All Chapters of Diagnosis: Love: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

DEACON"Well, Ted, welcome back to the oncology floor." I leaned against the doorjamb outside my father's hospital room. He was propped up in the bed, looking much better than anyone in his condition had a right to be. After a week in the ICU during which we thought we were losing him more than once, Ted had taken a sudden turn for the better. His improvement had been rapid and unexplainable. "Sometimes it happens like this," one of the doctors up there had observed to me, shrugging. "They surprise us." Now whether this was a pleasant surprise or not, I hadn't decided. My father watched me with shrewd eyes as I came into his room. "I wasn't sure I was going to see you alert again. But here you are." Ted grinned. "Heaven won't have me, and the devil's afraid if I get down there, I'll take over and run the damn place into the ground." He coughed and adjusted the nasal cannula. "Guess I'm like a bad penny, boy. You just ain't getting rid of me yet." "Yeah, well, you're not ou

EMMA"Well, I'm never going to forget this day, that's for sure." Standing in the kitchen with me, chopping vegetables, my mother reached for her glass of wine and took a sip. "I mean, honey, that was just . . . the look on your face when you opened the front door. And then poor Deacon comes out of your room, and there's the both of you, looking just a mess, and there's still candles and music and that table in the middle of the room . . .""You know, Mom, I was there." I closed my eyes, mortification still fresh. "And that happened, like, three hours ago. Believe me when I say it's too soon for me to laugh about my parents nearly walking in on me with . . ." With my knife, I pointed toward my back deck, where we could hear the men's voices. Deacon and my dad were manning the grill, because my father claimed that was a necessary part of male bonding, and he wanted to get to know Deacon. As he'd passed by me in the kitchen, picking up a spatula and oil, Deacon had murmured in my e

DEACON"Gone?" I replied dumbly. "He . . . died?" I knew it was a possibility. He'd been in the ICU for a while, and there was always the chance of a pulmonary embolism, or something we hadn't picked up yet, or even a heart attack . . ."No. He left. There was some kind of kerfuffle with Mrs. Wilkie-it wasn't anything serious, just an alarm they couldn't get turned off-and then just now, Andi went in to take Ted's vitals, and the bed was empty. He'd disconnected all the IVs, the oxygen . . . his bag isn't in the closet." "Oh." I stood there for a few moments, frozen to the spot. "Okay. Well, I guess that was his way of giving me his answer on treatment, huh?" Darcy laid her hand on my arm. "I'm sorry, Deacon." Mira sighed. "I am, too. For all that I didn't want to hope Ted would do the right thing, I guess I did, after all. I wanted him to stick around long enough to give Anna and Jimmy some peace. But that's not going to happen." "It's okay." I managed a smile. "Really, Mira

NOAH"Good morning. Noah Spencer. Wow." The man standing behind the large oak desk wagged his head even as he reached across to shake my hand. "I have to admit, I can hardly believe I'm standing here in my office talking to you. I'm a big fan."I let him pump my arm a few seconds as I managed a smile. "Is that allowed? I thought guys like you had to be . . . you know. Neutral. No biases or anything like that." Father George rolled his eyes. "I'm a priest, Noah, not a saint. Also, there aren't any rules about cheering for our favorite teams. It's not like I have any special inside sway to make my guys win. It's all up to Spirit in the Sky." He grinned. "Now, that's not to say that I haven't lifted up my share of petitions for Tampa on big game days. But I'm comforted by knowing that there are lots of ministers, priests, rabbis and imams-among other clergy-asking for favor for their teams, too. It all balances out, I think. Someone's got to win, and someone's got to lose, and in the

ALISON"Hey there! Alison Wakely, right? Come in. Sit down." Closing the office door behind me, I approached the small seating area. The therapist was perched in a wing chair, her shoes off and her feet curled alongside her. She was young-probably a year or two older than me. My previous doctors had been in their forties or fifties, but since Brooke Slater came highly recommended and had agreed to see me despite a full patient load, I wasn't going to complain."Thanks." I glanced at the love seat for a second before I decided to settle in the wing chair opposite Dr. Slater. "I heard you joined Dr. Johanson's practice." She smiled. "He took care of my family for over ten years, and then my insurance company changed and we had to move to a group right outside Tampa. It's a pain in the ass, and I really miss that personal touch you get from a small-town family practice. Dr. Johanson even made house calls when my babies were small. He was a treasure." She sighed. "But you're not her