Kaye Dacus - Menu for Romance

The anesthesiologist removed the needle from the port on Major’s IV. “It works pretty quickly.”

“It’s time, Ms. Guidry. We have to take him to surgery now.”

She nodded, fighting more tears. Placing her hands on Major’s cheeks, she turned his head until he looked at her. “I love you, Major O’Hara, and I’m not giving you up without a fight.”

“Love you.” Slurred though his words were, they still sounded sweet to Meredith.

She followed them out into the hall, but they went the opposite direction from the door that would lead her back to the waiting area. After standing in the middle of the corridor for a few long moments after they disappeared, Meredith returned to what she was quickly coming to think of as her chair.

But she couldn’t just sit here all night. Maybe she should go down and get something to eat. The memory of the heavenly aroma of the meal Major had cooked for her in her new house brought the tightness back to her throat, but she ignored it. There would be other romantic dinners in that house.

She let the nurse know where she was going—just in case—and took the elevators down three floors. She took a few wrong turns but eventually found the large cafeteria.

The puppy!

Someone needed to go over to her apartment and let him out—and probably hose down the bathroom. She pulled out her phone—and remembered that she hadn’t turned either hers or Major’s back on, which she quickly rectified.

She started to call Forbes, but her dear older brother didn’t really do well with pets and their messes. She called Rafe instead, but he’d just flown back in and would be at the airport filling out paperwork for a while. So she called her brother Kevin, who was only too glad to help her out.

No sooner did she hang up with him than Major’s phone started ringing again. At last, she might finally get to the bottom of the mystery calls.

“Hello?”

“This is Gideon Thibodeaux from Beausoleil Pointe Center. With whom am I speaking?”

Hearing a strong male voice when she’d expected the weak one of the previous call, took her by surprise. “Meredith Guidry.”

“Ms. Guidry, I am trying to get in touch with Major O’Hara.”

She stepped out of the traffic pattern, though there were few enough people trying to get to the buffet of food. “Mr. Thibodeaux, Major has been in a car accident. He just went into surgery. Is there something I can do?”

“Are you a relative?”

“No. I don’t think he has any relatives. Except his mother.”

“It’s his mother I’m calling about.”

Meredith staggered into the closest chair. “His mother?”

“She’s having an episode. We don’t want to sedate her, but the other residents are starting to get agitated. We need someone to come out and try to calm her down so that we don’t have to take extreme measures.”

Mouth completely dry, Meredith worked her tongue back and forth to try to form words. “An episode?”

“Yes. We are an assisted-living facility for the psychologically challenged, not a psychiatric hospital. If no one can come and manage her, get her to calm down, we may have to call the state mental hospital and get them to come take her.”

Meredith shivered. Was this the kind of call Major had gotten the night of the banquet? No wonder he’d dropped everything.

“I’ll come. But I need directions how to get there.” Digging a pen out of her purse, she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wrote down what the director told her.

She dashed back upstairs to leave word at the nurses’ station that she would be leaving the hospital for a while, then out to her car.

The facility lay outside the city on the north side of town. In daylight, it must be lovely. But at night in the rain, the winding drive from the main road kept Meredith’s foot hovering over the brake pedal so she didn’t accidentally miss a sharp curve and drive off the road.

Finally, the lane widened into an almost empty parking lot, with the hulking, shadowy mass of a large building beyond. Leaving everything but her own cell phone in the car, she ran in through the rain. Mr. Thibodeaux had said to head up to the second floor and follow the main corridor.

She jogged up the stairs and hurried down the wide central hall, the sounds of a major commotion spurring her on. The hall ended at a large room furnished with many cushy-looking sofas and chairs, game tables, and a couple of entertainment centers with big TVs. But rather than enjoying all that, about a dozen people stood in a semicircle while a woman with thin white hair paced, yelling and crying.

Meredith watched, dumbfounded. The woman screamed if anyone got within five feet of her. She banged her fists against her temples, muttering to herself, shouting occasional random words.

Could this be Major’s mother?

“Are you Ms. Guidry?” A tall, middle-aged man in a suit approached Meredith.

“I am. Is that ... is that Mrs. O’Hara?”

“Gideon Thibodeaux. Do you see why we needed you to come?”

She nodded then shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to be able to do to help if no one else can get close to her.”

“You have to try. It’s not good for her to be in a state like this.”

“Do you know what triggered it?” Focusing on Mrs. O’Hara, Meredith wracked her brain to come up with something, anything, she could do to help Major’s mother.

“She was upset that her son hadn’t shown up to see her when he said he’d be here at a certain time. Then she started acting like this. I can only assume the hospital found her phone number in Mr. O’Hara’s personal effects and called her and revealed he’d been injured.”

Stomach sinking, Meredith looked at Mr. Thibodeaux again. “Actually, I think that’s my fault, then. She called Major’s cell phone, and I answered and told her.”

“Don’t blame yourself. Positive energy is what’s needed.”

“What should I do?”

“Try talking to her. Sometimes, as with babies, a soothing, steady stream of words can lull them into a calmer state of mind.”

Right. Just like that. “What should I talk about?”

“See if you can recognize anything she’s saying. Get her to focus on one thing and talk to her about it—ask her questions, tell a story together, whatever it takes.”

Hands and heart trembling, Meredith took a deep breath. She’d created this mess; she had to fix it. “I’ll do what I can.”

Meredith made her way through the people standing around Major’s mother until she stood in the neutral zone between them. With a closer view of the woman, Meredith revised her idea of how old she was—her white hair and the gauntness of her face had aged her prematurely. She might be younger than Meredith’s own mother.

“Mrs. O’Hara?”

Major’s mom didn’t stop pacing or muttering.

“Mrs. O’Hara, I’m Meredith. I’m a friend of Major’s.”

Mrs. O’Hara raised her voice, and Meredith caught the words, “Asked her why...” before the muttering became incoherent again.

“Who did you ask, Mrs. O’Hara?”

“Custer is dead.”

Meredith shook her head, not sure if she’d heard the woman correctly. “Custer—General Custer? Yes, he’s been dead a long time.”

“Two hundred twelve officers of men...”

“Mrs. O’Hara, I don’t understand what you mean. Are you talking about Custer’s last stand at Little Big Horn?” Meredith took a cautious step forward.

“No—don’t come closer. Where’s Major? I want my son! I’ll leave here and go find him myself.” As suddenly as she started screaming, she stopped and returned to muttering. “‘Ten thousand Indians under Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse ... uniting in a common war against the United States Cavalry.’ No one understands. No one knows. Where’s my son?”

Meredith moved closer. “Wait—Mrs. O’Hara, what were you saying about Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse? I’ve heard that before.” She stilled when Mrs. O’Hara turned and looked directly at her.

“‘The Sioux and Cheyenne are on the warpath.’”

“I’m going to call the state mental hospital.” Meredith hadn’t noticed the director coming up behind her. “She’s making no sense at all.”

“No!” Mrs. O’Hara’s arm whipped out, and her bony fingers wrapped around Meredith’s wrist. “Don’t let them take me away. They can’t take me away from Danny. They took him away from me before and put me in the loony bin, and they can’t do that to me again. Where’s my son? Take me to my son.”

Before Meredith could respond, Mrs. O’Hara collapsed on the floor and began wailing, yelling Major’s name over and over.

Meredith turned to Mr. Thibodeaux. “Don’t call yet. I think I know what she was talking about.” She knelt on the floor by the rocking, keening woman. “Mrs. O’Hara, were you quoting lines from She Wore a Yellow Ribbon?”

“‘Round her neck she wore a yellow ribbon....’” Mrs. O’Hara sang.

Tears of relief sprang to Meredith eyes. She gingerly rested her hands on the distraught woman’s shoulders and sang the next line of the song.

“‘When I asked her why ... when I asked her...’” Mrs. O’Hara looked up at Meredith through the fingers she held over her face.

Meredith continued singing. When she got to the chorus, Mrs. O’Hara repeated “cavalry” along with her each time she sang it. Meredith moved from kneeling to sit beside Major’s mother and put her arm around the woman’s shoulders.

After what must have been at least ten minutes of singing the movie’s short theme song over and over and over, Meredith felt Mrs. O’Hara’s taught muscles suddenly relax. She leaned into Meredith’s side.

Without the ranting and screaming to entertain them, most of the people who’d been standing around this whole time dispersed.

“’M tired. Want to go back to my room now.”

Meredith helped her to her feet. “I’ll go with you to your room.”

Major’s mother looked at Meredith as if she hadn’t seen her before. “Mary Kate?”

“No. I’m Meredith.”

“Meredith—Mary Kate.” She grasped Meredith’s arm. “Come back to my apartment, Mary Kate.”

Meredith corrected her twice more but then gave up and answered to Mary Kate, letting Mrs. O’Hara lead her down a couple of halls until they stopped at room number 267.

Mrs. O’Hara pointed to the number. “Twenty-six seven. John Wayne was born on May 26, 1907.”

“Was he?” Meredith figured the easiest thing to do right now was just humor her until she was certain the woman would stay calm.

“Such a sad day when he died. Danny was just a little boy.”

“Danny? Is that Major’s brother?” Perhaps pumping Mrs. O’Hara for information on Major’s family wasn’t the most honorable thing to do, but she never could get it out of him.

“No. Danny is Major. Major Daniel Kirby Xavier ... Major Xavier Kirby...” Mrs. O’Hara frowned and looked like she was building up again.

“Major Daniel Xavier Kirby O’Hara.”

“You know Danny?”

Meredith’s forearms were going to be bruised where Mrs. O’Hara kept grabbing her. “I work with Major. I’ve known him a long time.”

“Come on, Mary Kate, I want to show you my apartment.” Mrs. O’Hara shoved the door open.

As soon as Meredith entered the room, she finally understood where the seemingly random references to John Wayne stemmed from. Framed movie posters lined the walls of the small studio apartment— Stagecoach and Fort Apache and Sands of Iwo Jima and Flying Leathernecks.

But Mrs. O’Hara crossed into the bedroom and pointed to one hanging over her vanity table.

“Mary Kate.” She pointed at the poster.

“Of course.” Meredith took in the illustrated image of John Wayne with Maureen O’Hara in his arms. “ The Quiet Man. Maureen O’Hara played Mary Kate Danaher.”

“You look like her.” She grabbed Meredith’s sore arm again and took her around to look at each of the posters.

Finally, Major’s mother collapsed into the plush recliner in the small sitting area, which included a TV, DVD player, and a rack full of what looked like just about every movie John Wayne had ever been in.

“Take me to see Danny.”

The sadness in his mother’s voice broke Meredith’s heart. “I’ll have to ask Mr. Thibodeaux if I can take you. But Major’s going to need to sleep for a long time after he comes out of surgery.”

“I want to see him.” Large tears dripped from Mrs. O’Hara’s faded blue eyes.

“I understand. Let me go ask.” She glanced around the apartment. Would Mrs. O’Hara stay here quietly if Meredith left to track down the director? “Do you want me to put a movie on for you?”