Meredith’s cheek but lowered her hand again. “Forbes told us that you were feeling like we don’t respect you or your position in the company.”
Meredith closed her eyes and rasped her breath in the back of her throat. “He shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t his place.”
“No. It was yours. Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Instead of looking affronted, sadness filled her mother’s expression.
“I guess because I thought that you’d eventually realize you were riding roughshod over me. I thought if I put up with it long enough, you’d see that you treat me differently than any of the other executive directors.” Meredith wished she hadn’t taken her jacket off. Chill bumps danced up and down her arms.
“You’re right.” Dad rested his hand on her shoulder. “We have been taking advantage of the fact that you’re our daughter. And we promise that’s going to stop.”
“But you have to make us a promise in return.” Mom smiled. “You have to promise that you’ll come to us and talk about these things before they make you so mad that you take it out on other members of the family. Okay?”
Leave it to Forbes and Jenn to make it all about them. “Okay.”
The elevator chimed, saving her from more awkward parental attention. They moved on to take their seats, and Meredith returned to her post.
The room buzzed with voices, the twelve-piece orchestra barely discernible above the din. Meredith couldn’t wipe the smile from her face. Though the lead-up to tonight had been anything but easy, seeing their guests— dressed in their glittering best—talking and laughing and enjoying themselves was one of the moments she lived for.
A Bible verse strayed through her thoughts:
She hoped her parents meant what they said about showing her more respect from now on, but if not, she would learn how to be content with knowing that by creating a good “product” through hard work and dedication, God would reward her with fulfillment and the pleasure she could take in the praise of her guests’ enjoyment.
A burst of static startled her. “It’s five till seven.” Major’s voice came over her earpiece. “Jana, please send the rest of the service staff into the kitchen.”
Meredith pressed the talk button on her module. “I’ll let my father know to get things rolling.”
He must have checked his watch, because before she could leave her post, Dad glanced over at her with raised brows. She nodded, and he stepped up onto the stage. To the side of the platform, the sound tech gave him a thumbs-up.
“Good evening, friends.” Dad’s voice boomed over the crowd, which immediately quieted. “Happy Valentine’s Day and welcome to the Eleventh Annual Hearts to HEARTS Banquet and Charity Auction to raise funds for the Warner Cardiac Unit at University Hospital. I hope you came prepared to enjoy a wonderful dinner ... and to spend lots of money at the auction. I’ve been told that we have some fabulous items that you’re all going to want to bid on. Now join with me in asking the Lord’s blessing on the meal.”
While her father prayed, Meredith moved around the perimeter of the room to the opening of the service hall leading to the kitchen. As soon as he said, “Amen,” she motioned the servers to disperse throughout the dining hall, not envying them the trays they carried, piled with covered dishes. She would never have survived in that job.
Major brought up the rear of the line of servers and joined her. “Sounds like everything’s going well.”
“It is now. I wasn’t so sure there about forty-five minutes ago. But once Manny figured out that the elevator system hadn’t been reset since the fire alarm went off this afternoon, things have been flowing just fine.”
“Yeah, getting this many guests up twenty-three flights without elevators wouldn’t have been pretty.” Major’s phone rang—she’d heard that ringtone once before, and that time Major had paled and left her office immediately. Now he grimaced. “If you’ll excuse me.” He disappeared down the hall and into the kitchen.
She sighed. By now she should be accustomed to his shutting her out of anything remotely personal, no matter how much she really wanted to get to know what was going on in his life outside of this place.
Major shut his office door before answering the phone. “Major O’Hara, here.”
“Where are you?” His mother’s voice was shrill and sharp.
“I told you five times today already that I have to work tonight, Ma.” His jaw ached from grinding his teeth a little harder every time she’d called tonight.
“But it’s Wednesday night. You always come on Wednesday night.”
“I know, but as I already explained, I have to work tonight. I’ll be out there tomorrow night. It’s just one day, Ma.”
“I don’t want to do that. I want to see you.”
“Then why don’t you put on a John Wayne movie. What about
“I don’t want to watch John Wayne. I want you to come like you’re supposed to.”
Frustration throbbed behind his eyes. “I can’t come, Ma. I have to get off the phone now. I have to work tonight. But I will see you tomorrow, okay? So don’t call again tonight unless it’s an emergency.”
The line clicked and went dead. He closed the cell phone and pressed his forehead and nose against his desktop. “God, I don’t know how much more of this I can deal with.”
But he didn’t have time to wallow in his problem. He dropped the cell phone in his pants pocket and returned to the kitchen, allowing the controlled chaos to calm his frazzled nerves.
Plating the main course and sides continued apace. He stepped in and assisted where necessary when garnishes didn’t suit his taste or when a plate was unnecessarily messy. But he had a good team of well-trained and -educated chefs and cooks, so not much coaching was required.
Fifteen minutes after service began, servers returned with trays stacked with mostly empty salad plates. As soon as the servers divested themselves of the empties, they reviewed the lists of requested meals for their assigned tables and worked with the kitchen staff to get the appropriate dishes. Thankfully, Meredith had managed to convince Mrs. Warner that everyone should have the same side dishes—roasted baby veggies and garden risotto—instead of giving guests a choice there, too.
More than half of the mains had gone out when Major’s phone started ringing again. He almost ignored it. But knowing his mother, she’d just keep calling until he answered. He couldn’t step away from the kitchen right now, though.
“Major O’Hara.” He inspected the dishes on a tray and nodded his approval.
“Mr. O’Hara, this is Gideon Thibodeaux, facility director of Beausoleil Pointe Center. I’m calling regarding your mother.”
A wave of nausea struck so forcefully, Major wavered. “What’s she done now?”
“She had an accident and started a little fire in the kitchen.”
Horrible memories and visions from his childhood assailed him. “Was anyone else hurt?”
“No one but her. She has at least second- and possibly third-degree burns on both arms. We’ve called for an ambulance to take her to the emergency room. I suggest you meet her there instead of trying to come all the way out here.”
Major pressed his thumb and fingers to the outside corners of his eyes. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He closed the phone and released a heated, angry breath.
“Boss, is everything okay?” Steven approached with trepidation in his steps.
“I’ve had a ... situation come up. I have to go to the emergency room. I need you to take over and make sure that desserts get served right at eight o’clock. Jana knows, but because of the schedule with the auction, it can’t be any later than eight, even if some of the guests aren’t finished with mains yet. Okay?”
“Yes, Chef.” But Steven’s brow remained furrowed.
Major didn’t have time to stay and try to alleviate his sous chef ’s concerns. He grabbed his keys from his office and dashed out of the kitchen, hitting the call button for the freight elevator.
No, he couldn’t leave without telling Meredith. But what would he tell her? He tapped the talk button on the
