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“It’s my boss,” Nan said, her voice thick with tears. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, but if I complain...”
“You are afraid you’ll lose your job?” Camille asked when Nan didn’t finish her thought.
“That and so much more,” she said, rubbing a tattoo of a dragonfly on the inside of her wrist.
Camille wanted to ask Nan what she did for a living but didn’t sense that this was the right time. Instead, she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs and waited.
“I work so hard, but nothing is ever enough. I don’t think I can take it any longer.”
“You’ve tried talking to your employer?” Camille asked, wanting to know more.
Nan gave an angry laugh. “That would be impossible. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t care.”
“What about quitting?” Camille asked. “Is that an option?”
Nan considered this, again spinning the ring on her finger. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I’ve thought about it, but I can’t. Not yet. In this twisted way she needs me. I just wish there was a way I could make her see how important I am, the value I bring.”
“What would be enough?” Camille asked. “Would make things right?”
Nan sniffed, sliding her fingers beneath the frames of the black lenses of her glasses and rubbing her eyes. “I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right that she gets to walk through life like I’m a no one. There should be consequences.”
“Consequences?” Camille echoed. “What do you mean?”
Nan stood up abruptly and moved to the window that looked out at a stunning view of the bay. She was quiet for a long time. Camille let the silence hang. When Nan turned back to Camille, her lips were curled in anger. “I don’t know—public humiliation, financial ruin sound reasonable to me.”
“You’re angry,” Camille observed.
“Damn right I am,” Nan shot back. “The way she treats me, others. How can I just sit back and take it? It’s not right.”
When Camille didn’t fill the silence, Nan returned to her seat and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Have you ever read The Count of Monte Cristo?” she asked. “Or Hamlet?”
“It’s been a while,” Camille admitted. “But yes, I’ve read them. Both are about revenge,” she added, carefully watching Nan’s reaction.
“Yes, but it took Dantès and Hamlet years to dole out their revenge,” Nan said, shaking her head. “I don’t think it should take that long.”
“You’re thinking about revenge?” Camille asked, alarm bells beginning to ring in her head.
“No, of course not,” Nan said in a rush. “Not really. Though I’d be lying if I said I don’t fantasize about throwing my laptop against the wall and walking out.”
“How about we brainstorm some other options?” Camille asked.
For the next thirty minutes, Camille tried to get Nan to reveal more about her work situation, but Nan was vague, elusive, not willing to offer concrete examples of what she was experiencing. Finally, the timer on Camille’s watch beeped. Their time was up.
“I think I can help you, Nan, with what you are feeling,” Camille said. “I can help you process your feelings about your employer and decide what, if anything, you can and should do. Do you think this is something you’d like to pursue?” she asked, picking up a box of tissues from a nearby side table and holding it out to her.
Nan plucked a tissue from the box. “I think so,” she said, dabbing at her nose. “I think I would like that very much.”
“Good,” Camille said, bringing up her calendar on her phone. “Now, next week at this time is booked, but if it fits with your schedule, I’d be willing to see you after hours, say six o’clock?”
“That works,” Nan said with obvious relief, standing up. “And—” she hesitated “—I prefer not to go through my insurance for my sessions. Cash is okay?”
“That will be just fine,” Camille assured her. Nan handed her a slim envelope and Camille led her from the office, past Geraldine’s desk, and out the front exit.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Tamerlane. This has been weighing on me,” Nan said, reaching out to shake Camille’s hand. Her fingers were cold and damp.
“It’s my pleasure. See you next week.” Camille watched as Nan walked away down the quiet street.
Once back inside, Camille set the cash atop Geraldine’s desk. “You know what to do with this.”
