Brandon was on hold with yet another doctor’s office trying to reach any doctor who might have seen a Sam Miller. Thank goodness the full stringency of the HIPAA laws didn’t prohibit communication between a patient’s pharmacy and the doctor’s office. This was the fifteenth office he’d tried this week. Finally the bland on-hold music stopped, and the line clicked.

“This is Nikki, Dr. Smith’s nurse. I was looking in our computer system, and it appears we do have a patient named Sam Miller.”

Thank You, God. “Excellent. The receptionist may have told you, but this is Brandon over at Greene’s Pharmacy in Raysburg, Pennsylvania. I need to know if Dr. Smith prescribed five different heart medications for Mr. Sam Miller. Our pharmacy is missing some information on the prescriptions.” Brandon readied a pen to write down anything she might tell him, hoping she would confirm this was the right patient.

“Oh, hmm. I’m not seeing any information that this Mr. Miller is on any heart meds. What’s his birthday? We may be talking about a different patient.”

Brandon sighed. Of course. “I’m afraid that is part of the info we’re missing. This Sam Miller is probably around fifty, and he’s Amish.”

“I’m sorry. I’m afraid we must be talking about a different patient. I saw our Mr. Miller two weeks ago. He is definitely not Amish. Are you sure you have the right practice?”

“No, unfortunately I’m not.” Brandon stifled a scream of frustration.

“Oh. Well…good luck with what you’re looking for.” Click.

Apparently even chipper nurses had a limit to their patience, not that Brandon could blame her. He was annoyed too.

He hung up the phone and glanced at the clock. Four o’clock. Holly was still at some Amish fall festival looking for Sam Miller. Luckily they had Sandy, their part-time tech, who was reasonably fast, and of course Todd, who had years of experience on the bench. The pharmacy didn’t seem behind. He logged off the computer, and then a random thought struck. Maybe in his dad’s confusion he had put a note in that day’s financial ledger instead of the proper place. Brandon headed toward the storage room.

He walked into the small room, pulled out the large finance book, and set it on the desk. He flipped through it until he found October, which was toward the end of the large tome. No notes appeared to be tucked in the book as he turned the pages, but a number in red ink jumped out at him at the bottom of October’s financial overview.

That can’t be right. He can’t be that far behind. He flipped back to September, then August, then July. Each month the pharmacy was barely breaking even. How on earth could Greene’s be so busy and so unprofitable?

He closed the book and tucked it under his arm and then headed up the stairs to look for his father. He knocked and opened the door. “Dad?” Brandon called out, entering the apartment.

“Back here, Son.”

He followed the sound of his dad’s voice to the small “office” that was mostly filled with aging books on pharmaceutical studies and outdated business practices. Dad had apparently been on the phone, and he put the cordless handset for the home line back in its base.

Dad grimaced. “I was calling a few other pharmacies in our area to see if they had filled anything for our patient. Nothing.”

“Yeah, same here. I’m afraid I had no success in finding Sam’s doctor today.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I am about this whole thing.” He leaned back in the creaking leather chair. “Today I also started the process of filing to get some extra security footage from a third-party company. They put their cameras in the pharmacy a few months ago, but I let the contract lapse last month. It’s lots of paperwork, and it may not lead to anything.”

Brandon wasn’t sure whether to step inside the office or wait at the door. “I’m sure we’ll figure out what happened. Maybe Holly was successful today. But I wanted to ask you about something else. I had an idea that maybe the missing script note was filed in the wrong place, so I opened your financial ledger.”

His father groaned. “I really wish you hadn’t. The pharmacy’s finances are my business.”

Brandon walked forward and placed the book in front of his father. “Look, you want Greene’s Pharmacy to meet the needs of this community, but I’m concerned you aren’t modernizing in ways that could help you stay open.”

“If modernization means not taking care of my patients, then I’m not interested. I’ll find a way to stay open.”

“While making no headway toward saving for retirement? That’s not okay, Dad. I’m not talking about getting rid of your Amish patients or even charging them more. The other day I used the pharmacy’s log-in info to look at the official CMS.gov site, and Greene’s has only three of five stars. The good news is the public can’t see that. It’s only for insurance companies, the government, and professionals within the industry. Remember that your rating determines how much the insurance companies can charge you to keep your insurance contracts every month. A bad rating can cost even a small pharmacy more than six figures in a year.”

Dad waved his hand as if to dismiss the notion. “I don’t have time to keep up with the games the politicians dream up. Stars. Sounds like those video games you used to play when you were a kid. It’ll be something different soon enough.”

“Maybe. But until then you really should keep up with these things. Right now you’re losing money on every Medicare script you fill. Those patients make up a large portion of your non-Amish customers.”

“And you know how to get that rating up?”

“I have some good ideas of where to start. For one, when you give medicines away, you still have to document it for the insurance companies. Otherwise, they think the patients aren’t taking their meds every month, and you get dinged on compliance. Also, when was the last time you gave an immunization?” Brandon started to cross his arms, but he lowered them, hoping to keep his posture humble.

The last thing he wanted to do was come across as if he thought he was a better pharmacist. He wasn’t for a lot of reasons, starting with the fact that he would never have his dad’s dedication or stamina to give so selflessly. But his dad was lacking in areas that were Brandon’s forte. Dotting i’s and crossing t’s to satisfy the higher-ups came naturally for him, which was good, because corporate pharmacists daily dealt with long lists of such matters.

Dad shrugged. “Most people would rather their doctor immunize them.”

“Some. But you have the potential of making good money offering flu shots for your insured patients.”

“Brandon, don’t you think we have enough going on right now with this lost information? Can this stuff wait?”

“That’s the problem. When you run a pharmacy, there are always issues that come up. You need to make time to look at this with me.”

“You win. I will. Soon.”

Brandon stifled a sigh. Soon, later—same thing, Dad, and it means not now, which means never. “Okay. Do you need anything?”

“Haven’t I seemed capable of taking care of myself over the last few weeks? I’m good. I’m going to make a few more phone calls.”

Brandon nodded and exited the room, leaving the money ledger on the desk and closing the door behind him. Though they had made real progress in their relationship, the old strain was still there. If only he could come up with a good plan to help his dad understand modern pharmacy practices. Maybe Mila would have some ideas. He pulled out his cell, went to Favorites, and pushed her name, which was the top entry.

“Heeey!” She sounded rather high spirited. The background noise made it seem as if she was standing in the wind.

“Hey, what are you up to?” Brandon smiled, thinking of her long hair blowing in the wind.

“Impromptu road trip.” He heard a female voice giggling in the background. “Katy and Laura from school sprang it on me. It’s my three-day weekend off. That must sound like a foreign language to you.”

“Yeah. Look, do you have a minute to talk, or can you call me back later?”

“It’s really hard to hear you right now, and calling later will be hard to do tonight. We’re going to a newly opened restaurant and then a country music concert. Katy even brought me a cowboy hat.” More giggling. “I would have invited you, but I already knew what your answer would be.”

“True. We can talk later. Have fun.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.” The phone beeped as the call cut off.

He lowered the phone, staring at it. If they actually managed to talk tomorrow, he’d be surprised. Whenever one of them called to talk, the other one was too busy. That’s how it’d been for the last two weeks. He was beginning to think that wherever he was, he didn’t fit—not here in work-hard-for-no-money Raysburg or in the carefree lifestyle Mila had built for herself in the city.

Feeling rather displaced, he shoved the phone into his pocket. He needed a walk.