”
“It’s fine. We’ll pick it up tomorrow morning and I’ll call my doctor and ask if I can take it on Sunday instead. No big deal.”
I shake my head as she drags me out of the pharmacy and back to the car. Once we’re inside, I realize we’re going to be returning to the beach house without Abby’s meds. They’re probably going to think we were lying about the prescription so we could get out of the house.
By the time we get home, all the lights are off except for the glow of Sydney’s cell phone where Jimi and Sydney are huddled on the sofa bed. We bid them goodnight, then I take Abby to Jimi’s room. I close the
door behind me, pissed that the pharmacy tech in Raleigh must have misunderstood when I told her we were in Wrightsville Beach. She must have thought I wanted the prescription transferred to the CVS in Wrightsville Beach.
“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, please. It’s not a big deal. We’ll go to the pharmacy tomorrow morning.” She stares at me for a moment, then she waves toward the bedroom door. “You have to go before they catch you in here.”
I step forward and take her face in my hands, then I lay a tender kiss on her lips. I can hear her breathing quicken, so I lean in for another. She tastes like the fancy whitening toothpaste Jimi has in her bathroom. I slide my tongue into her mouth and she lets out a soft whimper.
“God, I’ve missed this.”
She pushes me back a little, but her eyes are fixed on my mouth. “You have to leave. We can’t do this here.”
I lean over and kiss the tip of her nose. “I know, but I’m not leaving. I’m sleeping in here to watch over you.”
“What? You can’t sleep in here.”
She attempts to push me toward the door, but I dig my heels in and I’m too solid for her to move. “If you’re not taking all your meds tonight, I’m staying in here to watch over you whether you like it or not. I’ll sleep on the floor.”
She glares at me, but there’s a hint of a smile curling the left side of her mouth. “Fine. But if anyone walks in here you have to hide.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s totally going to work. If anyone walks in here, we’ll just tell them the truth. I stayed in here to make sure you were okay. If they have a problem with that, then screw them. Your health should be their number-one priority while you’re staying here.”
She shakes her head as she opens up the bottom drawer of Jimi’s dresser, which Jimi cleared out for Abby to store her clothes. She grabs a T-shirt and pajama pants then clutches them to her chest while she stands silently contemplating something.
