She nodded, the movement barely discernible. “I figured that was what this is. I’m rejecting the transplant, aren’t I?”
I came closer and took her hand. “Not necessarily. Like I said, this could just be something you picked up. Has anyone around you been sick? I know Noah’s been exposed to a lot of people, particularly his teammates now that the season is in full swing. Have any of them been passing any illness around?”
Her brow knitted. “Maybe? I don’t think he’s said anything, though, and you know, the team doctors are hyper-vigilant about the guys not getting sick. And even so, if he was exposed, he’s been so careful. He changes his clothes in the laundry room as soon as he gets home, and then he showers with the disinfection soap, and he’s sleeping in a different bedroom from me. We’re not sharing drinks or utensils.”
Damn. In the best of all worlds, Angela would’ve admitted that she and Noah had been a little lax in their efforts to keep her safe. But I should’ve known better.
“All right, well, that’s . . .good.” I tried to smile encouragingly. “How about your skin? Have you had or do you have any rashes or blisters? Any kind of unexplained redness?”
To my relief, she shook her head. “Not that I’ve seen. Just the stomach issues.”
“That’s good news.” Skin involvement would have been a much more definite indication that we were dealing with rejection. “We’ll wait and see for a little bit, then. I’m going to order some tests to rule out viral involvement. Meanwhile, try to rest, okay?”
“Sure.” She licked her lips. “Deacon, if itisthat I’ve got graft versus host, what happens? What can you do?”
“Lots of things,” I replied stoutly. “We can give you steroids to help fight it, and honestly, every day we’re coming up with new protocols to help you get through this. I know you’re not feeling great now, but we’ll do everything we can to get you through this, okay? Just try to keep calm and not worry.” I paused. “On the positive side, graft versus host tells us that your body is doing a good job at fending off cells that aren’t supposed to be there, and that includes cancer cells. It means your body is fighting, Angela, and that’s a good sign.”
“All right.” Her eyes closed. “If you say so.”
I left the room quietly, hoping she would sleep for a while. Opening my tablet, I checked to see if Angela’s bloodwork results were online yet; not that I expected to find answers there, but it would help to see where everything stood.
Nothing was up yet, so I changed course, heading to Emma’s office. Jenny had probably let her know about Angela’s readmittance, but just in case, I wanted to make sure she knew as much as I did—which was precious fucking little. The truth was, I reflected, I wanted to see Emma because I needed comfort from her. I needed someone who knew me, who knew my history, to tell me that everything was going to be fine, even if deep down, neither of us knew that it would be.
The door to her office stood ajar. I was just about to knock when I heard a male voice.
“Emma . . .” There was a mix of wrenching pain and longing in the one word. I stopped, paralyzed, waiting and listening.
“Shhhh. Noah, it’s okay. Really. Please. Just . . . trust me, okay?”
The way Emma spoke to him sounded strangely familiar, and I realized it was because her tone was the same one she used when she was talking to me, when we were in bed together or any other time she was in my arms. An odd feeling of unease crept up my spine. I remembered my concerns about Emma’s relationship with Noah before, the sense that her boundaries where he was concerned were potentially problematic. I hadn’t thought about that in a long time, since neither of us had had the occasion to see Noah since Angela’s discharge. Or at least I assumed that was the case.
But maybe not. What if all this time, Emma had been seeing Noah behind my back? I didn’t want to think that she was capable of doing that—of betraying me in that way—but I’d been wrong about people before, and the results had been devastating.
I gave my head a little shake. I was being ridiculous. Emma wasn’t like that—she was honest and straightforward. I’d never even seen her prevaricate or tell a social lie. And then there was the fact that for the last two weeks, whenever we hadn’t been at work, we’d almost always been together, either at my house or at her trailer (where we had learned that while the lounge chair wasn’t the most comfortable spot for sex, it could, in fact, support us both, even with a lot of action going on.). Emma hadn’t had the time to see anyone else.
Either way, standing here in the hallway eavesdropping was crazy. I cleared my throat loudly and pushed open the door, rapping on it as I did.
Emma was standing in front of her desk, leaning against it, her arms crossed over her chest. Noah was sprawled on the narrow two-cushion sofa that was wedged into the tiny room. They both looked up as I came in, but I didn’t detect any guilt at my arrival.
“Hey.” I glanced at Emma, frowning. “I was just coming to tell you about Angela being admitted, but I guess you already know that.”
“Yes.” She gave me wide eyes, trying to telegraph something to me. “Noah came down to see me while the nurses were helping Angela settle in. He’s very upset because he thinks he did something to derail her recovery. I was just telling him that he couldn’t have.” She spread her hands. “These things happen, Noah. You knew that rejection was a real possibility from the beginning. We gave Angela some preventative treatment shortly after her transplant, but that isn’t always effective. Now . . . we just need to figure out how to address the issue. Right, Deacon?”
“Uh, well, we can’t rule out something viral yet. We have to play a waiting game, I’m afraid. GVHD is a diagnosis of exclusion—once we’re sure it’s not other things, we can assume it’s that. I ordered a scope, and we’re also going to run cultures to check for a virus. The good news is that Angela says she hasn’t shown any skin issues yet, and that’s often an early sign.” I glanced at Noah. He really did seem shaken and upset—and I kicked myself for thinking suspiciously of either Noah or Emma. I’d known from the first time I’d met them how much in love Noah and Angela were. It shone from their eyes and was demonstrated in their words and actions. They were quite possibly the most devoted couple I’d ever met outside of my grandparents.
“Can you do something to make her feel better? Bring down the fever, get rid of the nausea?” Noah raked his fingers through his short hair. “I can’t take seeing her in pain or sick. I just want her to stop hurting.”
“We should be able to do that.” Emma’s eyes flickered to me.
I lifted one shoulder. “To some extent, yes. We’ll do what we can. But we don’t want to hide symptoms that could give us answers to how to treat Angela—how to solve the larger problem.”
Noah nodded, but his face was drawn, almost defeated. “All right. I guess I can see that.”
“But there might be something I can do.” Emma sat down next to Noah and laid her hand on his arm and then looked up at me. “We could try hypnosis to give Angela some relief. Acupuncture is an option, too.” Her forehead drew together, and I knew she was wracking her brain to think of other options. “What about cannabidiol?”
“Is that indicated? Do you have studies to back up its use?”
Emma heaved a sigh. “I’ll have to look. I want to say there was something . . . let me do some research, okay, Noah?” She slid her hand to cover his and squeezed. “Just try to stay positive, all right?”
