Eve.”
He dropped his head into one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other so hard he saw white dots.
“But then when the nurse came to check on me later and saw I wasn’t asleep, she told me that I had to turn the TV off. Well, no one tells me to turn off Guy—Dick—whoever it was. But I wasn’t watching that anymore because there was a John Wayne movie on another channel, and I really wanted to watch that. They don’t understand about John Wayne here. Can you make sure they understand about John Wayne?”
He raised his head to look at her again. If it had been John Wayne they’d tried to take her away from, her reaction was starting to make more sense. “I’ll make sure they understand. What did you do then?”
The papery skin between her barely there eyebrows furrowed. “I went out into the hall to find her supervisor, but then that little boy came and tried to tell me I was disturbing all the other patients. I told him they were all so doped up that none of them would hear me.”
“What little boy?”
“That Nick kid. He says he’s a doctor, but he can’t be old enough to shave yet. Not like my Major.” She patted the top of his head.
“Ma, you can’t do this anymore. If you don’t take your meds on your own, you know what’s going to happen, don’t you?”
Her thin lips twisted into a grimace. “They’ll start observing me while I take them. Danny, I don’t want them to do that.”
His stomach lurched. She hadn’t called him Danny in years. Not since just before the first time she set fire to their apartment when he was in high school.
“Why aren’t you home watching football? Isn’t that what you usually do on New Year’s?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’m here because they called me to say you had an episode, remember?” He rubbed his forehead, a headache coming on like an iron rod being shoved through his temples.
“Well I didn’t. And I’m not going to. I took my meds like a good girl this morning. So, get. I know you worked hard all weekend. And I’ve got a date in a little while, anyway.”
Major snapped his head up. “A
She grinned. “Gotcha. The girls and I are going down to the kitchen to watch that new young cook fix our dinner—he’s almost as cute as you, hon. He told us he might let us help.”
“No handling anything hot.”
“I’m not a child, Major Daniel Xavier Kirby O’Hara.”
Major allowed himself a measure of relief. She hadn’t been able to remember his full name in a while—at least not with all the names in order—so she must be doing okay. “No, but the last time you were in a kitchen and paying more attention to the cute cook...”
“You drove me to distraction with everything you were telling me to do. I forgot the burner was turned on. But it’s healed okay.” She held her left hand out, palm up.
He took hold of her fingertips and pulled her hand forward to kiss the burn scar. “Try not to forget this time, please? I don’t want to have to leave my football game in the middle to rush back out here because you’ve set your hair on fire, okay?”
She leaned forward and gripped his cheeks between her thumb and forefinger, pushing his lips into a pucker. “Don’t give me ideas. Now, get out of here.” She kissed him. “Go live your life.”
“Do you want me to put a movie on for you before I go?” he asked through her pinch.
She released his face. “Yeah.
He knelt by the small TV stand, hand hovering over the DVDs. “Are you sure?
“Yes, definitely.
He put the disc in, stood, and headed for the door. She was better at handling the remotes than he was. “I’ll see you Wednesday night.”
“Are you ever going to find a girlfriend and bring her out here to meet me? I want grandchildren.”
Major leaned his head back and started to smack the door frame, then stopped himself and slowly lowered his palm to press against it. “We’re not having this discussion again today.”
His stomach roiled. He couldn’t tell his mother he was in love with someone, because he couldn’t bring himself to tell the object of his affection about his mother and her condition. That was a burden no one would choose to bear and something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
“You’re thirty-eight, son. It’s time for you to find a girl and marry her. But bring her here before you propose. I want to tell you if I like her or not.”
Weary to his soul, Major leaned his forehead against the back of his hand. “Yes, Ma.”
The intro music for the movie started playing. “You’re still here,” she singsonged.
He straightened. “I’m going. I love you.”
“I know. Me, too.”
He closed the door of his mother’s room and made his way down the wood-floored hall to the nurse’s station that looked more like a concierge desk at a five-star hotel in Manhattan. “I need to speak with...” He pulled the crumpled envelope out of his pocket and smoothed it. “I need to see Nick Sevellier.”
“Yes, Mr. O’Hara. I’ll page him.”
Major crossed to the common room, where he had a clear line of sight to the desk, and sank onto one of the plush sofas. He slouched down, leaned his head back against the cushion, and covered his eyes with his right hand. This was definitely not how he’d expected to spend the morning.
“Mr. O’Hara?”
He uncovered his eyes and stood. Ma had been right—the young man in front of him couldn’t be old enough to be responsible for patient care, could he? Aside from the fact the kid wasn’t even as tall as Meredith—and she must be about five-seven—the wire-rim glasses he wore did nothing to add maturity to his baby face.
“Yes. I’m Major O’Hara.”
“Sorry—Major, sir.”
Major eased his stance. “No, it’s not a title. It’s just my first name.”
“Oh.” The kid set his miniature laptop computer on the coffee table and seemed to relax a little. “I’m Nick Sevellier. Let’s sit.”
Major resumed his place on the couch but leaned forward, elbows on knees again, hands clasped.
“You’ve seen your mother?”
“Yeah, I’ve been with her for about an hour. She told me she didn’t take her meds last night. No insult meant, but how long have you been working here?”
Sevellier’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Everyone asks that. I know I look like Doogie Howser, but I really am old enough to be almost finished with my med school internship. I’ve been here since August. I was assigned to your mother’s case a few weeks ago when the other intern rotated out.”
“And what have you observed?”
“That she seems to be handling the medications and managing her condition quite well. That’s probably why I panicked last night. I was so sure that no one could go as long as her charts indicated without having an episode.” Sevellier picked up the laptop, slid a stylus out of the side of it, and began tapping things on the screen. “How did she appear to you this morning?”
“A bit disoriented—some of her thought processes were disjointed. But nothing I haven’t witnessed before.”
Sevellier typed something into the computer. “You’re her only family?”
Major nodded. “She was a single mom—a great one.”
“How old was she when she first started exhibiting symptoms?”
“I was just a kid—so she was in her late twenties or early thirties.”
“And she was in and out of the hospital?”
“Not in the beginning.” Major reclined against the back of the sofa. If Doogie wanted to know the whole history, they might be here awhile. “She had her first real psychotic break when I was in high school. She was committed to Central State Hospital over in Pineville. Since then, she’s been in and out of residential programs,
