Internal Fixation - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,47

need to consult on any of the patients I worked with here at St. Agnes.” She shifted to look at me. “I’d like to talk about Mr. Brewer’s updated treatment plan before I leave today, Emma, if you have time. I’m interested in following up with how he does.”

“Sure.” I nodded and stabbed a radish on my plate. “We can talk in my office when we’re finished here if you want.”

“Or you can both come to my office, and I can be in on the conversation, too.” Deacon smiled at Alison. “I’d like to be included.”

“That’s a great idea. It’s important for everyone to be on the same page.” I noticed that Alison didn’t look at me as she agreed with him.

I knew they were both right. Deacon had been taking a back seat on most of the patients with whom Alison had been working, not wanting to get in her way during the transition. Some of these included people who had been diagnosed or transferred to us while Deacon was away, so Alison and I had been their doctors from the start. Others, like George Brewer, had initially been Deacon’s cases.

After lunch, I took a moment to stop at the restroom to brush my teeth. I snuck outside for a few minutes, too, to calm and center myself before diving into the potentially turbulent waters of a discussion that included Deacon.

Back inside, as I headed down the hallway, I kicked myself for not insisting that we meet somewhere other than his office. Not only did this give him home field advantage, it was also not my favorite place to be, since when I happened to glance over at the sofa, all I could remember was the two of us on it together and the way he’d looked as he’d pounded into me that night . . .

“Emma? Are you coming in?” Alison poked her head out of the door, her forehead knit together in concern. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, sorry. Just . . . lost in thought, I guess.” I followed her into the office, swallowing back a groan of frustration when I saw that Deacon was sitting on that damn couch.

His eyes met mine, and fuck him to hell and back, I knew he knew what I was remembering. One side of his mouth quirked up, and he pointed at the chair opposite him.

“I thought we’d be more comfortable sitting here.” He managed to say it blandly, as though I wasn’t fully aware of the game he was playing with him.

“Sure. Good idea.” Alison took the chair, which left me no choice but to sit on the other cushion of the sofa. I edged as far away from Deacon as I could.

Alison swiped her fingers over her tablet and launched into a brief refresher history of George Brewer’s illness. He was a forty-nine-year old male in good overall health up until a little over a year ago. He’d been diagnosed with stage III pancreatic cancer shortly before he’d come to St. Agnes. Deacon had designed his initial treatment plan, heavy on chemo and radiation. Mr. Brewer had received the beginning rounds of chemo shortly before Deacon left for Slovenia.

“In the six months between Dr. Girard’s departure and my own involvement in the case, Mr. Brewer received three more rounds of chemotherapy, after which those treatments were suspended for a time.” Alison coughed slightly but didn’t look at me. I knew she was trying to skirt the issue at hand, to deliver the information without implicating me in anything to which Deacon might latch on and make a fuss. But he didn’t miss it, lifting his hand so that she paused.

“Sorry about that—but can either of you explain why Mr. Brewer’s chemotherapy was suspended?” He glanced from Alison to me. His arms were crossed over his chest, and one finger tapped up and down on his bicep, the only outward indication that he was annoyed.

Alison opened her mouth and then shrugged. “Emma, you were here when I wasn’t. It’s probably best for you to cover this part.”

“Absolutely.” I straightened my spine. “Deacon, you probably don’t remember this, but when he was admitted to the wing, George shared with us that he’d just gotten married and was expecting a baby. His wife, Shelly, was due right after the first three rounds of chemo were over, around the time we’d normally launch into the next phase. George was understandably anxious about dealing with the side effects of the chemo while she was in