Internal Fixation - Tawdra Kandle Page 0,62

be your idea.”

She shook her head. “No. But Angela loved to sing, and that kind of therapy was something I used while she was sick to help her release some stress. That’s probably why Noah did it.” She smiled and sighed, and I wished that it was me she was thinking of when she got that soft, loving look in her eyes.

“I hope you’ll consult on the room. I think you’ll know best what we need there.”

“I’d love to help any way I can.” She fidgeted a little bit. “As long as we’re having this moment of peace, Deacon, can I ask you a question? It’s about George Brewer’s care, but I promise, I’m not going to get worked up about it. No yelling or swearing.”

I rubbed one hand over my face. “I deserve that. Okay, of course. Absolutely. Ask your question, Emma.”

“Here’s the thing.” She leaned forward. “His numbers are looking good, but I’ve noticed a couple of indicators that the chemo meds he’s receiving might not be as effective as they were at first.”

“I saw that.” I nodded. “Acquired chemoresistance is not unusual in pancreatic cancer patients at this stage in the treatment.”

“Right, I know that. But I did some—”

“Research,” I finished her sentence, smiling broadly. This felt right. It was almost like old times, talking patients and bouncing ideas and information off one another. I liked it.

“Exactly,” she laughed. “And what I found was that some doctors have seen success by treating patients who become chemoresistant with curcumin—and it’s working. Apparently, it inhibits the EZH2 pathway.”

“Curcumin? Isn’t that basically turmeric?” I asked.

“Yes!” Emma scooted her chair closer, as though she finally felt safe being that near me. “That was what sparked my memory, actually. I’m growing it on my land, and while Jimmy and I were propagating seeds for those plants last week, I remembered reading something about a trial a few years ago. I looked it up, and then—” She stopped abruptly and wrinkled her nose. “One of the names associated with the trial was familiar. I was pretty sure my father knew him. So I broke a personal rule. I called my dad and asked him to put us in touch, so I could hear directly from him about the results and best practices.”

“And what did he say?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, you know it was good news, or I wouldn’t have brought it up to you. He said that the trial was deemed a preliminary success, particularly with patients at certain stages of the disease—and George meets that criteria.” She shrugged. “Deacon, this isn’t a big decision. Tumeric isn’t going to hurt anyone, but if it could possibly help eliminate that resistance, George stands a better than good chance of going into remission. I think we should try it.” Her lips twitched. “Unless you think that falls into the . . . what did you call it? The can’t hurt, might help brand of medicine?”

I grimaced. “Thanks. I love having my own words thrown back at me.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” She didn’t sound one iota sorry, but I loved listening to the sassiness in her voice.

“I think you’re right about the curcumin, Emma. Get me the exact info, and we’ll start as soon as possible.” I took a deep breath. “Nice catch there, by the way. Good find. I’ll be interested to see how it works.”

“Me, too.” She sat back again, gazing at me thoughtfully. “This is nice, Deacon. It’s nice to feel like we’re on the same side again, you know? Nice to not be fighting.”

“I agree. And that reminds me.” I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a bottle of champagne with a purple ribbon tied around it. “I wanted to get this for you . . . primarily as a token of congratulations, but I guess partly as a peace offering, too.” I stretched across the desk, extending the bottle to Emma. “Enjoy. You earned it.”

She took it from me, frowning slightly. “If it’s a peace offering, then we should probably share it, right? Because I’m sure there needs to be peace shared on both sides.”

I considered her words. “I like the idea, but I don’t have any champagne flutes in the office—just regular water tumblers. I have no clue why they didn’t stock my office with wine glasses and flutes—it’s almost like they think doctors shouldn’t be drinking during the day.”

“Party poopers.” Emma winked at me. “Break out the tumblers, Deacon. I’m not too precious to