Diagnosis: Love

Jenny"I will never be able to thank you enough for this. Not as long as I live." I turn in a small circle, my arms wrapped about myself, taking in all the details of the room where I'm standing. It's all shades of tan and brown, a complete study in understated elegance, and I am one hundred percent in love. I can't wait to lay on the extra wide couch and watch Grey's Anatomy with a big glass of wine. Or a beer. I'm not that picky."Jen, you're making this a bigger deal than it is. You're helping me out, too, you know. I mean, I'm moving to Chicago, and I still have a year left on this lease. I'm just happy that someone I trust can sub-let from me." Nico stands across the room from me, leaning against the doorjamb, his back to the screened patio and pool. The late afternoon sunlight casts a glow on him, gleaming on his silky black hair and burnished skin. With his impossibly wide shoulders and the broad chest that tapered to narrow hips, he looks like a god who's popped down

JennyFor the next ten minutes, as Mrs. Cosgraves rummages for my contract, and then having found it, sets it on the desk in front of me, I vacillate between two extreme mental states. The first is screaming in horror and frustration, asking me what the fuck I just did. The second is a calm, soothing voice, assuring me that it's all going to be okay. That Nico will never have to hear about this. That he doesn't know anybody in this town, so no one is going to call me out on what could be considered either a bald-faced lie or an insane fantasy.When I sign the contract – unread, I might add, which I know on another level is probably a really stupid thing to do – the HR rep announces that it's time for her to take me on a tour of the new wing. I stand up, nearly knocking over my chair in my hurry."Oh, I'm sure I can manage to find it by myself. You're so busy…" I glance around at the empty room. "I mean, I'm sure you have so much to do with the opening, and the last thing you need

JennyI've never had a stroke, but in the process of my education as a nurse practitioner, I had to learn about the symptoms and signs. As I stand in front of Nico, staring at him, I'm pretty sure I might be experiencing a cerebral hemorrhage right now. Either that or a panic attack. I can't be sure. All I know is that I can't speak, I can't move, and it's entirely possible that I'm having hallucinations because I can't think of any reason Nico should be back in Florida. I must be imagining this. Maybe those margaritas were a little more potent than I'd thought. But then everything happens at once, and I know for sure I'm not dreaming. The women behind me, who'd lapsed into shocked silence moments ago, suddenly all begin talking at once. Talking might not be an accurate description, actually; they're alternately sighing, screeching, and quite possibly speaking in tongues. My Virginia-born grandmother would say that they're carryin' on. Nico spares the group a glance over my

Jenny"I cannot fucking believe you talked me into a damn tuxedo, Jenny." I hear Nico's voice in the hallway, and I cringe. I hoped that by tonight, he would've gotten over his pissy attitude about this whole ball deal, but apparently, those hopes were in vain. He isn't going to go gently into this good night. I had nearly forgotten about the St. Agnes Oncology Wing Benefit Ball in all of the upheaval over Nico's unexpected return to Florida. And then about five days ago, Mira handed me an envelope that held a thick invitation made of ivory card stock, adding with a smile that she was pleased to hear that my someone special would be able to escort me after all.I spent the rest of that day worrying about what Nico was going to say when I told him this, uh, 'good news.' He wasn't in the best of moods these days lately anyway, since he hadn't had any luck yet in his job search. Sweet-talking him into putting on a monkey suit so he could pretend to be in love with me for severa

Jenny"It is with the greatest pleasure, not to mention immense gratitude to the entire staff who has worked so hard to make this a reality, that I officially declare the St. Agnes Memorial Hospital Dedicated Oncology Wing . . . open!" The president of the hospital's board of directors uses the ridiculously oversized scissors to cut the ceremonial ribbon stretched across the corridor that connects the rest of the hospital with our wing. All of us-the nurses, the techs, the aides and the rest of the staff-are standing on the inside watching the show. As soon as he slices the ribbon, the official guests come streaming through to join us. It feels weird that there's a little party set up here. After all, this is a hospital, a place where people come when they're sick. But today is special. It's a time to celebrate before we get down to the serious business of saving lives. Everyone who's anyone in Harper Springs is here. The mayor and her husband are standing by the punch bowl