Chapter

Dove drove out of town onto the winding dirt roads. She wanted to see the next town over, Tree Hill. There was a therapist there. She knew from her mother that a therapist couldn’t diagnose, but the woman should be able to tell her if she needed to talk to someone else. She should at least be able to say if there was really something to be worried about.

The front of the building said “Dr. Matthews” across its window in large gold letters. She walked into a small waiting room filled with magazines and chairs, which had a sign posted on the wall that said “Please Wait Here.” Most of the artwork on the walls was childlike, reminding Dove of her mother’s group home. She sat down and grabbed a magazine. She flipped through without really seeing anything, her heart pounding in her chest. Still, she felt little. She wasn’t in a full-out panic, just aware that this was an important, stressful event.

A few minutes later the door opened. A tall Latina opened the door, wearing a plaid T-shirt-style dress, and gave Dove a smile full of perfect white teeth. “Are you Dove Babcock?” the woman asked.

Dove stood. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Great, I’m ready for you. Right this way.” Dove followed the woman into the room. There was a desk with a nice chair behind, then a big, plush chair on the other side that the woman motioned to for Dove. “Is it okay if I call you Dove?”

“I think I’d prefer that.”

“Great, Dove. Well, I’m Dr. Matthews. I’m going to help you fill out the intake form, but before we start that, what brought you here?” Dr. Matthews asked.

Dove froze up. What brought her here? Where did she start explaining it? “I—uhm—uh—”

“Take your time.”

“Well, I’ve been being stalked. But people think I’m just being paranoid.”

“Why is that?” she asked.

“My mom is a paranoid schizophrenic. Plus, none of the neighbors have seen anything, and the police never get there in time to see him.”

“Does anyone believe you?” Dr. Matthews asked.

“No, no one.”

“That sounds like it would be very alienating.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dove answered. She had gone to family therapy before with her mother at the home, but it still always made her uncomfortable. She had spent so long trying to hide what was going on with her mother so she wouldn’t be institutionalized, so she had gotten very used to keeping secrets. She didn’t know if that was right, but she didn’t know a way out of it.

“Now, Dove,” Dr. Matthews started, “I’m not a cop. I cannot tell you if you’re being paranoid or actually seeing someone. Besides, even the cops may be wrong. But it seems like for now if we simply talked about what it’s like for no one to believe you that could be helpful. What do you think about that?”

“I just want to know if I need more help or not.”

“How about this. You give it till the end of a session, talking about what I want to talk about, then we’ll talk together about what might be going on.”

“Okay,” Dove said. She knew how intake forms worked, having helped her mother fill out many in the past, and they went through it line by line. There were questions on practically everything, from how much sleep she got to math questions testing her processing skills. Dove felt like it was a waste of time, since she never saw herself coming back, but she didn’t tell the therapist that. It seemed like it would be rude.

Once they finished it, Dove saw Dr. Matthews looking over her forms. “Dove, you said you don’t hear voices, see things other people don’t believe, or hold any beliefs other people would consider strange. You’ve had no problems with hygiene, thinking, or cleaning. Is this all true?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think you should come back, as we seem to have plenty to talk about, but at this point I don’t think you’re struggling with paranoia. You have no clear other symptoms, and it’s not normal for paranoia to come on its own.”

“So, I’m okay?” Dove asked.

“You realize even if you struggled with a mental illness you’d be okay, don’t you?”

“I don’t know …” Dove said uncomfortably.

“Isn’t your mom okay?”

“Well, she’d be more okay if she was healthy.”

“But it sounds like she’s doing well now.”

“Maybe for her diagnosis …” Dove didn’t like the path this was going down. It seemed as if Dr. Matthews was dismissing what her mom was going through. Her mother deserved more than being “okay.”

“Well, we can talk about this more next week. Am I going to be seeing you next week?”

“I don’t think so.”

“In that case, it was nice to meet you, Dove, and I wish the very best to you and your mother. Stay safe.” She put out her hand, and Dove shook it.

Dove let herself out, and thought through what had happened. She felt a new feeling of confidence. Nothing was wrong with her. A professional had confirmed it. That meant there was really someone after her, so fear came with the confidence. But being stalked seemed less scary than being mentally ill, though she hated herself for thinking it. She just thought she had seen enough dysfunction with her mother to know she didn’t want any of that.

She got back in her car and turned on the radio. Christian music blared out of her speakers. She realized she needed to pray. She considered closing her eyes and taking care of it in the parking lot, but she thought this prayer may be a little long for that, so she began driving, speaking aloud as she went.

“God, I don’t want anything to be wrong with me. It scares me, the possibility that I could be like my mother. The possibility of being stalked does too, but not nearly as much. I just hope to find out who it is and have this whole era of my life be over. Please consider it, God. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

Dove had the idea of stopping at the grocery store on the way home. Larson’s was a nice place, at least compared to Walmart. Sometimes more expensive, but clean and friendly. She just needed to grab a few things: bread and milk, maybe some spaghetti sauce. She wanted to be in and out in just a few minutes.

She walked in, waving to Val Larson behind the counter. The red and brown interior complemented the white rows of food, and everyone there seemed clean and fully dressed; entirely different from the local Walmart. Some of the policemen were sitting around, eating sandwiches and shooting the breeze on their lunch break. She saw Nate was one of them. She wondered if she was still angry at him, but she wasn’t overly in touch with her emotions. He had apologized. He didn’t believe her, but he apologized for it. Wasn’t that more than most people? More than her best friend suggesting she get professional help? She had to consider liking him.

She turned away and walked to the bread aisle, grabbed whole wheat without giving it much thought. Her mind was still centered on Nate. That’s why she didn’t see him.

Harold Dickens, walking through the aisle. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man, with very pink lips and a cleft chin. He was in her face before she realized he was there at all. “I heard you’re making up lies,” he sneered, pressing his face towards hers. It took her a moment to even register who it was.

“What do you mean?” she said, trying to keep her calm demeanor. Her ex-husband was a lot of bark and very little bite.

“I know what you’re doing. Trying to make me look like I’ve been doing it. I’m not stupid.”

“Doing what?” she asked, incredulous.

“Stalking you.”

“I specifically told the police I didn’t recognize who it was. Wouldn’t I recognize you? We were married for three years, Harold.”

“You’re still trying to frame me. Listen, little slut, if I have any more policemen knocking on my door, asking about you, I’ll give you a reason to call the police.”

“Excuse me?” a male voice said. That voice was even more surprising than the first one. Nate stood behind Dove now, arms crossed. “I’m sure you wouldn’t be threatening this nice lady with five cops around the corner eating lunch.”

“No threat, no threat,” Harold said, putting up his hands. “We’re just having a little conversation.”

“And I think you were just leaving,” Nate said.

“I have my groceries to pay for.”

“Then pay your tab and get on out of here.”

“I haven’t finished shopping! You can’t make me leave.”

“You threatened this lady,” Nate said, taking a step closer to Dove, protective. “I can do a lot more than that.”

“Fine,” Harold said, and turned to walk away.

“You okay?” Nate asked Dove.

Dove had to think about that for a minute. She had just been threatened, it was true, but she doubted there was any real danger. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure he wasn’t the one out your window? With your positive identification we could probably—”

“It wasn’t him,” Dove said. She hated once again having to explain something that seemed like it needed very little explaining. If only they could find the right guy, they could be done with this much sooner. If she could just see the guy that did it, people would stop thinking she was crazy. “I saw a therapist.”

“Good for you?”

“About paranoia, I mean. She said she doubted I was struggling with paranoia, and it made more sense that someone was actually stalking me.”

“Ah. Well, I’ll keep that in mind. If he bothers you anymore, you can give us a call. Do you want a ride back or anything? It would make sense if you’re shaken up.”

“I’m fine, but thanks for the offer. It’s kind of like you’re my hero.” Dove realized she was flirting without being totally aware of what she was doing. She was just thankful someone had her back. Besides, the sizable muscles and bald head were totally part of her type. There was something rather attractive about it.

As Dove left, she wondered if she should’ve said yes. Spending a bit more time with Nate didn’t seem like a problem. Didn’t every woman want a man in a uniform? She knew she had. She thought maybe her father’s absence made her crave a strong male figure even more. Someone in authority who could control the family and take some of pressure off of her. Dove liked her independence, that was more than true, but she wanted someone who could do their fair share of work. Nate seemed like he could be that man.