“This is the first time,” Lucy said. “I’ve looked it up online, but that’s it.”

Frankie cocked her head a little. “So why now?”

“What?”

“It takes courage to confront a phobia, no matter what it is. Many people go for years—or even their whole lives—without dealing with it. I was just wondering if anything in your life led you to face your fears at this particular moment.”

“Oh. I don’t know. I guess there are lots of things.”

Lucy got out of the chair. She looked uncomfortable. Frankie watched her pace back and forth and knew she was on the verge of losing her. You never knew which questions would push a patient outside their comfort zone. Something was going on with Lucy Hagen—something more than a fear of bridges. But most people’s phobias had deep roots.

“Tell you what,” Frankie said, grabbing her cell phone from her desk. “Would you like to see the room where we actually do the work? It’s a little nicer than my office.”

“You don’t do it right here?” Lucy asked.

“Oh no. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Frankie crossed to the door that led to the therapy room and gestured for Lucy to join her. After a moment’s hesitation, Lucy did. Frankie held the door open for her, and Lucy went in first. The young woman’s eyes widened at the high ceiling, the huge 4K screen, the bookshelves, the watercolor paintings, and the comfortable chaise in the center of the room. The carpet was so lush that you wanted to take off your shoes and dance on it.

“Wow,” Lucy said.

Frankie laughed. “Yes, it’s almost like a little getaway, isn’t it? I love it here. I use it myself to relax. Some patients want to vacation here.”

She went to the console and programmed the screen to play high-definition video of snow falling on a flat Midwestern field. She chose a Helen Jane Long album for background music. Lucy sat on the side of the chaise and soaked up the feel of the space.

“I want people to feel that this is the safest place they’ve ever been,” Frankie told her. “There’s no fear in here. There are definitely no bridges.”

“Wow,” Lucy said again. “I love it.”

“Good.”

“You’re right, by the way,” Lucy went on. “I do feel like I’m at some kind of turning point. I’m not sure I can describe it.”

“Just go ahead and talk. It doesn’t have to make sense.”

“Well, these past few days, a lot of things have happened. I lost someone. A friend of mine died. And then at the same time, I met someone. I like him. So I just feel like—I don’t know, like a girl who’s scared to death of bridges isn’t the person I want to be. That must sound crazy.”