Angels Fall

her legs and Willow assisted him.
    "Looks healthy," Doc commented.
    "Good, because it hasn't been getting any exercise in quite a while." When she heard Willow smother a laugh. Reece just closed her eyes. She had to remember some old saying about being careful of thoughts. They become words.
    When he was done, Doc patted her ankle, then stood to come to the side of the table for the breast exam. "You do your monthly self-exams?"
    "Yes. No. When I remember, I do."
    "In the shower, first day of your period. Make it a habit and you won't forget." His thumb brushed gently over her scar. "You had a lot of pain."
    "Yes." She kept watching the butterflies, the cheerful, colorful mobile. "A lot of pain."
    "You mentioned phantom pain."
    "I feel it sometimes, during a nightmare or just after one. During a panic attack. I know it's not real."
    "But it feels real."
    "Very real."
    "How often do you experience the phantom pain?"
    "It's hard to say. Couple times a week. I guess. That's way down from a couple times a day."
    "You can sit up now." He went back to his stool as Willow slipped quietly out. "You're not interested in continuing with therapy?"
    "No."
    "Or in chemical aids."
    "No. I've used both, and as I told you, they helped. I need to finish this my way."
    "All right. I'm going to tell you that you're a little run-down, and I don't think that comes as a surprise to you. I also suspect your blood test's going to come back borderline anemic. I want you to beef up your diet, literally. Iron-rich foods. If you don't know which foods are rich in iron, I'll have Willow print you out a list."
    "I'm a chef. I know food."
    "Then eat it." He wagged a linger at her for emphasis. "I also have some herbs you can use to help you sleep. In a tea you drink before bed."
    Her eyebrows rose. "Holistic medicine?"
    "Herbs have been used to aid in healing for centuries. I used to play chess with Willow's grandfather. He was a Shosbone shaman, and a hell of a chess player. He taught me quite a bit about natural medicine. He died last fall, at the age of ninety-eight, in his sleep."
    "Pretty good recommendation."
    "I'll mix the herbs for you and drop them by, with instructions, tomorrow at Joanie's."
    "Not to be, ah, fussy, but I'd like a list of the herbs, too."
    "Sensible. I want you back here for a follow-up in four to six weeks."
    "But—"
    "To check your weight, your blood, and your general well-being. If there's improvement, we'll go to three months for the next. If there's not"—he rose from his stool, put his hands on her shoulders, looked hard into her eyes—"I'm going to get tough."
    "Yes, sir."
    "Good girl. I hear you make a hell of a pot roast with all the trimmings. That's my fee for today, seeing as I browbeat you into the exam."
    "That isn't right."
    "If I don't like the pot roast, I'll bill you. Go on and get dressed."
    But she sat for several minutes when he'd gone out and closed the door behind him.

Chapter 14
     
    BRODY REMEMBERED to wash the sheets, but as his work-in-progress sucked him in for a straight six-hour stint, he nearly forgot to dry them.
    When he surfaced from the driving rain and spring mud he'd tossed his characters into, he had a vague and nagging jones for a cigarette. He hadn't taken a long, deep drag on a Winston for three years, five months and… twelve days, he calculated as he caught himself reaching for the pack that wasn't there.
    But a good writing session, like good sex, often teased the urge back.
    So he just sat and imagined it for a while—that simple, that seductive, that deadly pleasure of sliding one of those slim white cylinders out of the red-and-white pack, digging up one of the dozens of disposable lighters he would have scattered around. Sparking the flame, taking that first easy draw.
    And damn if he couldn't taste it—a little harsh, a little sweet. That, he supposed, was the blessing and the curse of a good imagination.
    Nothing stopping him from going into town right now and buying a pack. Not a damn thing. But it was a point of pride, wasn't it? He'd quit, so that was that. Same deal with the Trib , he reminded himself.
    Once he closed the door, he didn't crack it open again.
    And that, he supposed, was the blessing and the curse of being a stubborn son of a bitch.
    Maybe he'd go downstairs and get some oral satisfaction from a bag of chips. Probably should make a sandwich.
    It was the thought of food that reminded him Reece was due in a few hours. That made him remember the