My breath caught in my throat. In all the wisdom of the Army, they’d hired a Muslim woman to treat combat soldiers who were having problems adjusting after returning from fighting Muslims?
“You,” she gesticulated at me roughly. “You wait in downstairs waiting room.”
Charlie’s knee was bouncing and his knuckles had gone white from gripping the sides of the metal chair. Ever nervous, any noise made him jump and a thin sheen of sweat veiled his forehead. “No, you don’t understand, she has to stay with me.”
She stared at us through sour, empty eyes and growled, “She wait outside. I call her in later.”