Menu for Romance (3 page)

The towel proved too tempting, and the puppy grabbed a corner and started to play tug-of-war with her. After unsuccessfully trying to get him to behave, she finally gave in and just played with him.

Once they’d both stopped shivering, Meredith walked over to the small, dormitory-style fridge in the dining room. She crouched in front of it and, keeping the puppy at bay, pulled out the half loaf of bread. “I don’t know if you’d be able to eat roast beef.” She pushed the Vue de Ceil box back into the fridge, took out a slice of bread, and put the rest of it away.

After nearly snapping her fingers off the first couple of tries, she finally convinced him to take the bits of bread politely from her fingers. She held him over the utility sink to let him lap water from the faucet, then put him down.

She followed him around as he explored all the rooms in the house. After about twenty minutes, he curled up on the drop cloth in front of the space heater, heaved a huge yawn, and fell asleep.

Meredith shook her head and glanced at the ceiling. “If this is Your idea of a joke, God, I’m not laughing. I asked for a husband, not a dog.”

“I want grandchildren, Major.”

Major tucked the blanket around his mother’s legs in the recliner. Her private room in the assisted-living facility was as homey as they could make it. “Ma, let’s just concentrate on getting you better.”

“I am better. My boy’s here.” She reached over and patted his cheek with her smooth, dry fingers. Though not quite sixty, his mother’s hard life showed in her sunken, dark-circled eyes and white hair.

He sank into the chair he’d pulled over beside her recliner. “You’re sure there was no episode?”

“That little boy just panicked. He’s an intern. He doesn’t know anything.”

“He said you were pacing the hall and yelling and wouldn’t stop when the nurse asked you to return to your room.” Major leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees.

“I was bored.”

“You were bored.”

“It’s boring here, if you haven’t noticed, son. Everyone who lives here is crazy—there’s no one to carry on a conversation with.”

No, no, no. She couldn’t want to move again. Beausoleil Pointe Center was the only assisted-living center for the psychologically challenged in this part of the state—over the last eight years, she’d lived in every other inpatient facility in the parish that would take psychiatric patients; she’d either demanded to be taken home, or Major had been told by the staff he had to remove her. If it happened again, he’d be forced to look at properties in Shreveport or Baton Rouge, both about two hours away. Which would mean moving. Leaving behind his friends, his job. And his dreams of possibly opening his restaurant this year—or ever—would vanish.

He clenched his fists and pressed them against the tops of his legs. “I thought you liked it here. Every time I come, you’re always in the lounge playing Rook or gossiping with the other ladies. Aren’t they your friends?”

“Yeah—the crazy ones.” She smiled, her blue eyes twinkling. “Crazy—I guess that’s me, too, or I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

Major shook his head and swallowed hard. “You’re not crazy. You’re schizophrenic. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve always done the best you could for me.” The words oozed with thick bitterness in his mouth. He hated feeling this way, hated resenting the fact that her illness kept him from pursuing his goals, from making his dreams reality.

“Sometimes I think I am crazy. Sometimes when the meds wear off and the hallucinations creep in...” She took hold of his hand. “Maybe I didn’t ... take my pills last night like I should have.”

Truth. Finally. “Maybe?”

“I wanted to watch Dick Clark on TV. The meds make me sleepy—they want us all doped up and asleep by eight o’clock. But it was New Year’s Eve. I always watch Dick Clark on New Year’s Eve. Although some young kid was on with him, and I didn’t like him at all. Looked like he was up to something. I think he’s trying to take that show away from Mr. Clark.”

“Well, Dick Clark is getting awfully old now. He needs help with that show. What did you do with the meds, Ma?”

“But I’ve
always
watched Dick Clark on New Year’s Eve—since Guy Lombardo went off. Talk about a great musician. That Guy Lombardo was something. Good-lookin’, too, before he got so old. Why don’t you like Guy Lombardo, Major?”

“I like Guy Lombardo just fine, but he died when I was just a kid. Ma, what did you do with your pills last night?”

“I think Dick Clark may have died a few years ago and was reanimated by scientists in some kind of experiment.”

“Ma—what?” Major rubbed his palms up and down his face.

“Well, you know they do it for commercials all the time—Fred Astaire and Frank Sinatra. Natalie Cole did a duet with her reanimated father. And they brought back the popcorn guy, too—that Knickerbocker guy.”

“Redenbacher. And they’re not reanimated. They just use old footage of them and splice it into the new stuff—Mother, quit trying to throw me off the subject.” He paused for a moment to try to take the anger out of his voice. “What did you do with your meds last night?”

“I wanted to watch Dick Clark.”

“Yes. I got that part.” Inside, Major shouted with frustration.

She held her left hand out in front of her, forefinger and thumb pinched together. “Plop.” She opened her fingers. “Dropped them in the commode and flushed them away. Let the fishes go to sleep early on New Year’s 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
date?
”

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.
Flying Leathernecks
—no,
Fort Apache
—no, wait ...
North to Alaska.
”

He knelt by the small TV stand, hand hovering over the DVDs. “Are you sure?
North to Alaska?
”

“Yes, definitely.
North to Alaska.
That’s what was on last night that they wouldn’t let me watch.”

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, until eight years ago when she finally agreed she needed to move to an assisted-living facility.”

The kid doctor didn’t look up from the notes he was making. “What precipitated that decision?”

Major crossed his arms. “She set fire to her condo, and several other residents of the complex were injured. It wasn’t the first fire she’d set.”

“She was living alone?”

Here it came. The accusation. How could he have left her alone to fend for herself when he knew how bad off she was? “I was working in New York at the time. She’d been taking her meds and going to therapy regularly. But I moved back immediately afterward. I tried taking care of her myself for several months, but it didn’t work.”

Sevellier nodded as if gaining new understanding. “I see. She’s come a long way since then.”

“There is something you should know—and it’s supposed to be in her charts. She is sort of obsessed with John Wayne movies. That was why she had ... why she was such a problem last night. It wasn’t just that she hadn’t taken her meds; it was because she was watching a John Wayne movie. She doesn’t like to be interrupted when she’s watching one of those.”

“I see.” Sevellier typed some more. “But if she’d taken her meds, it wouldn’t have been a problem?”

Major bit the inside of his cheek. These guys never really understood her. “Probably not, because she would have been asleep before the movie came on. But I’m telling you, she’s watching one right now. If you want to see how she reacts to having her John Wayne time interrupted, be my guest.”

“I ... uh ... I don’t think we need to upset her again. I’ve noted it on her chart.” He stood and extended his right hand. “It was nice to meet you, Mr. O’Hara.”

Major rose and shook the kid’s hand. “You, too. Please don’t hesitate to call me if anything like this happens again.”

“Will do.” Sevellier moved away then turned back. “Oh, I hear congratulations are in order.”

Major frowned. “For what?”

“You mother has been telling everyone for weeks that her son is getting married.”

Ma!
“She’s mistaken—she just wishes I would get married and is trying to force me into it.”