Wouldn’t Ma love that? Someone to rave about him to. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He refilled her tea glass. “Want me to leave the pitcher? Jeff and Sandra can pick it up when they come down with the snacks for the meeting.”
Meredith’s eyes lit up. “Is Sandra making cookies?”
Major stood and started collecting the dinner dishes. “Yes—that’s why I only brought you baked apples for dessert.” He winked at her.
“You know me too well, Major O’Hara.”
But not as well as he’d like—oh, there was no use in entertaining those kinds of thoughts anymore. He’d created the recipe for their relationship; now he had to live with the product.
Meredith rose and stretched, her back audibly popping a couple of times. “Guess I’d better get back to it.” She leaned across the table and dragged the pile of folders toward her.
“You’ll be careful leaving tonight?” He made sure his expression was as stern as he could make it.
“In addition to my facilities maintenance managers, I’ll have all of my security supervisors here. Do you think any of them would let me walk to my car alone?” She laughed. “I’ll be okay, you old worrywart.”
“If I didn’t worry about you—” An all too familiar ring interrupted his retort. His heart sank as the ringtone he’d chosen for Beausoleil Pointe Center’s main switchboard trilled into the silent office.
Giving Meredith a tight farewell smile, he hefted the service tray up on one shoulder, grabbed the phone with his free hand, and backed out of her office.
“This is Major O’Hara.”
“Danny, it’s Ma.”
Major hurried down the hall to the executive dining room and through to the kitchen. “Ma, what’s wrong?” He slid the tray onto the island and went back to stop the swinging door’s flapping.
“Does anything have to be wrong for a mother to call her son?”
“No, but you don’t usually call me unless something’s happened. So what’s wrong?”
“Well, you see, Joan and I were going into the dining room for supper—but they call it dinner around here, and I don’t know why. You need to tell them that dinner is lunch and dinner at nighttime is supper.”
“Ma, focus. What happened?” Major snapped the lights on, tucked the phone between shoulder and ear, and set to hand-washing the dishes.
“We’d just gotten our trays, but Gene—he’s the one with the daughter I was telling you about, the one that just got married.” She paused, obviously expecting a response.
“Yes, Gene with the daughter who just got married.”
“Right. Anyway, Gene was behind someone else who stopped right in front of him, and Gene ran into her and both of them spilled their iced tea, see?”
“No, Ma. I don’t really see yet. Keep going.”
“So, Joan and I were talking and we weren’t paying much attention to Gene. You know, all he ever talks about is his daughter who just got married. It’s like he’s rubbing it in that his kid is married and mine isn’t. I want grandchildren, Major.”
He needed to bang his head against something hard. “What happened, Ma?”
“I fell.”
His hands stilled—but his heart pounded faster. “Fell? Are you hurt?”
“No. But they’re trying to make me go to bed. I don’t want to go to bed, Danny. Tell them I don’t have to go to bed.”
Head throbbing, he set the clean dishes on the drain board and found a clean towel to dry his hands on. “Put the doctor on.”
“There’s no doctor, just that little boy who keeps saying he is one. But I don’t think he’s old enough. You need to come out here and tell them I don’t want to go to bed.”
“Give the phone to him, please.”
“You’re coming, right?”
“Yes, Ma, I’ll come. Now give the phone to ... the little boy.”
A bit of fumbling on the line ended with, “This is Nick Sevellier.”
“Dr. Sevellier, how bad is she?”
“She’s a little banged up and hit her head pretty hard when she fell. But it’s not a concussion, so we see no reason to have her taken to the emergency room.”
Major’d taken his share of spills, working in kitchens since he was fifteen, and he knew just how dangerous even falling on a wood floor like those at BPC could be. “Was she knocked out?”
“Not at all. But she’s developing a pretty good knot on the back of her head.”
“And your medical opinion is bed rest?” The kid called himself a doctor, but Major didn’t know this kid’s credentials.
“My previous rotation was in the emergency room, Mr. O’Hara. I had to deal with a lot of head traumas there. I’m more worried about how sore she’s likely to be tomorrow. She wrenched her back a little bit, so I’d like her to lie down and let the nurses give her an ice and heat treatment.”
“Okay. Thanks. Put her back on the phone.” Major sighed.
“Did you tell him I’m not going to bed?”
“Ma, let them take care of you. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
By the time he convinced her, he was back in his office gathering his coat and duffel. “Ma, I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, to avoid Jeff or Sandra hearing him out in the kitchen. “Hang up the phone and let the nurses take you back to your room. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
“I don’t like you very much right now.” The line clicked and went dead.
“I love you, too, Ma.” Major threw the phone into his bag and turned off the office light.
“Everything okay, boss?” Sandra asked. The cookies she’d just taken from the oven filled the large space with a heavenly aroma.
“Yeah, just fine.” He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Jeff, there are some dishes on the drain board down in the executive kitchen. Will you bring those up and run them through the sterilizer with everything else before you leave tonight?”
“Can do, Chef.” Jeff didn’t look up from the cheese straws he was piping onto a large baking sheet with a pastry bag.
“Meredith is in her office if you need anything.”
“Yes, Chef,” both cooks responded.
Once in the elevator, Major leaned heavily against the wall, rubbing his forehead. Though he hated keeping secrets from Meredith, tonight’s episode with Ma reminded him of why he needed to keep her as far away from Meredith as he could, lest she ruin Meredith’s life, too.
Chapter 17
Major rubbed his dry, burning eyes and looked around the condo one more time, just to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. Which he knew he hadn’t, since he’d been up at 4:00a.m. to clean an already spotless apartment.
Maybe he should vacuum one more time.
No. He’d vacuumed twice already. He stepped into the kitchen and caught sight of the clock on the back of the stove. They would be here in less than fifteen minutes, and he wasn’t even dressed.
The producer from Alaine’s show who’d called yesterday had suggested Major not wear his chef’s jacket for the segments. He slid the closet door open and shuffled through his button-down shirts. Solid blue in a variety of shades; blue with stripes and patterns; white with blue stripes of various widths ... didn’t he have anything other than blue? Yes—gray. The producer had wanted him somewhat casual—“weekend wear,” she’d called it. Well, he didn’t really think that sweats and a ULB T-shirt were appropriate. Instead, he donned a plain white T-shirt, khakis, and a blue-gray waffle-weave pullover that allowed a bit of the white undershirt to show at the neck.
With just a few minutes remaining, he ducked into the bathroom to brush his teeth, again. He should have
