Page 162 of Black Light: Cured

sure I have all the details down. The board is already prone to not giving alternative health a shot, so

I have to be even more compelling.

The walk to the boardroom is cold, sterile, so very much like my house before Lila came into my

life. She didn’t make a mess; she made memories. It was her. She breathed life into my house and my

life. Now that I can see that more clearly, it makes my earlier actions foolish and reprehensible.

“Gentlemen,” I start out, my voice strong and sure. “I’ve looked over the contract, and I wish to

make a few changes.”

They lean their heads together and whisper, pausing every now and then to glance up at me. “Dr.

St. James,” the head of the board starts. “You must be mistaken. This contract isn’t up for negotiation.

It’s what you agreed to. All you have to do is sign.”

“I understand that, but I’ve had a change of heart. You see, modern medicine is nothing without

holistic endeavors. I know you want what’s best for the players, but you also want what makes the

most money. I understand all that clearly. The only way I’ll sign on is if you also make provisions for

a massage therapist and other holistic therapists.”

A chortle of laughter peppers the room. “Are you suggesting we employ someone to do a rub and

tug? What… to relax the players before they go under the knife?”

Red tinges my vision as I stare at the narrow-minded men before me. I can’t really fault them

since I was of the same opinion before seeing exactly what Lila could do.

“I would be ever so grateful,” I grind out. “If you would refrain from insulting that profession. I’m

not suggesting anything of the sort, but instead a licensed therapist that has a proven skill of assisting

with sports injuries.”

One by one, the men sit back and glance at each other once more. “And you have proof of this?”

“I do not currently have a right to access form, so I am unable to give you the details, but what I

can say is one of the players was scheduled for capsular release surgery, but after about two months

of dedicated massage, he no longer needs it.”

At this, the murmurs turn into surprised gasps. “That saved them a lot of money, I reckon, but that

also means you didn’t make money either.”

A slight smile turns up my mouth. “Someone wise has taught me that it’s not always about the

money. The passion has to be there too.”

“Dr. St. James, this is highly irregular. We will need to discuss it and get back to you. You should