Page 7 of Firefly Effect

I give the sweet old woman a bewildered stare. “But why?”

She shakes her head, clearly filled with as much concern as I would expect, given the unexpected circumstances. “I’m afraid I don’t know the details. Gena called last week and said that J.D. would be taking an unexpected leave and that the Care Group would be sending a replacement therapist in his absence.”

Well, that explains how a stranger could just walk into my session… I think… but I have so many questions.

“An unexpected leave?” What a strange thing for J.D.’s wife to say without explanation. “For how long?” I’m trying not to become too angry with the sudden turn of events.

Doreen blinks like she’s still trying to process the information herself. “Indefinitely, I suppose.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if somehow the darkness will help stop the feeling of the ground opening up below me. “None of this makes any sense. Why wouldn’t he reach out to me himself?”

She opens her mouth like she wants to reassure me, but I see the conflict that flickers through her expression. “Whatever is going on with J.D. must be very personal. All we can do is wish him and Gena the best and hope we hear from him soon.”

My heart clenches for the poor old man—a man who has always felt like more of a friend than a professional hired by my uncle during a dark time in my life. I hope he’s okay. I hope his family is okay. But how am I supposed to start seeing someone new now, especially when I’ve been questioning if I should still be coming here at all? Surely after all these years I should be able to kick away the crutch and walk on my own, but this turn of events has thrown me into a tailspin.

Doreen begins muttering something about being so organized and forgetful which is why she probably never left me a voicemail, but I can’t listen anymore. I look around the reception area instead. I’ve never understood why J.D. filled it with so many plush leather chairs when there’s only one office. Maybe guests wait there every now and then for their loved ones in sessions or arrive early for appointments of their own, but I’ve never seen anyone else sit there.

Still reeling from the news, I turn at the sound of someone approaching. For a brief second, I forgot anyone was behind me. My eyes connect with the new therapist’s, and shame washes over me as I replay my reaction to seeing him.

“Maybe we should try this again.” The man’s deep voice rumbles when he speaks. He holds his hand out. “Dr. Lincoln Reed. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Vaughn.”

Swallowing, I reach out to take the offered hand. His firm grip engulfs mine. “Just Evelyn,” I say, blushing at my own correction. “Ms. Vaughn is too formal and reserved only for my mother, whom I haven’t spoken to in years.”

A glint of humor sparks in his eyes, and I’m afraid I’ve led the gorgeous man to believe that I’ll actually sit back down on that couch and spill my guts. It’s not going to happen, though I do allow myself to shake his hand.

“In that case,” he says, still holding my hand. “I’m just Lincoln. No need for formalities here.”

For the first time, I really look at him. Just on physicality, I would have never pegged him as a therapist—or a doctor of any sort. Maybe I would place him at a construction site or wielding an ax in the middle of the woods, preferably shirtless. Then again, what else do I have to compare to other than J.D., a sixty-something man who never goes anywhere without his gold cane?

Green eyes stare back at me beneath the reflection of his glasses. His full beard somehow makes him more of a mystery up close—and that scent. Now that I’m taking it in again, I realize how much the cedar and citrus tones remind me of an apple orchard my uncle and I once went to in Asheville during one of my summer visits. I was eight and remember it being one of the most magical days of my life, exploring endless rows of trees, climbing small ladders to pluck my favorite fruit from the branches, dancing to live music, seeing happy faces, and eating from food trucks. My uncle bought me my first caramel apple that day, and nothing had ever tasted better.

When I finally pull my hand away from his, I can feel some of the tension roll off my body. “Do you mind if I have a private word with Doreen? Just to work out some scheduling conflicts?”

Lincoln nods and takes a step back. “Of course. You know where to find me when you’re done.” He gives the smallest of smiles before turning away and retreating into J.D.’s—well, his office.

“Oh.” Doreen perks up slightly, bringing my attention back to her. She hands me a dark-gray business card with the name Dr. Lincoln Reed and contact info in gold script. “You’ll probably want one of these. And I’m happy to look at your scheduling conflicts.” She turns to her computer and begins clicking around to get to the right screen.

“Thanks, Doreen.” I look down at her, feeling a tinge of guilt for what I’m about to say. “But I don’t think I’ll need any more appointments.”

Doreen’s crystal-blue eyes widen on me. “At least take the consultation, Evie. He came with glowing recommendations from the Durham branch office.” She leans in, lowering her voice even further. “And he’s a real doctor. A psychologist with a slew of degrees and certifications. The cost to you won’t go up a single penny.” She searches my expression with visible concern. “Give him a chance.”

I shake my head, committed to my decision—a decision I think I made even before coming here. “No offense to Doctor Reed. This has been on my mind for quite some time. J.D. leaving just makes it easier, I guess.” I give Doreen a warm smile, hoping she won’t take this personally. “I’m ready to end my sessions. Permanently.”

With those final words and a goodbye hug to Doreen, I head straight for the exit. And as I pass a little red sports car in the parking lot, I take a long deep breath and smile. Because for the first time in over twelve years, I feel okay—like I can let go of the crutches that have helped hold me up for so damn long and just live.

CHAPTER

TWO

LINCOLN

It’s nearly nine o’clock by the time I get back into town from my afternoon trip to Durham. After several back-and-forth trips over the past few days tying up loose ends, I’ve become exhausted, not to mention overworked from trying to keep up with the free therapy consultations.

Helping patients gain trust with a new therapist is anything but easy. It takes time—sometimes months—to build that relationship. All I can do is hope that some of Jenkins Douglas Wright’s clients will at least give me that chance.

I frown, thinking of a certain someone from earlier this week who most certainly won’t. Evie Vaughn, with her wavy blonde hair, perfect fair skin, big blue doe eyes, and undeniable beauty. The one who couldn’t run away fast enough.

Her rejection stings extra-deep knowing that she had been a patient of Wright’s for twelve years. I couldn’t even get her to stay five minutes.

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