Page 10 of Hungry Like the Wolf

“Robbie Cain?” she said, rounding the desk, and he saw that she wore wide-legged jeans and boots. “Wow, it’s a little cold for just a T-shirt.” It was a comment that didn’t really require a response from him. He cleared his throat, his affirmation sounding more like a croak than an answer.

“Would you like to sit?” she asked, gesturing at one of the two armchairs in front of him.

“I’m early,” he said, finally able to use his voice.

“Oh, that’s alright,” she answered, picking up a banana-yellow travel mug that said There are only two times I feel anxious: day and night. “My last appointment cancelled.”

Robbie sank into one of the chairs, questioning whether he’d taken her chair, anxiety rising fresh and terrible. But she hadn’t specified. Surely she would have if it mattered. Surely she would have?—

“Robbie, it’s so nice to meet you,” she said, sinking into the chair opposite him. He relaxed a little. “Would you like to tell me a little bit about what brings you here?”

“Well, I just haven’t felt like myself lately,” he said.

The words were true even if they did nothing to describe the bone-rattling anxiety and panic that had been worsening over the past month. She sniffed a little, as if smelling the air, and then sniffed again.

“Can you talk about that?”

Could he? He didn’t know. But that was why he was here, wasn’t it? To talk about it?

“Uh, fuck, I dunno,” he said before realizing he probably shouldn’t curse in therapy. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t cuss in front of you.” His mama would have had a field day.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” she said with a small smile. “I love cussing.”

“Oh. Right on,” he said, hearing how thick his mountain accent sounded compared to her total lack of one. “Well, I’m anxious all the time, but I’m not worried about anything.”

He paused. She sniffed the air again. Instinctively, he brought his nose to the armpit of his T-shirt, smelling nothing but his deodorant. He found himself looking around the room for a thermostat. What did she have the temp set to in here? Ninety-four?

“Go on,” she said gently, taking a sip from the yellow cup.

“I’m hot all the time. All the time, no matter what. I’m shaky, my heart beats like a thousand times a minute.” He stopped. “I mean, not literally, but?—”

“You’re having palpitations?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

She wrote something down in the notebook she held, and Robbie felt a droplet of sweat beading at his hairline. Shaving his head had made him cooler, but only by a small degree. He still felt like the furnace within him was getting hotter by the minute.

“Any chest pain?”

“What?” he replied, his attention pulled away from his thermostat hunt.

“Are you experiencing any chest pain?”

“Why?”

“Well, sometimes the symptoms of a heart attack mimic the symptoms of a panic attack. And I don’t like to take chances.”

“No chest pain,” he said, though wouldn’t that be his fucking luck.

“I think you should make an appointment with your doctor.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Oh,” she said. Her mouth forming a circle around the word. Oh.

“I’m new to the area,” he said as an explanation.

She nodded and sniffed again.