“Thanks, Deacon.” Noah held out his hand. “I mean it. We can never repay you for what you’ve done.”
I shook his hand, feeling the familiar conflict I always did when anyone thanked me for my medical expertise. “No thanks are necessary. Just . . . live well, Noah. Never take one day for granted.”
He inclined his head, his expression serious. “That’s the plan, dude. That’s the plan.”
* * *
“Do you think Angela was ready to go home?”
Emma had developed a habit over the past couple of months of appearing at my office door, usually toward the end of the day, and launching into a topic with little to no preamble. She’d loiter there in the doorway, alternately arguing with me, agreeing or listening, until I’d roll my eyes and say, “For God’s sake, Emma, come in and sit down.”
Now, I glanced up at her from my computer screen. “Yes, I do. That’s why I signed the orders releasing her. It’s kind of my process. I try to do everything medically possible for my patients, and then I let them go home. Apparently, if you try to keep them, it’s something called kidnapping.”
She huffed out a sigh. “You know what I mean, Deacon.”
“Hmmm.” I lifted one shoulder. “I’m not sure I do. Why don’t you come sit down and explain?”
She wandered in as though she was in no particular hurry to do as I’d suggested. “What are you working on?”
“Sending a report to the board ahead of their quarterly meeting. One of the less exciting parts of my job.” I tilted my head, considering. “If you’d like to help me out, I’d be happy to share.”
“Ugh.” She wrinkled her nose as she sank into the chair across from me. “I hate paperwork. You can keep that part of the job, thanks ever so.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” I clicked save on the report and closed the laptop, turning my attention fully to Emma. “To answer your question more seriously—your first question, that is—I understand if you have misgivings about Angela’s discharge. But my experience has been that there’s no one perfect time to make the leap—as doctors, we can always make a case for a post-transplant patient to stay longer, just to be safe. But I’d think you, of all people, would advocate for someone like Angela to return to her normal life, as much as she can, as soon as she can.”
Emma nodded. “I would. I guess it’s kind of a control issue. Here, we know she’s following directions, eating what she should, being protected from viruses and infections. There are so many variables out in the wide world.”
“True, but we have to keep our ultimate goal in mind, right? Which is to return that patient to her life, healthy and whole. She has to be able to live—and real life doesn’t happen in the hospital setting. So for better or worse, we set people loose and hope for the best.”
“Yeah.” She sounded so glum that I found myself wanting to circle the desk and wrap her in my arms. I wanted to pull her onto my lap, hug her tight, and then tilt her chin upwards until her eyes gazed into mine. And then I’d do what I’d wanted to do for weeks—longer, really—and kiss her absolutely senseless.
“Deacon?” Emma’s voice, amused and cautious, interrupted my fantasy. “What are you thinking about?”
“What?” I snapped my attention back to her. “Oh. Nothing.”
“Really?” She quirked an eyebrow. “It didn’t seem like nothing. You looked almost . . . predatory.”
I snorted. “You’ve got a vivid imagination, Emma. I know it’s usually a good thing, but don’t let it run away.” Still, she was so perceptive that I needed to be more careful—or maybe I should just say the hell with it and give into what had been tempting me so long.
“Oh, but letting it run away with me is so much fun.” She rested her elbow on the edge of my desk and leaned her chin into her hand. “Don’t you ever do that, Deacon? Just . . . surrender to your impulses?”
Staring at her, I slowly shook my head. “No. I don’t. I’m careful and intentional, and I never have fun or laugh or do anything remotely impulsive. Haven’t you known me long enough now to realize that?”
Emma’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “That’s your charm right there, Deacon. Youareserious as sin, sober and blinders-on work—most of the time. But then just when someone thinks that’s how you are always, you come out with this . . . this snark, and there’s this humor that no one would ever suspect you of having. When you smile and tease—it’s like you’re a completely different person. Easier.”
“More fun?” I inquired, leaning back in my chair. “Was that what you were trying to say?”
“If that was what I meant, I would’ve said it.” Emma cocked her head saucily. “I’m direct like that.” She paused. “But yes, now that you say it, snarky Deacon is fun. I’m not sure I’d saymorefun . . .” Her forehead drew together. “Or maybe what I’m trying to say is that I like both Deacons—serious, focused, intent Dr. Deacon Girard, and fun, laid-back Deacon, too.”
“I don’t think anyone has ever called me laid-back,” I remarked. “When I was a kid, I had the snark in spades—just ask my grandmother—but I was always focused, too.”
“Were you?” One side of Emma’s mouth tipped up. “I can see you as a teenager, mouthing off sometimes, but also with a lot of ambition. Knowing where you wanted to go.”
“That was it.” I lifted my feet to rest them on the corner of my desk, stretching my legs. “I was the farm kid with plans. And I didn’t take no for an answer. I just found another way around the problem.”
“You were driven then . . . and you still are.” She studied me. “Do you ever think maybe you’ve reached a point where you can afford to relax now, Deacon? You know, take it easy a little bit?”
“I haven’t thought about it,” I admitted. “There’s always been another goal. Get through college, then med school, then residency. Work the specialty. And come back here to build this wing.” I glanced around my office as if I was seeing it for the first time. “This has been all-consuming for the last five years. First, just as a concept, and then actually making it a reality. Now that it’s more than a dream, I guess I want to make sure I hold onto it.”
