All the Time in the World - Softcover

Nickles, Liz

Softcover

ISBN 10: 038081076X ISBN 13: 9780380810765

Publisher: Avon, 2000

Synopsis

Devastated when she is diagnosed with a terminal illness, Nicki abandons her plans to prepare for a law career to spend her final months on a last-fling cruise to the Greek Islands, where she encounters handsome British photographer Michael Schuster and decides to enjoy a lifetime of love in the few weeks she has left. Original. (A Columbia Pictures film, written by Liz Nickles)

About this title

About the Author

Liz Nickles is the author of eleven books, including a bestselling mystery series co-authored with Martina Navratilova. She has been named one of Glamour Magazine's top women of the decade, and the Chicago Advertising Woman of the Year. She lives in Los Angeles, California.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

Chapter One

When you are twenty-one years old and about to graduate from college, you've got a lot of things on your mind, but dying isn't one of them.

Let's face it: I don't have time to die. When am I going to squeeze it in? Between my internship interviews with law firms? Before I give the valedictory speech? At 2 A.m., after I've finished waiting tables? Or maybe I should cancel my date with Tim tonight, my only semblance of a social life. I don't think so.

Had I for one second seriously thought I was dying, I would never have scheduled all this. I would have made other plans, or, should I say, no plans. Maybe that's why I've chosen to ignore these headaches for so long. I have too much to do to take them seriously. You can tell yourself OK, you're not dying, are you? And you can take an Extra-Strength Tylenol and forget it, or try to.

At the end of your senior year, you have a lot to contend with. There's not just graduation, there's moving out of your old place, moving into a new one, the internship interviews, the good-byes, the whole new start thing.

I can't say I'll miss the apartment. I think I was mentally packed to leave before I even moved in two years ago. If Emily hadn't already had the lease, I would probably never have moved in. It's in a convenient part of Evanston, not far from the campus, but it's a soulless place: low ceilings, ground (aka "garden") floor, wood floors that haven't seen a sander in decades. The furniture came from Emily's grandmother's coach house; we just threw sheets over everything so we wouldn't have to look at it. But, since Emily, Eric, Tim, and I lived there, it was home. It's hard to believe we're splitting up, but Eric's pre-med, Tim's got a job downtown with an architecture firm, Em's going to New York to open a boutique, and I'm hoping my internship will come through before I start law school in the fall.

Tim and I are going on four years now-we're like an old married couple. No surprises there.

Em and Eric are a couple, too, but of another sort. They have a lot in common: Em's looking for the perfect guy, and so is Eric. So far, neither of them has found him. Tim and I are getting a place together in Printer's Row, which is like the Soho of Chicago. Or almost. Em and Eric are on their own, but I'll miss them. Who will dress me? Together they formed a wardrobe committee and helped me pull together a professional image so I'd make the right impression at Avery, Gardener and Brown. Eric found the navy suit in a secondhand shop. Em did my makeup. When I looked in the mirror this morning, I was five-foot six, a hundred fifteen pounds, my light brown hair pulled back uncharacteristically smooth and sleek in a tortoiseshell barrette, hazel eyes shadowed just so, and Em's real pearl studs rounding out the picture. I looked, in short, like a lawyer, which was exactly the desired effect. The question is, did I act like a lawyer in the interview? Did I make them believe in my capabilities?

I had the headache in the interview, but I always seem to have the headache these days. I had it this morning when I woke up, I had it yesterday when I was packing, and last night while I was polishing my valedictory speech. But stress'll do that to you: take two aspirin and call me in the morning.

So now I'm heading back to the apartment. I'm still in the street, but I can already hear the music coming from the place. If the lady upstairs hadn't been hard of hearing, we would've been evicted long ago. Emily is to blame: she believes that any event is cause for celebration. The Cubs game is blaring simultaneously--a necessity, in order to hear it over the music. Opening the door to the apartment is an aural assault.

"So, Nick, how'd it go?" Eric is blessed with a voice that is louder than either the speakers or the TV. It will come in handy for shouting "Code Blue!" in his new career. He doesn't look like a doctor-yet. At least I've never seen a black doctor with a shaved head, a tattoo, and an earring.

Can I shout loud enough? "I think it went OK-but who knows? It was like talking to Mount Rushmore." I glance at Tim, whose eyes never waver from the screen. Seventh inning, two outs, Cubs up. So much for Tim. We have a relationship, but you have to be realistic.

Eric shrugs. "Well, what'd you expect? They're lawyers."

"Correction. They're Avery, Gardener and Brown, the premier environmental lawyers in the country. They don't have to talk." I wish they'd turn down the music. My head is pound ing along with the bass. I drop onto Tim's lap and rub his blonde hair,

"So you did good, huh?" Blue eyes finally wrench themselves away from the screen. I squeeze his arm: the man has some biceps.

"I blew them away with my editorial. They couldn't believe that I was actually published in the Tribune."

"So how much did you ask them for?"

"Come on, Tim, I think you got it backwardsit's a summer internship. The serious bucks are after law school."

Eric hands me a beer. "Well, that's nothing. It'll be close to ten years before I'm making a living."

Emily swoops upon us, a vision in black, her orange-streaked blonde hair spiked unmercifully, her cigarette slicing the air with a trail of smoke. Ashes scatter as she waves her hands. "Nobody told you to go to med school. You could have been a vet."

"It takes the same amount of time." Eric shrugs.

"Dogs are people, too!" Em notes, as she frequently does.

"Fine. You be a vet."

We've been there before. Tim ignores them. He frowns at me. "Well, you still should have ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Avon
• Publication date: 2000
• ISBN 10: 038081076X
• ISBN 13: 9780380810765
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• Number of pages: 272