Jenny"Thank God and a goose, it's Friday." I kick off my shoes and drop onto the couch. Across the room, in the kitchen, Nico is standing at the stove where I've come to expect him to be at the end of each day. Of course, since the Mollie incident of a week ago, I never assume that he'll be there alone. Nico's ex-or more accurately, his on-again, off-again friend with benefits-had turned out to be as nice as he'd claimed. The three of us had a great time at dinner, once I relaxed. But still . . . I'm coming to realize that this interlude with Nico is just that: a brief epoch in time when we're both living under the same roof, flirting a little and having fun. I'm fully aware, though, that the day is coming soon when he'll finally get a job and move. Or maybe he'll meet someone and fall in love, and I won't be able to stand watching it happen at close range-so I'll be the one to move out. Either way, it's bound to happen. For now, I'm just enjoying every minute that things are

DeaconIt was nearly eleven o'clock, and I was exhausted. But then again, what else was new? The day had been a long one, but not a bad one. We were three weeks into real life for the oncology wing here at St. Agnes Memorial Hospital-the realization of a dream I'd had for years-and real life wasn't always pretty. The patients occupying the rooms on this floor were all seriously ill. Each one was facing pain, incredible suffering and possible death. I never forgot that, not for one minute. They deserved the best we had to give them, even when that meant sacrificing time, energy and any kind of life outside these walls.That was why the telephone call I'd gotten late this afternoon was such shitty timing. The last thing I needed was someone else telling me that I was needed-desperately-thousands of miles away from the hospital where I'd committed my time and energy. There was no way I should have told Erin Lopez that I'd even think about the possibility. I was the head physician i

EMMAAn hour later, I left Mr. Crew's room, feeling somewhat better than I had when I'd gone in. He wasn't an easy man, that was for sure, but on the other hand, he'd been fighting multiple myeloma for almost four years. He'd been in remission for two years; now, the stem cell transplant that had given him a few years of relative health had to be repeated. He was in the hospital for a clinical drug therapy prior to the next stem cell harvest. The man had been through excruciating pain, crippling illness and fatigue. I couldn't blame him for being tired of more doctors, more questions and more options. Still, he'd opened up enough to listen to me for a while and had seemed amenable to further discussion, once I'd had the time to review his file more thoroughly.Back in the hallway, I wasn't unaware of the eyes that followed me with interest as I wandered toward the staff lounge. The head nurse and I hadn't been exactly circumspect in our disagreement, and if this hospital was lik

EMMAI hadn't paid much attention to my surroundings when I'd driven into Harper Springs early that morning, but now, as I followed my navigation app's directions from the hospital to the piece of land that was my new home, I took the time to check it out. The main street was lined with shops and businesses that gave way to small homes, most of which looked like they were fifty years old or more.My first reaction to the email asking me to consider taking this position had been cautious interest. And then I'd opened up a map on my computer to see exactly where Harper Springs, Florida, was located, and I'd laughed. Why in the world would I leave Philadelphia? Why would I give up an apartment that was within walking distance of restaurants serving five different cuisines, the best grocery stores in the world, and a bustling nightlife? The answer was that I'd never really wanted to live in the city. For years, my dream had been to find a piece of land where I could build my own hom

EMMA"Well . . . this is better." Jenny stood in my sitting room with her hands on her hips, surveying the trailer. "I mean, with all due respect, it's probably not going to make the cover story of Home and Garden any time soon, but it's kind of cute, actually." I flopped back into the comfy chair we'd found at the thrift store, kicking off my shoes. "It smells better. And it's clean. And . . ." I took a deep breath. "It's mine.""It is, indeed." Jenny's tone left it up to interpretation as far as whether that was a good thing or a bad one. I understood her trepidation. While my little home-on-wheels was better than we'd found it, it was lit by a variety of gas lanterns (from the camping department at Walmart) and kerosene lamps (from the thrift store). My bedroom and sitting room walls were lined with jugs of water I'd bought for drinking, washing dishes . . . and showering. I hadn't been sure how I'd manage basic bathing, but then when we'd been looking for the lanterns at