His head spun. At a restaurant, he’d never be able to walk away from a dinner service the way he’d just walked away from the banquet. And if his mother did this based on his missing one night’s visit with her, what would she do when he wouldn’t have time for weeks or months at a stretch to go out to visit her?
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.
Chapter 20
“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.