Menu for Romance (20 page)

He shook with impotent rage. He’d already given up everything for her—his childhood, New York ... and Meredith. And would Ma ever appreciate it? No. Of course not. He refused to give up his dream of opening a restaurant.

He trudged into the emergency room lobby and went straight to the information desk.

The woman in khakis and a pink sweater looked up over the rim of bejeweled reading glasses. “How can I help you, Mr. O’Hara?”

He frowned at her use of his name. She smiled and pointed at his left shoulder; he looked down and read his name, upside-down, on his coat.

“My mother, Beverly O’Hara, was being brought here by ambulance from Beausoleil Pointe Center.” He unbuttoned the jacket.

“Let me call back to the nurses’ station and see if she’s ready for visitors. In the meantime, you can have a seat there.” She pointed behind him.

“Yeah, I know the drill. Thanks.” He slumped into one of the stiff upholstered chairs, his back to the few other people in the waiting room.

A few minutes later, the admissions nurse called him over to her window to answer the standard payment and insurance questions.

He turned at the sound of rubber soles squeaking on the tile floor. A vaguely familiar young man ran to the information desk. “I need to see Beverly O’Hara.”

“Are you a relative?”

“No—I’m from the center. I was there—it’s my fault she got hurt, you see, and I need to make sure she’s going to be okay.”

Major turned to the admissions nurse. “Do you need anything else from me?”

“No, sir, I think I’ve got everything.”

“Thanks.” He went back over to the information desk. “Excuse me. You said you’re from the Pointe?”

The younger man turned. “I’m Patrick....” His eyes flickered down to Major’s coat. “Oh, Mr.—I mean, Chef O’Hara. I am so sorry about what happened to your mother. It was all my fault. I only turned my back for a second....”

Major led him over to a semisecluded area of the waiting room and forced him to sit with a hand on his shoulder. “Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”

“She came in late, after the cooking class had started. She comes every week and has always done very well—owing to you, I’m sure.”

“Go on.” Major crossed his arms, displeased with the kid’s attempt at flattery.

“Well, I asked her if she would remove a pot from the stove. I warned her it would be hot and to use a towel wrapped around the handle to move it. But I forgot to tell her to turn the burner off first. She must have dragged the tail of the towel in the flame. That’s all I can figure.”

“But how did it burn both of her arms?”

“Oh, that wasn’t what burned her. She jumped back and the pasta water splashed all over her.”

“I see.” Major rubbed his eyes. Guilty sympathy chiseled away his anger. Burns from liquid could be almost as bad as from oil or open flame. He should know—he’d suffered his share of them.

“O’Hara family?”

He looked over at the nurse standing in the door that led back to the ER.

“May I come with you?” Patrick stood with him. “I want to apologize to her.”

“Sure.” A short corridor connected the lobby to the actual emergency room facility. As soon as they passed through the door on the other end, he could hear his mother’s shrill cries.

All anger toward her forgotten, Major sped up and bypassed the nurse the last few yards to the room where he could hear her.

“Ma?” He pushed the privacy curtain aside. Two orderlies were trying to hold her shoulders down on the bed, while a nurse held a syringe, trying to give her a shot in her upper arm.

“Major, make them stop!” For someone so frail looking, she sure was strong. His throat tightened. No matter what she’d done, she was his mother. For that reason alone, she deserved his respect and love.

He stepped over and pulled the orderly closest to him away, then looked at the one on the other side and nodded. “I’m here, now, Ma.”

Huge crystalline tears coursed down her cheeks. “It hurts.”

“I know it does. But they’re trying to make it better. Let the nurse give you a shot, and it won’t hurt as much anymore.” He looked around and found a box of tissues on the counter beside the small sink. He grabbed several and dried his mother’s face, which was turned away from the nurse with the needle.

“What is that?” He nodded toward the syringe.

“Demerol—a pain killer.”

A man in a suit entered the room. “It’s all right, Mr. O’Hara. I’ve already briefed them on your mother’s condition and the medications she’s on.” He nodded at the nurse, who couldn’t mask the fear in her eyes when she approached and gave the shot.

Major continued wiping at his mother’s tears. “And you are?” He glanced over his shoulder at the man.

“I’m Gideon Thibodeaux.”

“I don’t know him, Danny.” Ma’s blue eyes opened and showed that the pain medication was already taking effect.

Major had never met BPC’s new director. “He’s the manager at the Pointe, Ma.”

“Patrick, may I speak with you outside?” Mr. Thibodeaux’s grave expression told Major that Patrick might no longer be employed by the center in a few minutes.

“Can I...?” Patrick looked at Major, then at Ma.

“Yeah.” Major stepped back and let the kid have his place beside Ma.

“Ms. O’Hara, it’s me, Patrick. I’m so sorry about what happened. I hope you’re better soon.”

Ma’s glazed eyes tried to fix on the young man. “I had fun. But you need to go back and make sure the macaroni and cheese isn’t burning. I won’t eat it if it’s burned on the bottom.”

Patrick relaxed a bit. “I’ll do that. But you don’t worry about that. You just worry about healing, okay?”

“’Kay.” She closed her eyes. “Major Kirby, don’t leave me.”

“I’m staying right here.” He pulled over a stool. “I’ll never leave you, Ma.” Even though it would mean sacrificing everything he wanted in life. He would do his duty.

“You’ll come tomorrow?”

Major pulled the covers up under his mother’s arms. “I’ll come tomorrow.” He set two pillows beside her. “You can put your hands down now.”

Gingerly, Ma settled her arms down on top of the pillows. “What if my shoulders get cold?”

He went to the closet and pulled a small lap blanket down from the shelf. He unfolded it and tucked it in around her shoulders. “There. All snug?”

She wiggled farther down into the nest created by the pillows and covers. “All snug.” Each time she blinked, it took a little longer for her eyes to open. The emergency room doctor had said she would probably sleep through the night and most of the day tomorrow. And Mr. Thibodeaux had arranged for around-the-clock nursing attention for the next week or so until the bandages came off.

“A nurse is going to be coming in every so often to check on you during the night.” He held up a little speaker. “And they’re going to be monitoring you, so if you wake up and you’re in pain or you need to go to the bathroom, just say something and they’ll come help you.”

“’Kay.” Her eyes drifted closed.

He leaned over the bed, careful not to bump her arm, and kissed her forehead. “Good night, Ma. I love you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Me, too.”

He stopped and talked to the floor nurse on the way out to make sure they called him in case anything happened. Then with heavy steps, he walked out into the chill night air to his Jeep. He glanced at the clock on the radio as he pulled out of the parking lot. Three o’clock in the morning. In two hours, he needed to be at work to prepare food for Mr. Guidry’s Thursday morning prayer breakfast. So that everyone could sleep in and recover from their late night working the banquet before they had to report to prepare for lunch service, he hadn’t scheduled a subordinate to assist.

At home he collapsed on the bed without even bothering to undress—but did make sure the alarm clock feature on his phone was set for four thirty. He’d barely closed his eyes when the alarm sounded, it seemed.

More tired than he’d ever been in his life, he dragged himself to the shower and managed, somehow, to get ready for a full day of work and then a full evening out at the Pointe with Ma.

As executive chef and co-owner of a restaurant, he could expect to put in these kinds of hours on a regular basis in the beginning.

He stuffed anything he might possibly need into his black duffel and walked out the front door, then went right back inside for his knife case—remembering after five minutes of wandering all over the condo looking for it that he’d left it at work last night.

At five o’clock in the morning, Bonneterre still slept. Only a hint of pink tinged the sky on the other side of the river. He had to sit through red lights at a couple of vacant intersections and fight falling asleep before they changed to green.

The parking garage security attendant greeted him with a wave and a stifled yawn. Major had to swipe his card twice—the second time making sure the magnetic tape was actually facing the right direction.

His shoes seemed to be made out of concrete. Every step sapped him of a little more of his precious energy reserve. Finally, he made it to his office. Someone—probably Steven—had thoughtfully cleaned and repacked his knives and put the soft-sided case on his desk. He steeled himself against the temptation of collapsing into his chair and closing his eyes for a few minutes, pulled his burgundy jacket out of the armoire, and went down to the executive kitchen to get to work.

By the time Mr. Guidry’s breakfast meeting broke up, Major had come to a decision. He gave Lawson a few minutes to get back to his office before following him. He knocked on the open office door.

Lawson looked up from his computer and pulled his glasses off. “Come in, come in.”

“Do you have a few minutes, sir?”

“Of course. Have a seat.”

“Thank you.” Major forced his body to fold itself down onto one of the leather chairs facing Lawson’s massive desk.

“Meredith said you had an emergency last night and had to go to the emergency room. I hope you’re all right.”

“Yes, sir. It wasn’t me. It was my mother. Which is why I wanted to talk to you.” The nausea that had started with the doctor’s call last night returned full force. Good thing he hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours.

“If you’re worried that there will be any negative repercussions from us because you left to take care of your ailing mother, don’t.”

Major wanted to get up to pace but wrapped his hands around the wooden arms of the chair instead. “That wasn’t really what I’m here about. But it does bear on what I need to tell you.”

Lawson leaned back in his chair and tapped his glasses against his chin. “Am I correct in assuming this is about the restaurant deal, then?”

“Yes, sir.” Major swallowed twice, trying to eliminate the bitter acidity in the back of his throat. “After a lot of thought and prayer, I am going to have to say no. I know y’all proposed the partnership based on the plan I gave Forbes to look at for me. And I really appreciate the belief you and Mrs. Guidry showed in me by coming up with the proposal—you have no idea how much I appreciate it. But the truth of the matter is that I can’t commit the kind of time that opening a restaurant requires—my mother needs me too much. These last two accidents with her have also shown me that I can’t take everything that I have and invest it in a business that might not turn a profit for eighteen months or longer. I need the safety net just in case something else happens.”

The words had spilled out in a monotone, his eyes glued to the front edge of Mr. Guidry’s desk. But now he dared to look up at his would-be benefactor.

Lawson’s expression hadn’t changed—still slightly smiling and warm. “I am sorry you feel that way, son. But I understand your desire to want to be sure you can take care of your mother. I was afraid it might come to that. I don’t suppose the fact that groundbreaking has been delayed six months would change your decision?”

Six months? Major went over all the numbers and scenarios in his head. The pit of his stomach gnarled. “No, sir. Six months probably won’t make a significant difference in the amount of time I will need to spend with my mother, nor in my financial situation.” The words
I’m sorry
tripped to the end of his tongue, but a recurring line from
She Wore a Yellow Ribbon,
the John Wayne movie he’d watched with Ma on Sunday, zipped through his mind:
“Never apologize.... It’s a sign of weakness.”

“It’s disappointing. We want to see you chasing your dream of owning a restaurant. But if anyone understands family obligations, we do.” Lawson stood and extended his right hand. “We’ll look for another opportunity with you in the future.”

Major sprang to his feet and shook Meredith’s father’s hand. “Thank you for the offer, sir. And you can trust that I’ll be working extra hard to get to a place where I can do something like this.”

“And we’ll do whatever we can to help.”

Over lunch Thursday, Meredith filled Anne in on the details of everything that happened at the banquet the night before. Their check arrived right as Meredith got to the part about Major.

Anne’s pen stopped halfway through her signature on her receipt. “What happened? Was he okay?”

Meredith slipped her signed receipt into the black folder and tried to remember if the pen was hers or the restaurant’s. “I think so. Apparently, he fixed breakfast for Daddy’s prayer group this morning.”

“Who told you that? You haven’t been calling in and checking on work on your day off, have you?” Anne took her sunglasses out of her purse and slipped them over the top of her head.

Meredith tried to look innocent, then grinned as she slid out of the booth seat. “Okay, just the one time. Corie told me she saw Major go in to Dad’s office after the prayer group broke up.”

“What do you think that was about?”

Meredith shrugged and followed her cousin out of the restaurant. “I don’t know, and I’m tired of speculating. If Major wanted me to know what’s going on in his life, he’d tell me. Since he hasn’t, I have to operate under the assumption that he’s perfectly happy with our relationship just the way it is. I can’t live my life hung up on every little thing he does.”

“That’s probably wise.” A mischievous grin appeared on Anne’s face. “So whom are you going to ask as your date to the wedding?”

“I’m in the wedding. I don’t need a date. Forbes’ll be my date.” Meredith feigned interest in the display of handmade soaps in the store window they were passing.

“Forbes has already asked someone.”

She stopped. “Really? He’s asked someone to be his date to your wedding?”

“That’s what he told me yesterday. But he wouldn’t tell me who she is.”

“Wow. Forbes is actually bringing a date to a family function.”

“Speaking of, I think you should ask this Ward fella.” Anne hooked her arm through Meredith’s and got her moving again.

“Ask Ward?”

“Yeah—you are still seeing him, aren’t you?”

“Not in the last couple of weeks—I’ve been too busy.” And even though he’d called and asked her out a few times, she’d told him she was too busy simply because it was easier than admitting to herself that, while she really liked him as a person and enjoyed spending time with him, she had no romantic feelings toward him whatsoever.

Anne let go of Meredith’s arm to unlock the front door of her office, located in one of the converted Victorian row houses lining Town Square. “Well, Jenn already has dibs on Henry, so it’s looking like Ward’s your only option.”

“All right, I’ll ask him.” It took a moment for Meredith’s eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the office from the bright sunlight outside. When she could finally see clearly, she saw Anne looking at her expectantly from behind her desk. “What?”

“You have a phone, don’t you? If not, you can use mine.” She pushed her desk phone closer to Meredith.

“You want me to call him right now?”

“Yes, now. Because if I leave it up to you, you won’t call.”

How well Anne knew her. Reluctantly, Meredith pulled out her phone. “What should I say?”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake. You’ve known the guy for almost two months now. You’ll think of something.”

Meredith quick-dialed Ward’s cell number, praying he wouldn’t answ—

“Hey, pretty girl.”

Instead of warmth or tingles, all Meredith felt was embarrassed. “Hey, yourself.”

“What’s up? Calling to check progress on your house? Right now, we’re on schedule to be finished about a week early.”

“That’s good to know, but it isn’t why I’m calling.”

Across the desk from her, Anne’s expression of encouragement was anything but helpful. Meredith averted her gaze.

“So to what do I owe the honor of a phone call from Meredith Guidry?” The laughter in his voice conjured a vivid image of Ward’s handsome good looks in Meredith’s mind.

“I...” She forced herself to breathe. She’d never asked a guy out before. “My cousin Anne is getting married a week from Saturday.”

“I know. You’re the maid of honor.”

The fact that he was humoring her made what she needed to do a little easier. “Right. But I was wondering ... thinking maybe you might like to come as my ‘and guest.’”

Anne sighed loudly; Meredith gave her a dirty look.

“I’d love to be your ‘and guest’ at your cousin’s wedding. It’s in the evening, right?”

“The ceremony starts at five o’clock.”

“Good. I can still go to the hospital, then.”

Taken aback, Meredith glanced at Anne. “The hospital?”

“Didn’t I tell you? I volunteer in the pediatric cancer unit on Saturday mornings.”

Could this guy be any more perfect? He was going to make someone a great husband someday. “No, you never told me. What led you to do that?”

“I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen and my youngest brother was diagnosed with leukemia.” Someone yelled his name in the background. “I’ll have to call you back, Mere.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” She closed the phone and dropped it in her purse.

“The hospital?”

Meredith told her.

“He sounds like a keeper.” Even though Anne leaned over to pull out the binder of her wedding plans from under the desk, it wasn’t quick enough to keep Meredith from seeing her amused smile.

“For someone else, maybe.”

Anne snapped upright. “What?”

“I just don’t feel that way about him.”

“Not everyone falls in love right away. Sometimes it needs a chance to grow. I’ve planned plenty of weddings for people who were friends for years before they fell in love with each other.”

Friends for eight years before falling in love? Meredith shook her head. “I’m giving it a chance—it’s not like I have a lot of other options at this point in time.”

“You know I’ve been praying for you about this, right?” Leaving the binder on her desk, Anne came around to sit in the chair beside Meredith.

Emotion lumped up in Meredith’s throat, forcing her to nod as her only reply.

“Have you been praying about it?”

She nodded again.

“More than just, ‘Please, God, send me a husband’?” Anne’s blue eyes twinkled.

Meredith laughed. “Sometimes. But most of the time it’s, ‘Please, God, let me get over Major so I can fall in love with someone else.’”

“Oh, I can so relate.” Anne sighed. “Before I found out George wasn’t the one marrying Courtney Landry, that was my almost hourly mantra—‘Lord, please don’t let me be falling in love with a client.’”

“But he turned out not to be the one getting married, and he fell in love with you.”

“Right. But what I’m saying is that God did answer my prayer—granted in a rather roundabout fashion, but He answered. You have to trust that God will answer your prayer ... just maybe not in the way you expect or on your timeline.”

Meredith groaned and slumped down in the chair to rest her head against the top of it. “Maybe I should pray instead that He’ll take away my desire to get married. Then it won’t matter if the man I’m in love with doesn’t return my feelings.”

“Maybe you should pray for the patience to hold on until Major realizes what he’s missing.” Anne stood and picked up the binder.