Page 85 of Gideon's Gratitude

Because I hadn’t wanted to die in a hospital alone.

You could’ve called someone.

But that would’ve led to more questions. More fussing. My family descending en masse at the hospital.

You might’ve died alone.

Much as how I chose to live. I’d considered calling Jean-Michel for about ten seconds and hadn’t given Thea another thought.

“So what you’re saying is I’m fine. I always was fine.”

She glared. Yes, glared.

“You’re not fine. Your bad cholesterol is bad. Your blood pressure is regularly too high. You keep in shape, but your diet isn’t great.”

“Hey—”

“You consume far too much red meat, and your consumption of vegetables and fruits, or lack thereof, is worrying.”

“I take vitamins.” I wasn’t a huge vegetable fan. So what?

“Archer, you know it’s not the same thing. If you don’t get your blood pressure down and your cholesterol in better shape, we might have to resort to medication.”

“No drugs.”

“Which is what I assumed you’d say.” She tapped her fingernail against her desk. “Healthier food would go a long way, but it comes down to your stress level. You can’t keep going like this.”

And I’d known that. Lying in the hospital, hooked up to machines for the tests, I’d come to the realization I couldn’t continue in my life as I’d designed it. Something had to give. That was why I’d driven up to Mission City. To find answers Vancouver would never provide. “What if I do cut back?”

“And see a dietician and perhaps a counselor? All significant steps.”

“A counselor? Really?”

She shrugged. “The panic attack was genuine. You need to find a way to deal with stress, and I think finding someone to talk to would be good. Have you spoken to anyone since your divorce?”

“You mean like a professional?”

“Or family. Or a friend. Someone with whom you can share your grief.”

“I’m not grieving.”

“Archer, I appreciate you putting on a brave face. Divorce is one of the most stressful life experiences. Even if you can shrug it off, it’s still good to talk to someone.”

I had talked to someone. I’d spoken about this several times with Gideon over the past few days. Honestly, I didn’t need more than that. “I appreciate your concern, I really do, but I’m good.” I sat straighter. “I’ll see a dietician and try to cut back on the red meat.” I held up my hand when she began to speak. “I know I’ve been pushing too hard. Wednesday was a wake-up call for me. I appreciate you seeing me on the weekend.”

She pursed her lips. “My patients don’t keep nine-to-five hours. I was doing a few hours at the clinic near one of the homeless shelters in the Downtown East Side, so fitting you in wasn’t tough.”

Find out which clinic and make a donation.

“Can you honestly cut back?” Her skepticism was obvious.

“I can.” I pressed my sweaty palms against my trousers. “I’ve met someone, and I think spending more time with them—with him—would be good for me.”

Another arched brow.

“I’m, well, I suppose bisexual would be the correct term.”

“I’m not big on labels. Be safe is my primary message.”

---