“Why the rush, Dad?” I asked.
“I have to pick up Moni’s prescription before the pharmacy closes. And I still have a pretty thick stack of papers to grade.”
“Why not have Mom pick it up?”
I saw his face tighten in the mirror. “Because Mom is busy at work too.”
“Oh.” I gently kicked the seat with my foot.
“Isla? Really?”
“Sorry.”
We followed Dad into the pharmacy. He practically dragged Marlow, holding her hand, rushing in through the glass sliding doors. The pharmacy was hectic, other after-work and pick-up parents rushing in to get their meds. We stood in line, a relatively long one that had already formed. Dad looked at his watch and then leaned forward to check out the counter. A woman holding a toddler in front of us bounced the girl from hip to hip as the child coughed and wiped the back of her hand across her face, strings of snot streaking like gluey cobwebs. A teenager behind us bobbed his head to music, stereo headphones covering his ears, the only person in line who was anything close to relaxed.
As we neared the front, Marlow spotted a display for gummies. Within seconds, she was next to it, examining a package of sour worms.
“Marlow—Marlow! Get back here,” Dad hissed. He strode over to her. “Put that back.”
She began to hang the bright-green package of candy on its hook.
A man in a cobalt-blue jacket stepped in front of me in line.
“What are you doing?” Dad demanded.
“You stepped out of the line. I’m taking your place,” the man answered in a clipped tone. He nodded once as if that was the end of it.
Dad stared at him. “Are you trying to say you cut in line?”
“No. I meant what I said.”
The man folded his arms across his belly and looked straight ahead, as if Dad didn’t exist.
“Sir, you clearly cut in front of me and my daughters. I suggest you go to the back of the line.”
The woman with the sick toddler, who was now wailing, shifted her again in her arms, her forehead starting to sweat. The teenager behind us continued to bob his head, oblivious to the commotion around him.
“Are you kidding me?” Dad’s mouth was open, his palms up with incredulity.
“Nope,” the man said, rocking back on his heels. “Not this time . . . pal.”
I could see Dad’s face go white. He clenched his hands and his dark eyes looked like storm clouds. But there was something else. A vibration of shame in his cheekbones from his own reticence.
Marlow slipped in front of Dad. Somehow reappearing as if it were the first time we had ever cast eyes on her. She held the green package of gummy worms against her chest.
“You can’t talk like that,” she said to the man’s back.
The man didn’t notice her at first.
“You can’t talk like that,” she said loudly.
He scoffed, turning only his head to give her a sideways glance.
“What now?”
She clutched the package harder. “Bad names. You called him a very bad name.”
Dad began to duck down toward Marlow to bring her back, his right hand reaching her shoulder. I could see his lips part to respond, the beginning of an apology, perhaps. But he stopped as she slowly stared into his face.
The corners of his mouth went up, as if something had just occurred to him. A rush of objections somehow found him in that moment.
“How dare you say that . . .” he said quietly.
“Huh?”
“How dare you call me that.”
The man let his hands go to his sides and turned to Dad. “Call you what?”
Dad breathed out heavily. “How dare you call me a . . . chink.”
“I’m sorry?”
“What makes you think it’s okay to say that?” Dad said loudly. He pulled both Marlow and me in close to him.
The man’s chin tucked in, and he gawked. He looked Dad up and down. “You nuts? I never said such a thing.”
“I can’t believe this,” Dad said, shaking his head. “Even in the nineties, here we still are. People like you who drag us all back a hundred steps.”