Diagnosis: Attraction. Rebecca York

Diagnosis: Attraction - Rebecca York


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smiled to herself. Here she went again, trying to match people up. Because she’d been so happy in her marriage. And she wanted the same thing for other young couples.

      A voice broke into her thoughts. It was Cynthia Price, one of the other nurses on the floor.

      “I couldn’t help overhearing you and the doctor talking. Are you really taking that Jane Doe woman home with you?” Price asked. She was a slender brunette in her mid-thirties, and as far as Polly could tell, she had the right nursing skills, but she didn’t have much empathy for the patients.

      “Yes.”

      Polly’s colleague fiddled with the ballpoint pen she was holding. “I don’t like to interfere, but isn’t that taking a chance?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “She could be...” The woman raised a shoulder. “She could be a thief or Lord knows what.”

      “I think I’m a good judge of character, and I don’t believe she’s a thief or a murderer. But Dr. Delano and I both have the idea she’s in some kind of trouble.”

      “Yes, I heard you discussing it. What do you think it is?”

      “When she gets her memory back, we’ll know.” Polly paused for a second. “I think it would be better if you don’t tell anyone she left with me.”

      Cynthia considered the request. “What if her family comes looking for her or something? What if they’re worried sick about her?”

      Polly thought for a moment. “Don’t tell anyone where she’s gone, but get their name and number and call me.”

      “You sound like a character in a spy novel.”

      Polly laughed. “I’m being cautious is all.”

      The conversation was interrupted when she saw Elizabeth look out of her room toward the nurses’ station.

      “Here she comes now.” As Elizabeth focused on them, Polly said, “Thanks for your help,” wondering if she could rely on Cynthia’s discretion.

      * * *

      ELIZABETH LOOKED INTO the hall. Once again she’d been hoping to see Dr. Delano. He wasn’t there, and she was annoyed with herself for fixating on him and feeling disappointed. But that was logical, she told herself. He’d been the only link to her past. Deliberately she ordered herself not to dwell on the rest of it.

      Polly Kramer smiled as Elizabeth came down the hall, then asked, “How are you feeling?”

      “Physically, okay.”

      “Good. Let’s leave.”

      “Mrs. Kramer...”

      “Please call me Polly.”

      “Polly, I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

      “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t feel good about it myself.”

      Polly helped her into a wheelchair and then into the elevator where, she gave Elizabeth a studied glance. “You look very professional in that outfit.”

      “I was thinking the same thing. I’m very buttoned up.”

      “You obviously have a job that requires a polished appearance.”

      “The shoes are a little dowdy.”

      “They’re practical.”

      “What do you think I do for a living?”

      “You could be a lawyer.”

      Elizabeth contemplated the answer. “Perhaps.”

      “What do you think?”

      “A teacher would be closer, but that doesn’t quite work for me, either.”

      As they exited the elevator and Polly wheeled the chair out the staff-only door, she said, “Your outfit gives you the look of authority, but it isn’t exactly comfortable for relaxing. I was thinking we could stop at a discount department store, and you could pick up a few things.”

      Elizabeth felt her chest tighten. A line from a play leaped into her head. Something about relying on the kindnesses of strangers. “I don’t have any cash, and I’m already imposing on you by staying at your house.”

      “Nonsense. I’ll be right back.” The nurse got her vehicle and drove to the curb, where Elizabeth got in.

      “I hate the idea of your spending any money on me,” she said when she was settled.

      Polly made a tsking sound. “I’d feel like I was abandoning you if I just left you twisting in the wind.”

      “Do you take in stray dogs and cats, too?”

      Her companion laughed. “No. I’m more people oriented.”

      They stopped at the automatic gate where Polly inserted her card, then drove out of the hospital parking lot.

      “Does any of this look familiar?” she asked.

      “I’m not seeing anything that jumps out at me,” Elizabeth answered.

      “Well, let’s try something more specific.” A few minutes later, she pulled into a suburban shopping center and led Elizabeth inside the discount store, where they picked up a cart. “I thought we’d try the drugstore section. Why don’t you walk around and see if you can spot products that seem familiar?”

      Elizabeth gave her a grateful look. “That’s a fantastic idea. Thanks.” She grabbed her own cart and began wheeling it up and down aisles until she spotted a brand of makeup that she thought she might have used. Also shampoo and deodorant.

      “We need to keep track of what I spend, so I can pay you back,” she said again.

      “If that makes you feel more comfortable.”

      “Of course it does.”

      Elizabeth chose a lipstick and some moisturizer, as well. “Did it look like I had on much makeup when I came in?” she asked.

      “Maybe a little eye shadow.”

      She selected a packet that had a couple shades of gray. “Fifty shades,” she muttered.

      “What?”

      “Isn’t there a famous book called Fifty Shades of Grey?”

      Mrs. Kramer laughed. “More like infamous than famous.”

      “Why?”

      The older woman flushed. “I believe it’s some kind of sex thing.”

      “Oh. I guess I didn’t read it.”

      “Neither did I. I’m just repeating what I heard.” Polly changed the subject quickly. “Let’s go look at the casual clothing.”

      Elizabeth might have protested about spending more money on herself, but she wasn’t going to be borrowing any of the other woman’s shorter and wider clothing.

      Maybe Polly was following her thoughts because she said, “I have some big old T-shirts you could use to sleep in.”

      “Good. One less thing I need to worry about,” she answered, thinking that this was certainly a surreal experience—although it didn’t quite come up to the standard of touching Matthew Delano and getting into his mind. Or the other part—the sexual part.

      Trying to put that out of her thoughts, she hurried to the ladies’ department, where she found shelves full of inexpensive T-shirts. She selected three—deep blue, turquoise and purple.

      “Perfect for your hair and skin tone,” Mrs. Kramer approved.

      “I guess I know my colors.”

      She shuffled through the piles and pulled out size eights, which turned out to fit her well, along with a pair of jeans and a three-pack


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