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was used to forms—used to dealing with and tracking the paperwork he encountered daily at work—but this was something else. Did she really need to know his sleep pattern (bad) or how many times a week he had sugar (at least seven, if he had ice cream every day, and sometimes he actually had it twice, and was he supposed to admit that too)? She wanted to know about any history of depression (he called it the blues, himself, and given long enough, it usually dissipated like drift smoke). Relationship troubles? That was one place he was good, he knew that. No relationship trouble at all. If you kept yourself happily single, you didn’t have any worries in that area. 
    And he was not going to tell her about his bathroom habits. No way. 
    But the other stuff surprised him. He didn’t lie about smoking, because he didn’t have to. He’d always hated the habit, and being in his line of work had made him hate it more. How many thousands of breathing calls had he been on over the years? Lung cancer was ugly, uglier than most other ways to die, and he’d seen a lot of it. Nothing fun about drowning to death. 
    Drinking? Sure, he had a few on the weekends. Lately he might have been having one too many on occasion, and it bothered him to admit it, starkly like that, in blue pen on white paper. It was actually a good reminder for him. It didn’t take very many to be too many. He resolved, sitting there, that he was going to let his bottle of Scotch maybe pick up a few cobwebs. He didn’t need it, and he didn’t ever want to.
    Grace had given him a cup of tea in a green and white ceramic mug when he’d sat down with the questionnaire, and he took a sip absently. 
    Okay, normally tea wasn’t his thing, not even when they gave it to you free at Su’s Chinese on Fourth. This was different, though. It wasn’t sweet, but there was something to it…vanilla? Something sweet. Kind of the same scent he’d smelled on her last week, actually.
    “You ready?” She reentered the small room. 
    He nodded. “Hey, you sure you have time for me today? Because I can come back another time.” 
    “This way.” She led him into the next room. He hadn’t even given the room a second glance when he was there for the air conditioner fire on Friday, but now he took his time looking around. In another lifetime, this room was probably the parlor of the old Victorian. It was narrow, but it ran long. Green plants in brightly painted pots were everywhere, giving the room a lush, verdant feel. The walls were covered with red velvet wallpaper, the design ornate. While it should have made the room seem heavy and dark, the many windows, most of them standing open, made the room feel airy. The place where her fire extinguisher should have hung was still empty. 
    He pointed. “You need to buy another one.” 
    “I have it in my car.” 
    “No good to you out there.” Tox turned slowly. He counted ten simple recliners, nothing like the plush, heavy ones they had at work. 
    “You can fill all these chairs with patients? At the same time?” 
    “Sometimes,” she said easily. “I have a couple of private rooms for people who don’t want to share. Would you prefer that?” 
    And have her think he was shy? No way. 
    “That’s okay. I know I didn’t have an appointment and all. I guess I should have called.” He jerked his head in the direction of the way they’d come. “You want me to come back another day?” 
    She gestured to the empty recliners. “Shoes off, please.”
    “Oh.” He’d been halfway hoping he’d get out of it. Maybe she’d even tell Lexie he’d come by, and then she’d get off his back. 
    “I actually have a pretty full afternoon. It’s good that you’ve come now. A patient’s first appointment is the most important, and it’s the one that takes the longest.” 
    What was she planning to do to him? 
    Grace pointed him to the recliner nearest the stereo. “As you saw, this is my main treatment