along the wall, slapping the switch out. I could almost hear the angry gesture from where I was.
I didn’t want to talk to her while her son was present, so I headed back to the motel.
The next day I was up early and cruised back to the school before the teachers arrived. At seven fifteen I caught a glimpse of her Camry arriving and watched her climb out and stride unsmilingly into the school. Too many people around and she was too harried to have a conversation now.
I returned at three in the afternoon and when Annabelle emerged followed her to a nearby strip mall, anchored by a Harris-Teeter grocery store. She went shopping and came out a half hour later. She dumped the plastic bags in her trunk. I was going to approach her, even though a meeting in the parking lot wasn’t the most conducive place to pitch my case, when I saw her lock the car and walk toward a nearby bar and grill.
At three thirty she wouldn’t be eating lunch or dinner and I knew what she had in mind. People influenced by nemes often drink more than they should, to dull the anxiety and anger that come from the incorporation.
Though I would eventually work on getting her to cut down on her alcohol consumption, her being slightly intoxicated and relaxed now could be a big help. I waited five minutes and followed. Inside the dark tavern, which smelled of Lysol and onions, I spotted her at the bar. She was having a mixed drink. Vodka or gin, it seemed, and some kind of juice. She was nearly finished with her first and she waved for a second.
I sat down two stools away and ordered a Diet Coke. I felt her head swivel toward me, tilt slightly as she debated whether she’d seen me before, and turn back to her drink. Then the pieces fell together and she faced me again.
Without looking up I said, “I’m a professional counselor, Ms. Young. I’m here only in that capacity. To help. I’d like to talk to you.”
“You…you followed me here? From Raleigh?”
I made a show of leaving money for the soda to suggest that I wasn’t going to stay longer than necessary, trying to put her at ease.
“I did, yes. But please, you don’t need to be afraid.”
Finally I turned to look at her. The eyes were just as I expected, narrow, cold, the eyes of somebody else entirely. The neme was even stronger than I’d thought.
“I’m about five seconds away from calling the police.”
“I understand. But please, listen. I want to say something to you. And if you want me to leave, I’ll head back to Raleigh right now. You can choose whatever you want.”
“Say it and get out.” She took another drink.
“I specialize in treating people who aren’t happy in life. I’m good at it. When I saw you the other day in Starbucks, I knew you were exactly the sort of patient who could benefit from my expertise. I would like very much to help you.”
No mention of nemes, of course.
“I don’t need a shrink.”
“I’m actually not a shrink. I’m a psychologist, not a doctor.”
“I don’t care what you are. You can’t…can’t you be reported for this, trying to drum up business?”
“Yes, and you’re free to do that. But I thought it was worth the risk to offer you my services. I don’t care about the money. You can pay me whatever you can afford. I care about helping you. I can give you references and you can call the state licensing board about me.”
“Do you even have a girlfriend who’s a teacher?”
“No. I lied. Which I’ll never do again…It was that important to try to explain how I can help you.”
And then I saw her face soften. She was nodding.
My heart was pounding hard. It had been a risk, trying this, but she was going to come around. The therapy would be hard work. For both of us. But the stakes were too high to let her continue the way she was. I knew we could make significant progress.
I turned away to pull a card from my wallet. “Let me tell you a—”
As I looked back, I took the full tide of her second drink in the face. My eyes on fire from the liquor and stinging juice, I gasped in agony and grabbed bar napkins to dry them.
“Annie, what’s wrong?” the bartender snapped, and through my blurred vision I could just make out