Emma’s cheeks flushed. “I’ll take that under consideration, I guess . . . but do you think it’s a good idea?”
I gave a huff of laughter, short and humorless. “I think it’s the best damn idea I’ve had in months. Maybe years. At least since the first time I asked you out on a date.”
She lowered her eyes to her lap. “I need to give this some thought.”
“Absolutely. Give it as much thought as you’d like. I’m not going anywhere.” I stood up abruptly and moved around the desk, my steps rough and jerky. Emma’s eyes went wide; I was sure she was wondering what I planned to do next. I didn’t have a great track record when it came to making my moves in this office.
But I was smarter now, or at least, that was what I told myself. I didn’t reach out and pull Emma to her feet; I only dropped to my haunches next to her chair, staring up into her face.
“I’m not going anywhere, Emma. You can trust me on that. I’m here for the long haul. No matter what happens . . . you’ll never have to worry about me running away again. I’m not that man. Not anymore.”
The tip of her tongue came out to brush over her lips. She gazed down at me, and I saw uncertainty and need warring in her eyes. She wanted to believe me, but she wasn’t sure yet. She was still wary.
“Deacon,” she breathed. “I—”
“Excuse me.”
A knock at the door made both of us jump. I rose to stand again, looking at the doorway where Mira hesitated.
“Hey, Mira. What’s going on?” I leaned against my desk, hoping that I seemed casual and not at all rattled by our head nurse’s interruption.
“Ah, Deacon.” Mira’s eyes darted to Emma, and her lips turned down. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I thought you should know we just had an unexpected admission.”
“Okay. Who is it?” Something in the way Mira was fidgeting and the grave expression on her face put me on alert.
“He’s not one of our regular patients. He came in through the ER, complaining of shortness of breath, but he insisted that he needed to be admitted to this floor. Apparently, he was already aware of his diagnosis, but since he’s not near his, uh, regular doctor, he came here.”
Mira was acting mighty cagey. I scowled at her. If she was going to interrupt a very important moment I was about to have with Emma, the least she could do was be straightforward about the reason why.
“All right. That’s slightly irregular, but not out of the ordinary altogether. What’s the problem, Mira? Do I need to see this guy? What’s his diagnosis?”
The nurse took a deep breath. “He claims he’s got small cell lung cancer. And yes, you need to see him.” She paused. “The patient is Ted Girard, Deacon. Your father.”
* * *
If I needed one more reason to be pissed off for life at my father, he’d just given me one. Emma had been about to respond to my promise. She’d been close to saying something—and I clung to the hope that it was what I wanted to hear, not a regretful blow-off. But I’d never know now, because my father, the man who’d abandoned my dying mother and me, the one who’d never stuck around long enough to be more than a shadow in my memories, was a patient in my hospital.
Emma trailed behind me as I stalked angrily down the hall with Mira toward the room she’d indicated.
“Deacon, hold on. You need to know all this.”
I came to a sudden halt, and Emma nearly ran into my back. Out of instinct, I caught her arm to steady her even as I wheeled around to face Mira. Emma’s hand slid down my forearm to folded itself into mine, a silent comfort that she somehow seemed to know I needed.
“What?” I barked at Mira. “What else do I need to know? Did he tell you why the hell he came here of all places? Do my grandparents know about this? Did he call them?”
Mira shook her head. “I don’t know about Anna and Jimmy, Deacon, although my gut tells me no, he didn’t reach out to his parents. But he says he got real sick while he was in Texas earlier in the year, and the band he’s traveling with—some of the guys carried him to a hospital there. He had tests and X-rays, I guess, and they told him he had lung cancer. He doesn’t remember any more than it was small cell. He doesn’t have any of the reports or the pictures, no letters from the hospital there. We can probably call and ask them to send what they have, but so far, he’s told me that he doesn’t remember the name of the hospital or even the town it was in.”
“Typical,” I muttered under my breath. “No, don’t bother trying to get those reports, Mira. If he said earlier in the year, God only knows when that was. They’d be worthless by now because we both know how small cell lung cancer works. We’ll need all new tests and pictures.”
Mira nodded. She was getting over her surprise and her worry about me, I noticed, and was snapping back into head nurse mode. Good. That was what I needed her to do.
“I’ll order the standard tests and scans, then?” She watched my face, awaiting my response.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah, I guess. Get them ready, please, but don’t set up anything yet. I want to talk to him. I want to make sure he’s not here to scam us in some way.”
Mira wagged her head. “I don’t think so, Deacon. I’ve known Teddy Girard longer than you have, and I know what kind of stinking possum he can be. But he’s sick. If it’s not lung cancer, it’s something else serious. He looks . . .” She lowered her voice. “Real bad.”
“All right. Fine.” I nodded. “I’m going to talk to him and see what I can find out. I’ll let you know. But Mira—and Emma.” I swung around to face both women. “Not a word to Gram and Pop yet. Understand? I don’t want them to know about this—about him being here—until I’m sure of what we’re dealing with.”
