Chapter 17

“How are you doing?” she asked.

“Fine, and you?”

“I’m not making small talk.” Mae stepped outside and motioned for me to follow. There were two plastic green Adirondack chairs out there on a white gravel sort of patio. When she sat, I did, too. “I’m sensing…anxiety. You not good in crowds?”

“Everyone left,” I said, my smile faint. “There is no—What’s the word you used?—crowd. Maybe I’m not good outside the house at all anymore, or any time I’m separated from Goose. I was hoping it didn’t show.”

“Only to someone who’s been there, too, maybe.”

Since she’d asked, I explained to Mae what had brought on my new disposition and trouble with words.

“I went through something similar, Patrick, and sometimes we put on a face that doesn’t quite express what we’re really feeling.”

I also told her about my epic going back to work failure.

“Have you considered seeking professional help, a mental health counselor?”