When her esthetician Rue was trapped in an unhealthy marriage, Jenna paid for her to get her license and then allowed her to work out of her shop for free so she could save up to get a place for her and her kids to be able to leave.
She hadn’t grown up in this town, hadn’t known these people her entire life, she’d only moved a year and a half ago. Blake said she did that for people back in Boston, too. She never told anyone, not even Blake, half the things she’d done, but her daughter was snooping and found her box of thank you cards.
That told Deacon two things. One, Jenna was exactly the person he thought she was. Two, just because he’d written “For Your Eyes Only” on that invitation did not mean Blake would respect that boundary. He would need to keep his correspondence electronic. Blake mentioned offhand that her mom was super ‘sketch’ about her phoneand complained she didn’t even know the password, as if that was unthinkable. When he asked if her mom knew her password, she said, “Ew, no.”
Blake also said her mom did all those things for all those people, but still never missed a cheer competition, soccer game, choir performance, or play. Deacon had a feeling Blake was trying to do a Show & Tell of how amazing her mom was for his benefit, little did she know, he needed no convincing on that front.
When he saw he had two minutes until his scheduled appointment, he knew he needed to go in. He took a deep breath and contemplated leaving. He felt like a kid who was afraid of needles going into a doctor’s appointment that he knew he’d have to get a shot. His palms were damp and he wanted to drive away. It was ridiculous. All he had to do was talk.
Deacon entered the building, the warm air felt tight on his skin, uncomfortable as he stepped inside. He’d always expected therapist offices to smell like burnt coffee and those little cinnamon candies meant to mask the lingering scent of cigarette smoke, but Five Steps Counseling was all eucalyptus and vague unscented candles. It was brighter inside than out, which wasn’t saying much given the concrete sky and relentless drizzle of the mountain winter day.
He took a moment in the vestibule, adjusting to the warmth after the car. His coat was immediately too heavy, and he shrugged it off, feeling the sweat prickle along his collar. He wondered if therapy wassupposedto feel physically uncomfortable from the word go or if this was just his body’s way of rebelling. He wiped his palms discreetly on his jeans and took a seat in the waiting room, which was empty.
There were a half-dozen identical armchairs in a row,all upholstered in that indeterminate taupe reserved for mid-priced waiting rooms, and a small table with magazines so pristine their spines hadn’t been cracked. The art on the walls was abstract and forgettable, all splotches and lines and manufactured whimsy. He scrolled his phone, wondering if he should check in at the desk, but the only sign said, “Please wait to be called.” It was less a suggestion than a directive, and he respected the boundary.
When he looked up, the door opposite the entry shuddered open without so much as a click. For a split second, he saw his own reflection in the glass before the woman appeared.
She was younger than he’d expected, with a kind of casual confidence in the way she moved. She had an instant warmth about her, honey blonde hair, and a smile preloaded with empathy, and large green eyes that landed on him. “Mr. St. Claire.”
“Deacon, please.” She looked vaguely familiar. He was 99% sure he’d seen her at Yaya’s wedding.
“Ava, nice to meet you.”
He walked into the office and was surprised to find a serene haven, a temple of tranquility tucked away from the chaos of the world outside. Soft hues of sage green walls surrounded them on three sides, and the fourth there was a large rectangular window that took up an entire wall, framing pine trees, aspens, and wildflowers, revealing a secret garden.
A plush, comfortable couch was positioned in front of two large armchairs. The space was larger than he expected, creating a sense of openness and possibility, perhaps a subliminal message that there was always room to grow and heal.
“Please.” She motioned to the couch as she lowered down into one of the arm chairs.
As soon as they were seated Ava tapped her pen on her notepad. “I saw you at Yaya’s wedding, but we didn’t get a chance to?—”
“I was thinking the same thing,” he agreed.
“If I recognize people from town, I always mention it right up front. Hope Falls is small, but rest assured, what is said in these walls never leaves these walls.”
“So it’s like Vegas?” he joked.
“Exactly.” She smiled. “And, just full disclosure, I have heard of you peripherally. I don’t know anything about you or your family, other than your name is familiar. My younger sister is the pop culture queen. I liked to read a lot.”
“Got it.” Deacon appreciated Ava getting that out in the open.
“So, why are you here today?”
“I am a single dad, and my daughter is five. I don’t want to fuck her up with my issues.”
“Okay.” Ava nodded. “That’s good motivation. What do you feel like you need to work on?”
Deacon had been concerned this would be a waste of time like it had been in his earlier attempts, but as he sat across from Ava and started talking, he told her everything. He spoke to her about his childhood. Growing up, he felt like an outsider, even before finding out at thirteen that his parents were not his biological parents. He said he knew he didn’t belong, he didn’t know how he knew, but he knew.
He told her how it felt learning at thirteen that he’d been lied to all those years. How his trust for…everything evaporated in one conversation. He explained that his parents never asked how he felt about the bomb they dropped in his life. How they both acted as if being their child was the golden ticket. He told her once he found out hedidn’t want to ever depend on their money for anything, so he started his first online business at fourteen, and was able to sell it at sixteen to be completely self-sufficient for the rest of his life. His parents had no clue about anything tech and dismissed it as his “little computer thing” like he had a lemonade stand.
He told her about Cillian and how he and his family were the best part of his childhood. How he wasn’t sure he would have survived it without them. How he’d tried so many times to give them money when they had financial hardships, but how they had never accepted a dime from him. They just loved him for him.
He even told her that he was the founder and CEO of We-C-U, which only a handful of people knew, even the volunteers at We-C-U didn’t know, only the paid experts and employees. He told her his parents called it his ‘bleeding heart’ foundation. Not that there was anything wrong with foundations or charity, he gave millions to charities every year and did have a foundation, but We-C-U was a multi-billion dollar company. Tens of millions of people visited the website every month, they had advertisers lining up, not to mention sponsorships, partnerships, investments, and other diversions in their portfolios.
He told her about finding out the truth of his biological parents to then only have his parents die in a car accident six months later.
Finally, he told her about reuniting with his siblings.
