Cottage A was a large one-story building. The room assigned to Suzanne had two beds, two nightstands, two dressers, and two closets. She stood in the middle of the room looking at her suitcases on the bed as she clutched her schedule in her hand. She had time to unpack and settle in, then she was scheduled for an individual counseling session.
“Don’t look so sad. It’s not that bad. In fact, it’s a pretty good place to get yourself together.”
Suzanne turned. A small woman with white hair smiled at her.
“Hi,” Suzanne said. “You must be the counselor.”
“No, I’m Annette, your roommate. You must be Suzanne.”
Suzanne’s eyes widened in surprise. “But, you don’t . . . I mean . . .”
“You mean I don’t look like an alcoholic?” Annette’s smile turned mischievous. “Tell me, what do alcoholics look like anyway?”
“Well . . . I . . .”
“The answer is easy, honey,” Annette said in a grandmotherly voice. “They look like you and me.
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