“She tolerated everything well.” Deacon played with the cap of his water bottle, spinning it between his long fingers. “We won’t know anything for a little while, but today was uneventful. She’s resting now, and Noah’s with her.”
“Good to hear.” I smiled. “They’re an adorable couple. I hope that it’s all excellent news for them from here on out.”
Deacon tilted his head. “It’s more likely that there’ll be some bumps in the road. Recovery from a transplant usually means a rollercoaster ride for a few months, and that’s the best-case scenario. I think Angela will ultimately be all right—she’s young, she was healthy before the leukemia hit, and she’s got the best care and support system. But even with everything going your way, there are always risks.”
“I’m aware of that.” I kept the pissiness out of my voice with great effort. In the two weeks since Deacon had visited me at my trailer, we’d managed to maintain a sort of happy place, wherein we were careful not to push the other too far. He’d begun consulting with me more often on our patients, and I’d been intentional about emailing him or speaking to him personally when I’d had any suggestions for changes in care. We hadn’t had a knock-down drag-out argument, and I was enjoying the peace.
“Yeah, I know you are.” There was no judgement or derision in his voice, and I relaxed a little.
“I thought maybe when you came in and interrupted our visualization exercise, you were . . . concerned that I was painting sunshine and rainbows and promising they would be her life afterwards.” I finished the last bit of my wrap and used the napkin to wipe off my fingers.
“No, I wasn’t ‘concerned’—and if that’s a nice way of saying mad at you for it, I wasn’t that, either.” One side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile. “Look, Emma, you and I are both passionate people.” He cleared his throat. “Passionate about our work, I mean. So it’s not unlikely that we’re going to butt heads now and then.”
I snorted lightly, but Deacon went on as if I hadn’t made a sound.
“That’s okay. That happens. But we shouldn’t build monsters about what the other person is thinking or feeling. We can’t jump to conclusions based on a nuance or an expression. I guess what I mean is, we have to give each other the benefit of the doubt.” He shrugged. “And for the record, I wasn’t thinking anything negative about your optimism when we were in with Angela. Hey, everyone needs some sunshine and rainbows in their life. You do a good job of bringing that to our patients.”
It was a compliment, I realized, and so I tamped down my knee-jerk reaction to his characterization of my work—I wasn’t a damn candy-striper, making sick people smile. But maybe this was part of giving him the benefit of the doubt. I was pretty confident that Deacon valued what I did, even when we were at odds. I held onto that certainty and accepted the praise. “Thank you. I believe in being honest with people, but I also believe in positive thinking.”
“There’s no doubt in my mind that starting out optimistic can give treatment a better chance. Look at Miss Sissie.” His grin was crooked. “She’d tell you that it was faith that healed her more than any drugs we gave her.”
“She has enormous faith inyou,” I pointed out. “And she’s not alone. I’d say the majority of your patients believe you work wonders, Deacon.”
He frowned. “I don’t cultivate that faith, and I don’t seek it out, either.”
“Of course, you don’t.” I leaned over and covered his hand with mine. “That’s part of your . . . uh, charm, I guess. You’re not looking for adulation and applause—you want the best for the people you treat, and you go to extremes to make it happen, as far as it’s in your power. People sense that, and they respond.”
Deacon stared down at our hands, and I wondered if my touch made him uncomfortable. I began to pull back, but he stopped with a single syllable.
“Don’t.”
He turned his hand over beneath mine so that our palms rested together. The feel of his warm skin against mine made me shiver in delicious anticipation, even as flashing red lights were warning me.Danger! Danger!
Deacon’s fingers curled up to wrap around my wrist. When he spoke, his voice was raspy. “If patients trust me, it’s because of my knowledge and my hard work. They know I’m relentless. But they trust you—theylikeyou—because you bring your heart into everything you do for them. You don’t hold anything back, do you, Emma?”
It was difficult to speak. I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry, and my pulse was thrumming erratically. “I try not to. I want them to always feel like I’m in their corner. As if I’ll do anything to make their lives easier, their treatment more effective and less painful . . . if it’s out there, I’ll find it for them.”
He nodded slowly. “That’s a good thing, Emma. It makes a difference. But it’s got to be hard on you, personally, putting yourself out there again and again.”
I lifted one shoulder, unable to speak, not sure how to respond.
“You take care of so many without much thought for yourself. Who takes care of you, Emma? Who’s protecting your heart?”
My tongue darted out to run over my lips. “No one. Only me.”
For a long, electric moment, his eyes held mine, and I could almost feel him searching me, invading every corner of my being. His lips opened as though he was about to say something, when the door of the lounge opened and Darcy burst in, her face somber.
“Deacon? I think Mrs. Onara is having a reaction to the new meds—she’s tachycardic, spiking a fever and having trouble breathing. We have her on oxygen, but you probably need to come and see what’s going on.”
“Okay. Shit.” He released my hand and stood up, draining the rest of his water bottle in a single gulp before tossing it into the recycling bin. “I’m right behind you, Darcy.”
“Is there anything I can do?” I knew Mrs. Onara only vaguely—she was a pleasant woman fighting liver cancer who’d been willing to speak with me and open to naturopathy, but who also hadn’t expressed any particular needs yet.
“Not right now. I’ll let you know, though.” Deacon laid one hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Sorry. I’ll catch up with you later.”
As he followed Darcy out of the lounge, I wondered if he was apologizing for having to end our talk and leave abruptly . . . or for having delved into something more personal than our typical work-only conversation.
I wasn’t entirely sure what had happened between us, but just as on the night he’d come out to my trailer, I felt a seismic shift in the landscape of our relationship, as if the tectonic plates were moving around beneath us. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but it definitely left me more than slightly off-balance and a little dizzy.
