“Doctor Rothenberg, Fawn is here to see you.” Doctor Valencia Rothenberg hired Traci Underhill part-time, helping the Doctor answer the telephone, questions, and general office work so she could see more patients. Traci’s hard work and dedication to Valencia’s practice worked well for her, with incremental raises, a few well-received bonuses, and profit-sharing, which was tricky for a private practice counselor. In fifteen years, Valencia could count the number of her absences on one hand. She coordinated her vacations with Valencia’s, making it easier for the practice to continue. Traci’s ability to organize and keep records current was unmatched by any other temporary worker Valencia tried hiring. What started for Traci as a part-time office worker turned into a steady, full-time salaried position. No other company could or would offer the same kind of benefits that she had. Leaving the practice would hurt Valencia, at least in the short term.

“Thank you, Traci. I’ll be out in a minute.” Valencia typed a note on her iPad, scribbling a mundane detail in her planner for today’s date, which she wanted to recall but not formally record. After writing down the note, she tossed the pen onto her desk, littered with four different patient files, a few bills, a quote for a new malpractice insurance law firm, and a birthday card she meant to send her sister. She sighed, standing up and walking into the hallway, where Fawn was gabbing with Traci.

Traci found the Central Park Plaza North building vacant, giving Valencia an office space worth its price in the fifteen-story office complex in downtown Omaha, Nebraska. Best of all, there was a Starbucks downstairs, and even though it was slightly inconvenient, a small dose of caffeine was just what she needed, especially on longer days when she saw five or six patients. The corner office had two exits, through the front double doors or outside a side exit, leaving through the fire escape. The view was beautiful, especially the view of the Missouri River less than five miles away.

“Good morning, Fawn.” Valencia smiled. Walking into the reception area, and greeted Fawn, her first patient. Valencia caught the end of her conversation with Traci.

“Oh, I promise you. Cook it like that, at 275, and it won’t dry it out.” Fawn turned around, looking at Valencia. “Good morning, Doctor Rothenberg.”

“Traci. We’ve talked about this. You can call me Valencia.”

“Yes, Doctor Rothenberg, you are right. I can.” Traci glanced at Fawn, winking. “Fawn is ready for you, aren’t you, Fawn?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, Doc. Traci was telling me about a great recipe she got for chicken.” Valencia smiled, ushering her into the examination room. She called it that because she couldn’t think of a better term. Patient room? Talking space? Nothing seemed appropriate, but until she thought of something else, it was the exam room, after all; she was a Doctor, and she was seeing patients, right? It made sense to her.

The exam room was half the size of her office, almost as big as the reception area. Valencia had the entire fifteenth floor to herself. A large kitchenette was off to the right of Traci’s desk. Traci’s kitchen was half the size, and she lived with her boyfriend of six years in a five-bedroom home with a pool. Their kitchen was almost as big as Traci’s first apartment. Not that Valencia entertained often, but when she did? Catering had no problem packing the kitchen full of food, drinks, and a full-service bar. Valenica had a Christmas and New Year’s party every year, the office big enough for 150 people. Not that she or Traci knew that many people. But they could fit that many if needed.

There was no view from the second room of her office, which was especially good for her ADHD, OCD, and anxiety patients. Some of her bipolar clients could benefit from the sunlight, so Valencia had an artificial sunlamp embedded in the high vaulted ceilings. The property owner, one of her former patients, agreed to let her have it installed. Bart Rector, the owner of the space, had suffered from depression and anxiety for years until his sunlight and cognitive behavioral therapy with Valencia. Combining the two helped Bart for the first time in his diagnosis history. He figured if it helped him, it would help others. It was the only reason he agreed to it.

Traci turned on the sunlight a few minutes before Fawn arrived for her appointment, knowing it would take that long for it to heat up. Once it was on, it would work wonders, not only for Fawn but also for Valencia. The sunlight is why she could see more patients than other psychiatrists. Valencia was also surprised at the weight loss side effects of the light. She, like her patients, felt less hungry after a fifty-minute session.

Fawn walked into the exam room, picking out her favorite spot on a couch, halfway facing a corner recliner, Valencia’s spot. Not that she stayed there for every session. It all depended on the patient. If she started to pace in the space, Fawn would think something was wrong with whatever she was talking about. Fawn’s biggest problem was accepting things at face value instead of burying herself deep in the downward spiral of anxiety, thinking that everything that anyone ever did was her fault! Which was precisely why Valencia was happy she talked to Traci about the recipe. Fawn rarely spoke to anyone, even Valencia. To hear her having a conversation with Traci, a regular conversation, not one hyperfocused on a television show, Fawn’s favorite being the X-Files and Friends.

Plopping down the couch, Fawn started with, “You know what it is about David Duchovny that I love so much?”

Valencia rolled her eyes only because her back was turned to Fawn. Behind the door was a medium-sized refrigerator filled with bottled water, a few cans of Coke and Sprite, and a six-pack of Miller Lite, which must have been from their last New Year’s Party a few months ago. That’s how often anyone got into that fridge. Valencia grabbed two bottles of water, one for her and Fawn. “No, Fawn. But I’d be willing to guess it’s something to do with his sex appeal, right?”

“Yeah, Doc!” She sat up, pressing her chest forward. “He’s HOT.”

“Fawn, are we going to talk all about the X-Files for this visit? Or are we going to work?”

Fawn pouted, slumping back onto the couch. “I guess we can work,” she whined.

“Tell you what, Fawn. You work, and I’ll let you talk about the X-Files or Friends for five minutes. But you have to work first. Deal?”

Fawn Kendall was twenty-six years old, working at Walmart for four years, and supporting her mother with her paycheck and Mama’s disability and social security money. Fawn was seeing Valencia because of the trauma she suffered as a result of her Daddy’s untimely demise at Midwest Welding and Fabricating Incorporated. Fawn wasn’t told what happened, but her Mama’s reaction is what traumatized Fawn. Her yelling, screaming, and crying hysterically for weeks caused Fawn’s Aunt Linena to care for Fawn and commit her mother to psychiatric care. Nearly a year later, Fawn came home, moving back in with Mama, knowing she may never be the same. She visited her Mama in the hospital but wasn’t always there. Sometimes, it was the medications. More often, it was her own mental state, and seeing her daughter reminded her that her husband was gone. Fawn’s Dad, Joshua Kendall, Josh to his friends, died from a small piece of steel flung from a grinder more than a hundred feet from where he was standing. If he had been wearing his hard hat, he might be alive. But as luck would have it, he took it off long enough to wipe sweat from his forehead. It was just long enough for the metal to pass straight through his skull. It happened so fast that the other welders didn’t see what happened. He slumped over after the CLING from the metal hitting the grinder.

Fawn didn’t know all that because her Aunt refused to tell the young teen girl the truth. She felt it was better to hide it all from her. Fawn struggled with anxiety and small bouts of depression stemming from finding out the truth through her friends. It put a wedge between her and Mama, even though she took the responsibility of caring for her after Mama came home.

Fawn played with the stitching on one of the couch pillows. Valencia did her best to get her attention back on therapy. She cleared her throat. “Fawn? Do we have a deal?”

“Fine.” She punched the pillow. “This is getting to be a real drag, you know?” Valencia didn’t smile like she would’ve liked to, instead opting to nod slowly.

“Why do you think so?”

“Because it doesn’t feel like it’s helping. Talking about stuff, I mean.”

“Well, how are you feeling today?”

Fawn sat up straight on the couch, and then she smiled at Valencia. “I feel like ice cream, Doc. Let’s go get some ice cream; what do you say?” She stood, straightened her broom skirt, and walked to the outer door. “Cold Stone moved in downstairs. We could go get some. I’m buying.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a fistful of bills. “Come on, let’s do this!”

Valencia shook her head no, pointed at the couch, and waited for Fawn to plop back down. “You are no fun at all, you know that?”