"So, what do you think we can work on to better make changes?"

        "I don't know. I thought you'd tell me."

        Dr. Deborah smiled a strange little tight-lipped smile. "I can't tell you what to do Evie. I'm here to help you figure out ways to go forward."

        "How much am I paying you again?"

        She gave me a mercy laugh; her short coiled hair bobbing. "There's that sense of humor again. I notice you use humor to deflect when you're feeling uncomfortable."

        "Everyone likes a funnyman."

        "Are you concerned about being liked?"

        "Isn't everyone?"

        A little over a month after Peter turned himself in Chelsea was able to get most charges against him dropped. A simple DNA test proved he was Derek's father. She argued that since he had never waived his parental rights, Peter was still Derek's father by law and therefore the kidnapping charge should be dismissed. I don't know how that witch did it, but a jury bought it and Peter got off with nothing but probation and about thirty-five combined days in jail.

        "Yes," Dr. Deborah adjusted her glasses. "But if a simple question makes you feel this way maybe that's something we should work on."

        I sighed. "I guess what I really want is for things to be the way they were before."

        "How was it before?"

        "Easy. Well, easier I should say." I absently strummed my fingers on the arm of her leather chair. "I wake up dreading another day. I walk around checking over my shoulder every five minutes. I hear a loud noise and I jump out of my skin. I never used to be like that."

        "So what's different is the way you feel?"

        "Ever since...the incident I've been afraid of my own shadow. I'm jumpy. I'm nervous. I think about that moment over and over again no matter how much I try to stop." Not to mention that time I pepper sprayed a man for talking aggressively. "I wasn't one of those people who was always looking for something, you know. I liked who I was! I was funny and charming and smart. I was a go-getter. Now it's like I can't get my feet on the ground. Like I'm always in traction."

        "Evie, you've experienced a trauma. No one expects you to bounce back in a day."

        "And what if I never bounce back?"

        She wrote some note in her clipboard then looked up at me. "We can't change the past. We have to take what comes."

         "Adapt or die."

         "Exactly."

        I'd taken Manny's advice to heart. In the weeks following our heart to heart I decided I was taking on a bit too much and it would be beneficial to me and the business for me to give myself an off day.

        "Mandatory staff meeting this afternoon." I'd told Pasha and Jackson. "All employees need to be there."

        At four pm that day all three of my employees—Pasha, Jackson, and Lana—were waiting for me to make my announcements.

        "Okay so I've made my decision on the new hire, but I have another announcement first. I'm creating a new position."

        "Another barista?" Lana picked at a loose thread on her jacket.

        "Assistant manager." All three of them straightened up when I said that.

        "Are you going to hire someone else?" Pasha asked.

        "Actually, I was thinking I'd promote someone. If you want it."

        "Really?"

        "Yes. The hours will be longer, but you'll get a pay bump of course. I also want you to train our new hire."

        "Finally." Jackson crossed his arms and sighed. "I'm sick of these kids trying to give me their resumes."

        "His name is Devonte Davis—"

        He smiled and clapped his hands dramatically. "That's what I'm talking about! Get some more masculinity in here!"

        I ignored his outburst as usual. "He goes to the college. He's going to be part-time." Despite having no experience or references, there was something about the kid I liked. Besides, everyone has to start somewhere. "After the training period is over, I'm going to be taking Saturday's off."

        "All of them?"

        "Outside of events or if we're shorthanded. Yes."

        "Do you think I can ever get over this?"

        Dr. Deborah tapped her pen on the edge of her clipboard. "The goal shouldn't be to get over anything. This is about healing. This is about moving forward."

        "I would like to move forward."

        "The first step is coming to terms with it. It happened there's no changing that. What we can do is work towards putting it behind you."

        Why was everything always work? "Okay."

        "I think you've made some really positive steps already with Manny. You're being open and being honest with him and that's key. You don't have to shoulder your burdens alone. A lot of people care about you."

        It was a week after Peter turned himself in that I had my sit down with Henry. It was a busy week for both of us, so we'd decided to take a quick lunch and catch up with each other. I'd ordered a salad because I'd felt like punishing myself and he'd gotten a big juicy burger that I kept eyeballing in envy.

        "I've got a scoop."

        "This is going to be good." He'd put down his burger and wiped his hands on his cloth napkin.

        "No, for real!"

        "Okay, I've got to hear this amazing scoop."

        "Okay, so you know Trudy Bergman?"

        He put one perfectly cooked fry in his mouth and loudly chewed it. "Yeah. Bludgeoned to death. Big shot. Works been trying to get info, but the Sheriff's office has been quieter than usual."

        I'd leaned forward and whispered even though no one around us could possibly know what I was talking about. "You didn't hear it from me, but the woman was a big-time pervert. And I've got witnesses who are ready to talk."

        "Really?"

        "Yes. But first I need to tell you something."

        He'd straightened up in his seat when he saw how serious I had become. "What is it?"

        "I... killed someone."

        The week after that Henry's expose hit the stands—that is, the Florida Times published his article both in print and on their website. From there the story got picked up by multiple publications local, statewide, and eventually nationwide.

        The conversations around the case were varied. Sometimes it was about female predators and the public's nonchalance when they hurt male children. Sometimes it was about the foster care system and whether the government can rehome children without consent. Sometimes it was about the age of accountability and whether a teenaged murderer can be held responsible. Mostly it became about victims fighting back against their abusers. By the end of it the narrative leaned in favor of Derek over Trudy.

       Hirsch and Ashworth had warned me Derek's case was a lot harder than Peter's. He'd fully admitted to killing Trudy, but with the evidence of her abuse and the court of public opinion leaning in his favor, they were able to negotiate a lesser charge. They managed to bring the charges from first degree murder to third degree manslaughter. That would get him about three years in a juvenile facility, two extra years of probation, and a sealed record once he turned eighteen. Not too bad considering the circumstances.

        The good doctor scratched at her freckles. "So what we can do in these next few weeks is figure out ways to help you cope with your life."

        I wasn't sure how to respond to that so for a moment we sat awkwardly staring at one another before I frowned and sighed. "I'm sorry. It's all so overwhelming. That's the word. I'm overwhelmed."

        She smiled at me and wrote that down. "I know, Evie. It's hard to ask for help. But you've gotten this far."

        "True."

        "Let's start from the beginning." She said gently. "Why do you think it's so difficult for you to tell the people in your life the truth?"

        "Honestly? I grew up lying. Mom was a bit strict. Sometimes I'd have to stand in her face and bullshit my way through my day. She meant well but the only thing I learned from being banned from so much was how to lie better."

        "So lying protected you a little?"

        "A little bit, I guess. I never even considered it a bad thing. To me it's a skill like all skills. First, I bullshit my mom. 'No, I didn't use your computer. I know I'm not allowed on the internet without permission.' Then it was for business purposes. 'This is why you should give me a small business loan.' But then I'd lie for no reason. Its like I'm afraid for people to see the real me."

        "It's good you can see that. Self-awareness is important." She looked at the clock over my head before flipping past the first page on the clipboard and detaching a lose-leaf and handing it to me. "We're just about out of time for today. I want to give you an assignment."

        "Homework? Geez, really?"

        "Really." She said with a nod. "I want you to complete a mood map."

        I looked over the printout and found a blank chart with space for fourteen days' worth of recording. "Good lord this is real homework."

        "I want you to track all your moods for two weeks. I want you to track when you feel scared or anxious or mad. But I also want you to track when you're happy too."

        "What good will this do?"

        "It'll help you get to the bottom of what triggers those negative emotions." She started gesturing with her hands to emphasize what she was saying. "Finding the triggers can help find the solution."

        "Aren't the triggers stress?"

        "Yes, but stress is a normal part of life. If you're getting so stressed, you're no longer functional, you have a problem."

        "Fair enough." I carefully folded the paper and slid it into my purse.

        "What about the P.I business?" She asked as we stood.

        I slung my purse over my shoulder. "What about it?"

        "Do you think it contributes to your added stress? You said you don't need the income. Will you keep at it?"

        I thought for a moment then nodded. "I think I will. That's not bad is it?"

        "No. This is your life. You choose what happens." She held out her hand and we shook. "This was a good first session."

        "Was it?" I said with a twist of my mouth. "Feels like nothing is resolved."

        "You keep that sense of humor. Laughter is better than any medicine you can get from here."

        Good news. Laughing to keep from crying is something I do very well, besides all the lying of course. And who knows, maybe this time tomorrow the grind would get a little easier. Maybe I'd be cured before I spent a grip on therapy. Maybe this one session was all the work I needed to do to get back to normal.

        Or maybe my dad would finally apologize, and my grandad would go home. And maybe he and grandma would makeup, have a vow renewal, and ride off into the sunset on the back of a goddamn unicorn.

        I laughed to myself as I walked back to the parking lot, my mind already off mood maps and trust exercises and on to coffee orders and employee payroll. But you know, maybe there was value in Dr. Deborah's suggestion that I stay positive. Maybe I'd gotten too cynical in my old age.

        Yeah, maybe.