“You never mention your parents, though.” I’d noticed that a long time ago. I’d asked Jenny, but she hadn’t known anything, either.
“Not much to tell there.” Deacon shrugged. “Or maybe there is, and I just don’t enjoy talking about it at length.”
“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me anything.”
“No, no, that wasn’t what I meant. I don’t mind.” He took a deep breath. “My mother died of breast cancer when I was five. It was a very unusual case in that she was diagnosed when she was only twenty-one, right after I was born. She fought it, but . . .” He shook his head.
“Ah.” I nodded. I wondered if this history had anything to do with Deacon’s career choice.
“I know, right?” He cast me a wry look. “Believe me, when I went to the mandatory counseling before med school, it didn’t take much digging to figure out my motivation for wanting to specialize in oncology. And I’m sure it explains a lot. I mean, I don’t have many clear memories of those years, but it must have made an impression on my emerging psyche. I know that while I’m dedicated to all of my patients, I’m the most at risk for being emotionally involved when the patient is a young woman—particularly if she has a child. Or wants to have them.”
“Like Angela.” I sighed. “That makes sense.”
“Yeah. The fact that she found out about her cancer when she was about ready to start a family really got to me.” He was quiet for a minute before continuing. “My mom and I lived with my dad’s parents on the farm while she was sick, because Dad was a musician who wasn’t home much. He was on the road most of the time she was going through chemo . . . and once she died, he had even less reason to stick around.” Deacon cleared his throat. “Gram told me that he hated growing up on the farm. I think that’s why when I got restless, she and Pop supported me. They steered me toward a responsible decision and career, but they never made me feel bad for not wanting to farm.”
“Do you ever see him? Your father, I mean.” I couldn’t imagine how anyone could leave his child behind, even if hewasheartbroken in the wake of his wife’s death.
“Not often. He’s kind of pathetic, actually—an aging rocker who doesn’t seem to realize that he’s sort of a joke. He has long gray hair, and he’s high more than he’s not.” He didn’t seem very bothered by that description of own father. “If whatever band he’s playing with happens to have a show in Orlando or Tampa or St. Pete, he might swing by, but mostly, he calls and offers us tickets for the show. None of us ever wants them. He stops at the farm if the spirit moves him.”
“But he must be so proud of you. Of all you’ve accomplished.” I didn’t see how it could be otherwise.
“Not really. If I played the guitar or headed up a band, he might be impressed. But medicine means nothing to him.” He chuckled a little at my horrified expression. “It’s okay, Emma.Hedoesn’t mean anything tome. He’s just some guy who shows up and now then. Gram and Pops—they’re my family. They’re the people who raised me.”
“That’s disgustingly healthy.” I smirked. “I’m impressed, and a little nauseated.”
Deacon laughed. “Sorry. But I promise I have a lot of other flaws that will more than make up for being okay here.”
“I hope so.” I glanced out the window. We were still on backroads, speeding past fields and groves of trees. I wasn’t in any hurry—I was enjoying this time with Deacon, getting to know more about his history—but I was curious. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
“Not yet,” Deacon answered cheerfully. “So, now we’ve covered my family and what it was like for me growing up. Tell me about you.”
I didn’t answer right away. There were stories I could tell, tales of a happy family and a fairly idyllic childhood, but there were certain elements I’d have to avoid mentioning if I was going to keep my secret.
When I remained quiet, Deacon quirked an eyebrow at me. “Come on, it can’t be all that bad, aside from cousins who wield lethal snakes as weapons.”
“No . . .”
“Emma.” His fingers tightened briefly on the wheel, and he slid me a quasi-guilty glance. “I need to tell you something. I know about your father. I mean, I know who he is, and I know your name wasn’t always Carson.”
My heart skipped a beat. “How do you know?”
“C’mon.” He rolled his eyes. “I hired you. You don’t think we did a background check? As a matter of fact, you signed a form consenting to the check. And Mira’s sister Maybelle, who is head of our human resources department, is very thorough. When she picked up the change in your name between your undergrad and your post-grad work, she looked things up and figured it out.”
I chewed the side of my lip. “I wasn’t really trying to hide anything. Nothing bad. But when people in the medical field see the name Baldwin, they always asked if I’m related to Frazier Baldwin. And when I say I’m his daughter, they either assume I got where I did by using his clout and think less of me, or they want to use me as a way to get to him. Neither is a very good feeling.”
“I understand that. Maybelle actually suggested that might be the case, which is why we didn’t bring it up during your hiring process.”
“And you never asked me. All this time I’ve been here, and you didn’t once mention it to me.” I was surprised. Considering all the times we’d butted heads, I would have thought Deacon would have used it against me.
“It wasn’t germane to any discussion we ever had.” He sounded matter-of-fact. “If we’d been discussing family history and you’d lied, that would have been another issue altogether.”
“Good to know.” I let out a long breath. “I’ve been worried about this—worried what you might think—and now I find out you’ve known all along.”
“Are you relieved or pissed?” He snuck a quick look at me just before turning onto the highway.
“Oh, definitely relieved. And gratified that you and Maybelle both respected my privacy.”
“Great. So now when do I get to meet your famous dad? I’d love to have his name on our list of physician supporters . . .” Deacon broke out laughing. “God, I can’t even joke about that with a straight face.”
