Page 64 of Gideon's Gratitude

And, finally, Archer. I glossed over most of that relationship because I didn’t have the right words. I didn’t have any words.

Through all this, Kennedy held herself still. She nodded frequently, and asked three questions at various times when I clearly wasn’t making sense. She kept me focused on moving forward.

I was wrung out. I had no idea of the time. Of even the space. My back ached, my temples throbbed, and Lucky had long ago passed out.

“I’m glad you felt comfortable sharing all that with me.” Words softly spoken.

“I don’t know if comfortable is the right word.” And I didn’t. More like word vomit.

“Well, regardless, I’m glad you didn’t hold back. The more honest you are with me, and with yourself, the more productive we can make our time together.”

Another rub to the temple. “Yeah, about that…” How did one bring up money?

“The clinic works on a sliding scale. Your sessions will be around ten dollars. Is that acceptable?”

I’d done my research. Good counselors charged easily ten or twenty times that. Sometimes more. “I don’t understand.”

“We have benefactors who make contributions. People who understand the critical importance of mental health. Some who’ve been patients, and others who have had loved ones visit. We also receive money from various levels of government to help with funding. Sometimes it’s a challenge, but we have a great administrative staff who keep the wheels turning.”

Much of this made little sense. Except it meant I could come back without having to dig into my monthly check. “Uh, thank you.”

A soft smile. “So, now that’s out of the way, I’m going to say a few things. Take what works and discard the rest. I just ask you keep an open mind.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I spoke to your counselor at the pain clinic.”

Crap.

“She said you were authorized to take acetaminophen and ibuprofen for pain. Neither are addictive, and they can make some pain manageable.”

“But —”

“And she said she understood why you refused, but that living with crippling pain was preventing you from fully engaging in your recovery.”

“Yeah.” She’d said that. On my last visit.

“She was disappointed you discharged yourself. She understood living so far away made things a challenge, and shewas surprised you didn’t take her up on a referral to a specialist closer to Mission City. We have several in Cedar Valley, all within driving range.”

“I just don’t see the point. I wasn’t getting better.”

A soft smile. “You were dealing with some serious mental distress. Things that couldn’t be avoided. Likely little would’ve helped at the time.” She held up her hand. “And I know you’ve got things going on now. You’ve developed coping mechanisms. Some are fantastic, like your support group, Lucky, and your friendship with Archer.”

Okay, that’s something.

“Some are less so.”

Saw that coming.

“The isolation isn’t good for you. Humans are social creatures. You know this. We require contact with other people.”

“I have Archer.” Worth a shot.

“For all of two days, and you’ve admitted you don’t know when he’s leaving or when he’ll be back. I think it’s wonderful you’ve made a new friend. That’s great. But you need to plan to come down the mountain more often.”

I wasn’t sure why I had to, but her point about connecting with others was valid. I’d connected with Sarabeth. Even in a small way. And the woman wasn’t likely to remember me, but her kindness had meant something. I also looked forward to my interactions with Riley. At least once a week I popped over to the site on the pretext of having a question or a concern. She likely saw through it, but she was always courteous and considerate.

The silence we lapsed into settled over me. The rain pelted against the window, and Lucky snuffled in his sleep. This was a place I could be comfortable in. A place I’d return to. “Let me think about it.”

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