To Catch Her Death (The Grim Reality Series Book 1) by Boone Brux Page A

few beers.”
    “Me too. I’m a veritable font of wisdom after a six pack.”
    There had been several times over the last year when Vella and I solved the world’s problems. With each bottle we became more brilliant. But, as with reality, by the morning my genius had been replace by self-loathing and a monster headache.
    She scooted her chair forward and pulled a blood pressure cuff off a hook on the wall. “You’ll need to take off your jacket.”
    Obviously there was no way I was getting out of revealing my sweatshirt. This was a good lesson for me. I’d dressed like a frump for so long I’d become immune to it. Already this job was forcing me to give myself higher standards. I slipped off the jacket and pushed up my sleeve, resting my arm on the chair. Candace didn’t comment on my poor clothing choice and I didn’t bring it to her attention.
    After positioning the cuff, Dr. Jensen pushed a button. The whir of the machine kicked in. The band tightened. I attempted a few calming breaths, trying to make my blood pressure as low as possible. I had no idea what state my health was in after the year I’d just gone through. I was willing to try anything that gave me an edge. The pressure reached that painful point when my hand felt three times its normal size.
    A second later a tiny puff of air hissed, releasing pressure every few seconds. I mentally tried to slow my heart rate. Not having any real medical training besides what I learned from television, I didn’t know if that had anything to do with my blood pressure, but figured it was worth a try. A quiet ticking clicked from the machine. The painful throbbing ebbed to a tolerable level. After another few seconds, the cuff gave a loud sigh and deflated.
    “One twenty over eighty.” She yanked on the strap, and with a loud rasp of Velcro, freed my arm. “Perfect.”
    Relief, and I’ll admit, a little surprise washed through me. “Great.”
    She hung the cuff back up and stood. “Now, your weight.”
    I groaned. “Do we have too?”
    “Sorry.” She indicated a fancy scale the size of my treadmill. “It’s required.”
    “That thing looks big enough to weigh livestock.” She laughed. I plodded to the scale, shoulders slumped. Before climbing on I kicked off my shoes. Like I said, any edge I could give myself. I doubted it would matter when it came to finding out just how fluffy I’d become.
    I stepped on and stared at the digital reading. The numbers scrolled quickly upward and landed on a nice round one hundred and fifty. “Holy crap.”
    Candace wrote the weight on the file. “Listen, it’s natural to put on weight during a time of grieving, but you’re young and the weight shouldn’t be too difficult to take off.”
    She sat back at the desk and I plopped down in the plum chair. “I didn’t realize I gained thirty pounds.”
    Instead of making me feel better, her consoling smile drove home just how much I’d played into the grieving widow. Though perhaps not consciously, I’d used putting my kids’ needs before mine a few times too often.
    “I guarantee you’ll drop some weight once you start your training.” She closed the file. “Until then, try to eat better. I recommend cutting out sugar, which includes limiting your drinking.”
    “This job just keeps getting better and better.” I let out a sigh.
    “Well, we’re done except for—” She opened her drawer and pulled out a plastic cup with a blue lid. “Getting a sample.”
    I wrinkled my nose. “There’s no way I’m pregnant.”
    “Drug testing.”
    “Oh—right.” I took the cup. “Bathroom?”
    “Straight across the hall.”
    I exited the office. The bathroom mirrored the other room with its elegant granite countertops and tiled floors. I really needed to give my house a makeover. The 1970’s harvest gold bathtub and black laminate counters hadn’t been changed since the day the previous owners installed them.
    I mentally added yet another project to my growing