Angels Fall

with a sigh. "Not as often as before, certainly not as intense. And yes, I still have anxiety attacks, but not as often or as intense either. I used to have night terrors, but they've throttled down to nightmares. I still have flashbacks, phantom pain sometimes. But I'm better. I had a beer at Clancy's with Linda-gail. I haven't been able to sit in a bar and have a drink with a friend in two years. I'm thinking about sleeping with Brody. I haven't been with a man in two years.
    "Every time I think about just driving out of town, I don't. I even unpacked last night, put everything away again."
    Behind his glasses, his eyes sharpened. "You packed your things?"
    "I…" She faltered a moment. "Yes. I don't remember packing, and
    I know that's a big X on the minus side of my mental health board, but I offset it with a big check mark by unpacking , and added another check mark by coming here. I'm coping. I'm functional."
    "And defensive," Doc pointed out. "You don't remember packing your things?"
    "No. I don't, and yes, it scared me. I put things in the wrong place once, too, and just don't remember. But I handled it. I couldn't have handled it a year ago."
    "What medications are you taking?"
    "Nothing."
    "On doctor's recommendation?"
    "Not really. I tapered off of this, tapered off of that, then stopped taking all of them over six months ago. They helped when I needed them most. I know medications helped me find some sense of balance again. But I can't live my life when there are meds suppressing this or coating over that. They helped me get through the worst of it, and now I want to get through the rest myself. I want to be myself."
    "Will you come to me if you decide you want medical help?"
    "All right."
    "Will you let me do an exam?"
    "I don't—"
    "A checkup, Reece. When did you last have a physical?"
    Now she sighed. "A year or so ago."
    "Why don't you come into my office tomorrow morning?"
    "I have the breakfast shift."
    "Tomorrow afternoon. Three o'clock. It'd be a favor to me."
    "That's a lousy way to put it," she replied. "All right. I like your house. I like that you've kept this room the way your wife liked it. I'd like to think that one day I'll have a room and someone who'd care enough to keep it for me. I'm trying to get there." She got to her feet. "I have to go to work."
    He rose as well. "Tomorrow, three o'clock." And held out a hand as it sealing a deal.
    "I'll be there."
    He walked her to the door as Brody strolled out from the kitchen. When they were outside, Brody headed for his car.
    "I'm just going to walk." Reece told him. "I want the air, and I've got a little time before my shift."
    "Fine. I'll walk up with you. and you can fix me lunch."
    '"You just ate two cookies."
    "Your point?"
    She just shook her head. "You'll have to walk back again to get your car."
    "I'll walk off lunch. You do blackened chicken?"
    "Can I do it. yes. But it's not on the menu."
    "So charge me extra. I feel like a blackened chicken sandwich on a kaiser, with onion rings. Feeling better?
    "I guess I am. Dr. Wallace has a way of smoothing out the edges." She dipped her hands into the pocket of the hooded sweatshirt she wore against the stubborn spring chill. "He pressured me, very avuncularly, to go in for a physical tomorrow. But you probably knew he was going to do that."
    "He mentioned it. He's the sort that pokes his nose in. Avuncularly. He asked me if I was sleeping with you."
    "Why would he do that?"
    "It's his way. You're in the Fist, you're his business. So I can tell you, if that woman had spent any time here, he'd know it. Sheriff's dog's in the lake again. Rather swim than walk."
    They both stopped to watch the dog paddle enthusiastically through the water, sending back a little wake that rippled through the reflection of the mountains.
    "If I stay, I'm going to get a dog, and teach him to fetch a ball out of the lake like—what's her name?—Abby did with Moses there. I'll get a cabin so he can be outside when I work. My grandmother has a teacup poodle named Marceau. He travels everywhere with her."
    "A teacup anything named Marceau isn't a dog."
    "He certainly is, and he's sweet and adorable."
    "It's a wind-up toy with a pussy name."
    She snorted back a laugh. "Marceau is very smart, and very loyal."
    "Does he wear cute little sweaters?"
    "No. They're dapper little sweaters. And though I have great love for Marceau. I'm thinking of getting a big, sloppy dog like Moses, one that would rather swim than