The Boss and Nurse Albright. Lynne Marshall

squeezed orange juice and a bowl of granola with blue-berries on top.

      “Since you’re our homeopathy guru,” he said, “I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with sticky buns or anything overindulgent.” Though in his mid-thirties, he’d retained a youthful quality, and his broad, accepting smile helped ease her first day jitters.

      Jon Becker, the cardiologist, called out a greeting from a table set with china, flatware and a peach-colored cover. “Join us,” he said, as if she’d been working with them for years.

      She sat next to him and reached for the cinnamon, and sprinkled some over her bowl of granola. Besides stimulating her immune system, cinnamon helped maintain a healthy cholesterol level; she never went a day without some.

      Dr Becker’s salt and pepper, close-cropped hair gave him a scholarly air. On the initial tour of the clinic, René had mentioned that Dr. Becker was a long distance runner, and his wiry build and angular features proved her point.

      “Good morning, Claire. You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not exactly perky today,” said René Munroe, the OB/GYN element of the practice. She was already seated across the table from Claire, with a mug of coffee in her hands. “I delivered twins last night.”

      “Oh, how wonderful. Everything go OK?” Claire asked, spooning her first bite.

      “The mother had planned on a natural birth, but after the first baby was born, the twin slipped into breech and I didn’t want to risk it.” She swept a thick lock of auburn hair behind her ear. “She had to go through eight hours of labor and childbirth with the first baby, only to wind up having a C-section after all that.”

      “Oh, the poor thing!” Claire assumed the babies were at the local hospital, since it was the only one in town.

      Though she’d known they’d planned this first day meal together, she couldn’t take her a.m. meds at home on an empty stomach, so she ate her second breakfast, not wanting to insult her new partners. They all seemed so welcoming and friendly, and she had a great feeling she’d love working here.

      Philip handed her a bran muffin, still warm from the oven. “I baked them myself,” he said with a proud smile. She noticed a deep and attractive cleft in his chin. René had also informed Claire that Phil had been an award-winning surfer in his youth, and his dark tan and blond-tipped hair suggested he still enjoyed the sport.

      She broke apart the muffin and let the steam rise. It smelled like pure comfort, and her mouth watered in anticipation of the first bite. If she read her tea leaves, she suspected she’d see weight gain in her future.

      After taking a bite and savoring the fresh-baked flavor, she brushed some crumbs from her skirt. Today she’d worn power purple. A simple patterned wraparound dress with matching necklace and shoes to make a good first impression. She’d also worn her hair down, had even curled it for the big day. She’d been caught by Jason Rogers in crop length workout pants and matching jacket yesterday, with her hair pulled back into a low ponytail, and she’d been a bit embarrassed about her decision not to wear a stitch of make-up, when, by chance, she’d run into him. Today she’d outlined her eyes in liner and had even worn mascara and a touch of plum-colored eye-shadow.

      She glanced around the room. The circa 1900-styled kitchen hadn’t changed much at all except for an updated stainless steel refrigerator, and microwave with stove combo. She smiled, thinking how the newer appliances matched the original tin ceiling. As evidenced by the dish drainer on the counter, they hadn’t installed an automatic dishwasher. She liked how they’d used a tablecloth and someone had put a small vase of fresh flowers at the center. Everything felt homey at the clinic and it seemed filled with goodwill.

      Two of the nurses strolled in, followed by the receptionist, and Claire got introduced. She liked how there didn’t seem to be an invisible barrier between the doctors and nurses. They all seemed to greet each other and interact casually as they filled their coffee cups and nibbled on muffins, as though one big happy work family.

      Claire was thrilled to be a part of it.

      One person was conspicuously missing, though. Jason Rogers was nowhere in sight, and no one but her seemed to make note of it.

      After breakfast, Claire went upstairs to prepare for her first patients. Gaby, the receptionist, had booked all the last minute add-ons who were willing to see the newest addition to the clinic, with her. Rather than make the patients wait for an appointment with their assigned doctor on another day, as they used to, this default system gave the clientele a sense of easy access to medical care. Down the hall, she noticed Jason’s door ajar, but didn’t dare walk over to say hi. He’d made it clear he wasn’t the sociable type, and being a quick study, Claire knew she wouldn’t be able to change him.

      She sat behind her sturdy oak desk, adjusted her hips into the comfy leather-bound chair, and marveled at how her life had changed. A year ago her husband, Charles, had divorced her, and immediately had taken up with another woman who’d wanted little to do with children. Charles couldn’t accept that he’d married a woman with a chronic illness and after her diagnosis, as the months clicked by, he’d grown more and more distant. Other than occasional weekend visits, poor Gina had been left on the sidelines of her father’s new marriage.

      Charles had let Claire know, in no uncertain terms, that he couldn’t put up with her having Lupus. She’d been the same woman he’d met, fell in love with, and married, with the addition of a new diagnosis, but he couldn’t understand that. She’d become imperfect to him, and he couldn’t accept it. He’d made her feel guilty for getting sick, and ugly, when he’d look at her with disdain when her Lupus rash flared.

      He was a successful businessman who insisted on a healthy partner to join him on adventures and extensive travel, and the once-loving man had shut down and turned away. Just like that. As if it was all her fault.

      The pre-nuptial agreement left Claire with nothing beyond modest alimony and monthly child support payments. She knew Charles would come through in an emergency, but refused to depend on him for anything else. His not accepting her chronic illness had shattered her trust in both love and men, and she’d vowed to move on with her life—alone.

      She’d recently had a stretch of good health and, with the new job, good fortune. As far as she was concerned, her past was just that. Over. And, with time, she hoped to get over the emotional damage, too.

      Claire stood and moved to the window. She lifted the sash to allow fresh air inside and, gazing across rooftops, trees, and eventually toward the huge blue sea, she couldn’t help thinking that her luck had finally turned.

      By early afternoon, Claire had seen a dozen patients and was getting into the routine of the clinic’s patient flow. Twenty-minute appointments were generous compared with the hospital where she used to be affiliated, which allowed only half that.

      She read her next patient’s records on her computer, and heard footsteps down the hall, then a looming shadow covered her desk and Jason appeared. His mouth was in a straight line, and his eyes squinted tensely. He looked perturbed, to put it mildly.

      “A back rub? That’s what you recommended to Ruth Crandall to add to her medical regimen?” he asked.

      Claire had seen so many patients already, she had to stop and think who he’d referred to. The woman battling depression.

      “Well, I noticed she’d had her antidepressant increased at her last visit and her general complaints were unchanged. I thought we’d try something different.”

      “A massage?” He lifted a brow and handed the phone message toward her.

      Claire read. Mrs. Crandall had called to tell him, after her visit that morning, what a great idea it had been to add daily massages to her routine, and how much she’d enjoyed meeting the new Nurse Practitioner. Under usual circumstances, a message such as this would be considered high praise, worthy of a pat on the back or handshake for a job well done. Evidently Jason Rogers didn’t see it that way. His irritated attitude put her on defensive.

      “Daily massages