Eggsecutive Orders

CHAPTER 18

MY ANGER AT LISS DIDN’T DISSOLVE, BUT MY mood lightened the moment I stepped into the White House kitchen. It was clean. One of our crews had evidently put everything back in its place after the investigators finished. And the smell was exactly right. Dash of yeast, a sprinkle of coffee, and hint of cleaning solution. Although the scents were faint-we’d been banished for four days-they were strong enough to make my heart race with possibility. I closed my eyes for just a moment to breathe it in. “Oh,” I said quietly. “It’s good to be home.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

At Cyan’s voice, my eyes opened. “As much as I’ve been enjoying my family, I really missed coming to work.”

She tied an apron around her waist and lifted her chin to say hello as Bucky entered the room. “I have so many friends who complain about going to work,” she said. “Some of them really hate their jobs. I almost feel guilty because I love this place so much.”

“We’re blessed,” I said.

“Yeah, but for how long?” Bucky wondered.

Cyan and I had the same reaction to Bucky’s question. We both stared at him with puzzled expressions.

“This isn’t over,” he said. “I heard what that medical examiner said this morning.”

“I didn’t know he was on TV today.”

Bucky’s downturned mouth let me know that whatever Dr. Michael Isham had had to say wasn’t particularly good news. “Yeah. After Paul called, I flipped on the news. The medical examiner’s office isn’t clearing us of anything yet. He said that results are still pending.”

“Then why are we here?”

He shrugged with exaggerated motion. “They can’t have the Easter Egg Roll without us, I guess. They can trust us to hard-boil a few thousand eggs for the kids to play with. But I wager they won’t allow us to work on the food for the event.” He held up a finger in emphasis. “I guarantee they’ll come up with a reason why we won’t be serving food on Monday.”

“We always serve food at the event. That’s part of the draw,” I said. “I’m sure now that we’re here, everything will start getting back to normal.”

Bucky shook his head, scowling. As he turned away, Cyan’s expression asked me where the pleasant fellow from yesterday had gone.

Paul greeted us from the doorway. “Welcome back.”

We spent the next few minutes exchanging greetings and comments about being glad to be at work again. I mentioned to Paul the need for the kitchen to bring on a couple of SBA chefs and expressed my preference to have Rafe, and our recent recruit, Agda, as part of the team. With our workload, we would need a few more temporary chefs, too.

“Ah,” he said. “Other than the three of you, and Marcel and his staff, we’re not bringing ‘unknowns’ into the kitchen until the entire Minkus investigation is complete.”

My mouth opened in disbelief. While we could handle the day-to-day meals with ease, we could not-by any stretch of the imagination-handle Monday’s anticipated crowd by ourselves. “How are we going to feed all the partygoers at the Egg Roll?” I asked. “Rafe and Agda have worked here before. They’re not exactly unknown. And even with them we’ll be severely shorthanded.”

Paul waved away my concerns. “I understand. Let me explain. There has been a change in plans.”

Bucky gave me a look that said “I told you so.”

Paul took a deep breath. “After much discussion, the president and First Lady have decided that it would be in the best interests of all if we limited Monday’s events. We will hold the Egg Roll as scheduled, but no White House party afterward.”

If a person could look smug and unhappy at the same time, it was Bucky.

“But…” I didn’t know what else to say. “Why?”

“Coming on the heels of Carl Minkus’s death, the aspect of a formal party that evening might be construed as unseemly. In bad taste. But no one would disagree with keeping the Egg Roll for the benefit of the children.”

Bucky’s warning made me believe there was more to it than keeping up appearances. For his part, Bucky had turned his back while Cyan and I waited for Paul to finish.

“You have to understand that the president and First Lady believe in all of you. They wanted you back here as quickly as possible. This”-he held his hands aloft-“is a testament to their belief. Don’t underestimate it.”

We nodded, but were silent. Paul patted me on the shoulder on his way out. “Things will start to get better soon. I’m sure of it.”

He left, and we set to work on dinner, eventually settling back into our comfortable rhythms. When I signed onto the kitchen computer, I found a note from the First Lady:

Welcome back, Ollie-to you and to your staff. My husband and I are very much relieved to know you’re back in charge. Thank you for your patience during these trying times.

I shared the note with Cyan and Bucky who, respectively, were cheered and unfazed. Tonight’s dinner, capitalizing on the fresh veggies from my garden on the third floor, boasted a little Italian flair. We were serving a spring greens salad, bruschetta, and pasta primavera with chicken, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, and baby squash. Marcel, I knew, was planning the big finish of warm Brie with walnuts and maple syrup, garnished with fresh berries.

After we got the bruschetta topping started, I turned to Bucky. “I haven’t spoken with the Secret Service yet about picking up the eggs.”

He raised his head in acknowledgment but didn’t respond.

“I’ll talk to them as soon as we’re settled here. But I’m sure they’re going to want specifics. Do you have a good time I can ask them to be there? Will Brandy be home?”

Bucky’s head snapped up. He made an imperative, unintelligible noise-halfway between a gasp and a “Shh!”

“What?” I asked, not understanding.

He gestured the two of us closer, his eyes wide with anger. “Do not say another word,” he said, his voice menacing. He looked about the kitchen but there was no one else around. Keeping to a whisper, he said, “You will not refer to her in any way that might bring notice to our… our…”

“Relationship?” I prompted.

His glare darkened. “It does not exist.”

“Uh…” Cyan ran her fingers over her lips. “What?”

Again the unintelligible noise. “The relationship you refer to is private. It does not exist”-he jammed a finger onto the countertop-“here. You will not refer to it, or to her, in that regard. We refuse to make ourselves a spectacle.”

Perhaps reading the expressions on our faces, he quickly added, “We want to keep things private.”

“Sure,” I said, but his words hit me in a way I hadn’t anticipated. As I went back to preparations-cleaning the asparagus and baby greens-Liss’s not-so-subtle threat to make my relationship with Tom public sent a shooting pain of fear up the back of my throat.

“What’s wrong, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “You’re pale.”

To tell the truth, I felt pale. A sadness I couldn’t reach sickened me. And I knew this queasy dread wouldn’t go away until I could make things right. The question was, how? I took a deep breath. “I need some air,” I said. “Give me a minute.”

Even as I strode out of the kitchen, I was pulling my cell phone out of my pocket. I made my way outside into one of the courts that flanked the North Portico. “Tom,” I said when he answered.

“What’s wrong?”

The fact that he could tell so quickly that something was wrong was not lost on me. He and I had gotten to that point where we could often anticipate what the other would say. Comfort. We’d had that. For a while, at least.

I wanted to talk. But I knew this wasn’t a conversation for the phone. “Something’s come up.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, yes.” Gosh, I was not handling this very well. “Everyone is fine. But Liss-Howard Liss.”

“You’re back in the White House, aren’t you? I heard you got the all-clear today. I wanted to call, but I’m in training today.”

“Oh, you’re busy?”

“We’re on a break right now. Your timing is phenomenal.”

“At least something is.”

“Talk to me, but make it quick. We’re being called back in for the next session.”

There was no way to put this in a thirty-second conversation. “Just do me a favor and call me when you get out, okay? Call me first before you do anything. Will you do that?”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” I cringed. That was a lie. “It will keep until you call me.” I hoped that was the truth.

“Ollie, you’re making me nervous.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell you later. But it’ll be okay.” I felt a swift stab in my heart. “I have it all figured out.”

He gave a short laugh. “I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news. But I do have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“As soon as you get out, right?”

“That very moment.”

I rolled my shoulders but didn’t feel any better. That queasy sensation was still there. I stared up at the sky from between the court’s side walls. Overcast today. I shivered. It was cold outside, but I just noticed it now. My sorrowful mood did not have its genesis in Liss’s threat. Liss had only exacerbated an awareness that was already there. I knew what I needed to do. But I wondered if I had the strength to do it.

The sky above held no answers, so I made my way inside to the kitchen’s warmth, where life always felt safest.

Marguerite Schumacher, the White House social secretary, met me in the hallway. “I was just coming to talk with you.” Pert and dark, she had limitless energy, and a tenacity that I admired. “Have you heard about the plans?”

I told her I had. “I’m just disappointed that they’re cancelling the post-party. Everyone always looks forward to that.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I have to tell you, at first I thought canceling the party portion was a bad idea. But after talking with Mrs. Campbell, I understand where she’s coming from.”

“Having a party just a week after Minkus’s death wouldn’t look good?”

“That,” Marguerite agreed, “and…”

“What else? What are they not telling us?”

She placed a finger on her lips. “Don’t share this with anyone else.”

I felt my heart skip a beat. “What is it?”

For the third time today, the person I was talking with looked both directions before speaking. Anyone else might have started to develop a complex. But I understood. That’s part of the world I chose to live in.

Something else clicked in that moment. That realization that I was always in the middle of things. That’s who I was.

“You remember our last big holiday?” Marguerite asked.

“How could I forget?” The days leading up to the official White House holiday open house had been eventful, to say the least.

“Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want to take any chances this time. She wants the children to have their event, but, in her words, doesn’t want ‘to tempt fate’ by entertaining all the adults later that evening.”

“ ‘Tempt fate,’ ” I repeated.

Marguerite nodded. “At least until the Minkus investigation is completed.”

“So she believes Minkus was murdered?”

“I really can’t say.”

I watched her reaction. “You don’t know, or you don’t want to tell me?”

She gave a Mona Lisa smile. “I really can’t say.” Then, deflecting my question, she brought me up to date on the expected guests, and explained that there would be additional security-more than usual-on the grounds that day.

“But they never considered canceling the entire event?”

Marguerite gave me a weary look. “You’re damned if you do and you’re damned if you don’t. Cancelling the kids’ events would be such a disappointment. There are families who look forward to this all year. Some come from across the country just for the chance to participate. Mrs. Campbell doesn’t want to let them down.”

“What about the clowns and the book readings and the magic shows?”

“Of course. We’ll still have all of that.”

“But there will be added security.”

“A lot of added security.”

“And the guests aren’t going to notice?”

She grinned. “In an effort to keep people from feeling uncomfortable, the extra Secret Service agents will be in costume.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not bunnies?”

She laughed. “Some of them. Others will just be dressed like regular partygoers and will mingle in the crowd.”

“Good plan,” I said. “Thanks for the update, I’ll let my team know.”

A glance at my watch reminded me that my mom and Kap were probably on their date right now. I considered calling my mom’s cell just to check in, but nobody likes a buttinsky, and that was exactly what I would be. I thought about calling my apartment. Maybe Nana would be able to give me an update on the situation.

I made sure to refrigerate tonight’s bruschetta topping before making the call. Just as I pulled my cell phone out again, Bucky grabbed my arm, then let go almost immediately, as if surprised by his own action. “They want me upstairs.”

“Who does?”

“The Secret Service.” He swallowed. “They say they have a few more questions for me. Oh my God, they think I did it, don’t they?”

My number one assistant, I was discovering, went from zero to sixty in the space of a heartbeat. I’d never known anyone who flipped from emotionless to panicked with such speed.

“Bucky,” I said, with intense calm, “if they thought you did it, would they have allowed you back into the kitchen?” I extended my arm out toward our work stations and all the items we had in progress. “Would they allow you to cook for the president of the United States of America if they suspected you of murder?”

Bucky held his hands to his head. “We haven’t served the food, have we? No. They just brought us here for more questioning.”

“Why are you so afraid?”

My question seemed to stun him. “Why aren’t you?” he asked, stepping back. “This Minkus situation gives them the right to poke their noses into our private lives.”

“Yes, but-”

“What will happen if they find out that I’m living with…” He widened his eyes as if to say “You know who.” Rubbing his hands over his face, he groaned. “I could lose my job. I could lose…”

He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Personally, I thought his fear was over the top. I didn’t believe for a moment that his relationship with a member of the Egg Board would cause any conflict of interest whatsoever. If it did, then what would be said about my relationship with Tom?

That thought dried my mouth. Thoughts of our talk later today sent pillars of fear driving down into my stomach. There was nothing I could say to Bucky to reassure him. And I wished there was because maybe then I could reassure myself.

But before I could even attempt, one of the Guzy brothers came into the kitchen. “Buckminster Reed?”

Bucky lifted his head.

“Come with me.”

Cyan and I tried to smile as Bucky left-an effort to make this sudden summons seem like no big deal-but he wasn’t buying it. His lips tight, he gave us a long, meaningful stare before following Guzy boy out of the room.

“He’ll be okay.” Hearing myself say the words actually made me feel a little bit better as though by virtue of will I could make everything okay. Weren’t we back in the White House? That was a step in the right direction, for sure.

Cyan said, “Yeah,” but her tone was unconvinced.

In addition to preparing dinner, we worked ahead. It had been so long since we’d been in the kitchen that there was a lot of catching up to do. Cyan and I barely spoke as we cleaned out old food that had gone bad and began chopping, cleaning, and slicing items we knew we would need going forward.

Just as we finished, Bucky returned. His pale face was covered with a sheen of perspiration. “What happened?” I asked.

His eyes were glassy. “The dossier,” he said.

Minkus’s. “What did they say?”

“They’re considering suspension.”

“That’s not right,” I said, untying my apron. “Let me talk with them.”

Bucky’s hands came up. “Don’t.”

“What have I got to lose?” I asked, anger making me reckless. “They’re probably going to call me up there next and tell me I’m suspended, too.”

Cyan wasn’t understanding. “What dossier? Why will either of you be suspended?”

I explained about Bucky sending Minkus’s dossier to his home computer. “Bucky made me a copy. So we’re in the same boat.” I cast a glance at the doorway. “Probably just a matter of minutes before I’m summoned, too.”

“I didn’t tell them that you have it,” he said.

Taken aback, I could only ask, “You didn’t? Why not?”

Bucky boosted himself onto the stool we kept near the kitchen computer. He leaned his elbows on his knees and lowered his chin into his hands. “Why get us both into trouble?”

Never in a million years would I have expected this show of unity from Bucky. I patted him on the shoulder. “Thanks.”

He nodded absently. “We have to worry about the eggs,” he said. “If they suspend me, they sure as hell aren’t going to want to use the eggs I have stored at my house.”

That had the potential to become a problem. “Unless we work through Brandy,” I said quietly. “She might be able to use other channels to bring them here.”

I expected him to react-to scold me again about bringing up her name-but he just blinked. “Yeah.”

“When will you know?” Cyan asked. “I mean… whether they’re suspending you or not.”

He shook his head. “No idea.”

“I’m still going to talk to them.” I folded my apron and placed it on the counter. “You know this is all for show-to make it look like they’re running the most thorough investigation they can. If it were up to Mrs. Campbell…” I stopped myself before finishing the sentence.

“What were you going to say?” Cyan asked.

Bucky glanced at me with the most curious expression. Half-cynical, half-hopeful. This man was a walking contradiction.

“Just that I believe the investigators aren’t seeing the forest for the trees.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I caught Paul in his office. “Ollie,” he said, not smiling. “I think I know why you’re here.”

“They can’t suspend Bucky.”

He shook his head. “My hands are tied.”

“We all take paperwork home. It happens all the time.”

“But guests don’t usually die,” he said, then added, “Thank God for that.”

“You mean to tell me that if Minkus hadn’t died, and yet the Secret Service had found out Bucky forwarded that document to himself, they wouldn’t raise an eyebrow?”

Paul made a so-so motion with his head. “That’s impossible to tell, but I have to believe they’re cracking down especially hard in this case. There’s no textbook on what to do when a White House visitor dies-or is killed-while at dinner with the president.”

“What can I do to vouch for Bucky?”

Another so-so motion; this time Paul’s eyes looked sad. “I don’t think that will do much good at this point.”

“My support wouldn’t count for anything, would it?”

Paul looked away. “It’s not that.”

“Sure it is.” I heard the bitterness in my voice and then I couldn’t stop myself. “Doesn’t anyone care about what might have really happened here? Why is everyone so suspicious of us? And why bring us back if the Secret Service isn’t going to trust us? If they’re so leery about us being here, how can they be so sure we won’t try to poison someone else?”

My voice had gotten louder and even I realized I was approaching panic. Not very professional. I toned down immediately.

“Sorry,” I said. “I guess I just don’t understand any of this.”

“As I mentioned,” Paul said, “you-and your staff-are back because the First Lady requested it. When the word comes down from that high up, the Secret Service has no choice in the matter.”

The thought that had occurred to me earlier sprang back into my brain. “Thanks, Paul,” I said.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No,” I said. “Not unless you can prove that Carl Minkus died of natural causes.”

He opened his hands. “I’m sorry there’s not much I can do.”

I forgot about calling home to check with Nana until I was back in the kitchen. I would have pulled out my phone, but I caught sight of Bucky removing his apron with a look of abject defeat on his face.

“They didn’t…” I said.

He didn’t make eye contact. “One of those twin agents- Guzy-came by to tell me. Said I could finish out the day, but I figured why bother?”

When he finally looked up at me, his eyes were glassed over and held such weight that I could barely stand to look at him.

“Don’t go yet,” I said. “Please.”

“Why?”

“I have an idea.”

He started to shake his head-to argue-but I stopped him.

“Just a couple more hours, okay? Just trust me.”

The words fell out of my mouth and with them, I realized I was almost promising him I’d fix the situation. But could I? Did I have the support I needed to pull this off?

“Come on, Buckaroo,” Cyan said, with a lightness so forced I felt her pain. She pointed to the clock with a floury finger. “It’s only a couple more hours and we could sure use the help.”

“Don’t know what good I’ll be here,” Bucky said, but he tied his apron back on.

“Let’s just worry about planning next week’s menu,” I said.

“Being suspended and all, I probably won’t even be working here next week. They didn’t even say how long I’d be off. Maybe indefinitely.”

His tone was gruff, as might be expected, but yet again Bucky’s vulnerability caught me by surprise. He’d always been my loudest critic and biggest annoyance. To say I’d been tempted to serve him notice-more than once-was an understatement, but recently I’d begun to see him in a different light. What had happened to cause him to be so contrary all the time? What made him so difficult? I was just grateful to know that apparently Brandy had been able to pierce his armor. At least he had some sunshine in his life.

I had an idea. A good idea, I thought. But it had the chance of coming back to bite me, too.

“Okay,” I said. “We have no major events next week after the Egg Roll, so we can probably bring out a few of the family’s favorites while tossing in a couple of new items. Any suggestions?”

We discussed the menu at length and I was encouraged to note Bucky getting into it-crabbing at me when I disagreed with him. Bucky’s complaints actually made me feel good. Almost like we were getting back to normal.

When we had the week’s worth of meals planned, I headed to the computer to put it into our standard format before submitting it to the First Lady. Behind me, I heard Bucky sigh.

“So, that’s it, huh? I guess I should get going.”

“Did you refill our tasting spoons?” Cyan asked him. “We sent the ones that had been sitting here over to the dishwashers, but they haven’t brought us any clean ones back. Would you mind checking on that before you leave?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but complied.

As soon as he was out of the room, Cyan sidled up next to me. “He doesn’t want to leave.”

“If I have anything to do with it, he won’t.”

She peered over my shoulder, then whispered, aghast, “You aren’t.”

Not looking at her, I shrugged, returned to the e-mail I’d been writing. “We all do our part,” I said. A couple of keystrokes later, the message was sent. “Now, let’s keep our fingers crossed.”

At least I was doing something. My spirits buoyed, I took a deep breath and reveled in the joy of moving forward. But that feeling was short-lived.

“Olivia Paras.” Peter Everett Sargeant III’s pronouncement was not an inquiry. More like a command.

I turned, dismayed by the unexpected arrival of our sensitivity director. “Yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

He stared at me through hooded eyes. “We need to talk.”

“I am up to date on all the schedule changes, Peter,” I said. “And since we are no longer serving dinner on Monday, we no longer are dealing with ‘sensitivity’ issues with regard to meal planning. The Egg Roll menu was approved a long time ago. If whatever it is you need to discuss can wait until next week, I would prefer we do so.”

He tilted his head in his inquisitive yet condescending way, but I caught the underlying glee in his eyes. “I wish it were that simple,” he said with a smile. “But I’m afraid this matter is much more grave than that.”

I couldn’t imagine anything more serious than canceling a White House event, but I took the bait. “Fine. Let’s step-”

Wrinkling his nose, he turned to Cyan. “You will excuse us.”

She looked to me. I nodded. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll be downstairs.”

He watched her leave. “Why do you keep her on staff?” he asked. “For one thing-”

“I don’t believe you came here to discuss my staff,” I said, interrupting. “So if you don’t mind, let’s get to the heart of the matter, shall we?”

As it always did when I dealt with Sargeant, my posture became more rigid, my speech pattern more formal. There was nothing casual about this man. Perhaps subconsciously, in an effort to facilitate more efficient communication, I parroted his terse, prim demeanor.

He began: “You are incorrect in your assumption.”

I startled, and it bugged me that he noticed.

His smile grew broader. “This is most certainly about one of your staff members. I am here to discuss the immediate dismissal of Buckminster Reed.”

Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. Gathering my wits, I searched for a comeback. “Bucky doesn’t report to you. He isn’t even within your chain of command.”

“Which is why,” he said with exaggerated patience, “I am coming to you first. It is unfortunately true that I have no authority where Mr. Reed’s continued employment is concerned. But I heard what he did, and I find that wholly unacceptable.” The smile never wavered. “As should you.”

“Bucky did nothing wrong.”

Sargeant raised both eyebrows. “You can’t possibly sanction the willy-nilly distribution of confidential documents?”

I took a breath, but before I could respond, he continued.

“I hope this doesn’t mean that a closer look into your habits would turn up evidence of such irresponsible behavior.”

“Studying a dietary dossier at home does not constitute irresponsible behavior.”

“Perhaps not.” His mouth twitched. “But you are seen as a ‘golden girl’ by this administration, and hence, none of your transgressions are ever seriously investigated. I would very much like to see that changed.”

I was still processing that little mention of “golden girl” when he spun on his heel and turned away.

Stopping at the doorway, he examined the ceiling for a moment, before directing his attention to me. “Eventually President Campbell will finish out his term. And then the spell you have on him-and the First Lady-will come to a crushing end.” He wrinkled his nose, speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “I look forward to that day.”

Cyan found me still staring at the empty doorway when she returned a few minutes later. “Is Mr. Cheerful gone?”

I bit the insides of my cheeks.

“What happened?” she asked.

I couldn’t find it in me to explain. “He’s a piece of work, that one,” I finally said, shaking my head. “We need to watch our backs.”

Bucky returned with several stainless steel bowls of tasting spoons, which he put in prime spots around the kitchen. He stood for a moment with his arms akimbo, surveying the scene. “You two are going to have a lot of work by yourselves.”

“I know,” I said. “I am not looking forward to that at all. What are we going to do without you here?”

Bucky gave me a look that told me he appreciated my words, even as he maintained the scowl. “Maybe I should make room in the refrigerators for all those eggs.”

“That’s great idea,” I said. “While you do that, I’ll-”

I was silenced by the unmistakable sound of a new message on the computer.

Cyan, standing closer to Bucky, obviously didn’t hear it. “You’ll what?”

“Give me a minute,” I said, turning my back.

They headed to the refrigerators while I opened my inbox. The note was brief and to the point.

Thank you for the information, Ollie. That is, indeed, sad news. It is my hope that Mr. Reed will be cleared soon to continue in our kitchen.

My heart sank. I don’t know why I hoped for more from Mrs. Campbell-or why I expected an immediate turn of events-but I had. I supposed I should be happy to know that the First Lady had received my message so quickly. The menu I’d sent included a quick summary of what was happening with Bucky, and a polite entreaty asking Mrs. Campbell to intercede on his behalf. I had clearly overstepped my boundaries, but when one of my employees was in trouble, what else was I to do?

“You two should be able to handle it from here,” Bucky said when he and Cyan returned. “I’m going to take off.”

This time there were no tasks left to assign-and no way to logically argue for him to stay. I no longer held out hope that Mrs. Campbell would stay his suspension. We were out of options. “Keep in touch,” I said.

“One of us will,” he said. “About the eggs.”

He untied his apron, and I could almost see the weight on his shoulders as he shrugged into his jacket and fixed a baseball cap on his head.

Impulsively, I said, “I’m going to do whatever I can to get this fixed.”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “I know you will.”

And then he was gone.

“We’ll never get through a whole week without help,” Cyan said after a long minute. “They’re not letting us hire any SBA chefs and now without Bucky…”

I had been thinking the same thing. Best-laid plans. When I had arranged for my mom and nana to come visit, I’d done so with the belief that with a contingent of help and our full staff, we would be in fine position to get everything done on time. But there was no way to get through an entire week with just the two of us, unless we were both willing to spend every waking hour here.

I sighed. Mom and Nana would be on their own for the next three days, at least. Maybe longer. This was not how I’d planned their visit.

I reached for my cell phone and dialed my apartment. Glancing at the clock, I tried to gauge how long it would be before I headed home. “Hi Nana,” I said. “Can I talk with Mom?”

“She’s not back yet.”

I looked at the clock again, as though it might have lied to me a moment earlier. “She went out hours ago.”

“They must be having a nice time.”

“But it’ll be dark soon.”

Nana laughed. “You sound like your mother did on your first date.”

“But that’s different. This is Washington, D.C. She doesn’t know her way around yet.”

“I’m sure Kap does.”

That’s exactly what I was afraid of. “Has she called?”

“Did you call us on your first date?”

“Nana,” I said, my tone serious, “aren’t you worried?”

“No. And you shouldn’t be either. Your mother’s a big girl.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“When the sun comes up.”

“Nana!”

She laughed. I made an exasperated noise. “Do me a favor-call me when you hear from her, okay?”

“I might be hard to get ahold of,” she said merrily. “Your neighbor’s teaching me a new card game, so I’m going over there now. Good thing you called when you did. Five more minutes and I’d have been gone.”

When I hung up, I stared at my little cell phone.

“What’s wrong?” Cyan asked.

It took me a minute to put it into words. “When I left my family to pursue a career, I guess I figured they would always just stay the way they were.” I looked up. Cyan shook her head, not understanding. “I mean, I knew I was changing, but I never expected them to do anything, or be anything different than my mother and my grandmother. But they are. They’ve grown-they’ve changed.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” I said. “It’s a good thing. I’m just not adjusted to it yet. It’s my problem. Not theirs. I think I’ve been holding on to my memories of them-kinda like holding on to a bit of childhood. But now I’m realizing that’s gone.”

“I understand,” she said. And by the look in her eyes I knew she did. “Just remember to appreciate every moment you have them with you.”

I called Tom on my way to the Metro station, just a little bit perturbed that he hadn’t called me back like he’d promised.

“Ollie!” he said with such relief that my anger immediately dissolved.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was called in to a special meeting immediately after the seminar. And then after that, Craig needed to talk with me.”

The heaviness in his voice made me ask: “About?”

“Can’t say. I was going to call you in about ten minutes. But now that you called me, let’s talk. What’s on your mind that’s so important?”

I swallowed, but didn’t break stride. “Can we get together?”

“Tonight?”

I didn’t like the mild peevishness to his tone, nor did I look forward to what I knew would be a difficult conversation, but I persisted. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Sounds ominous. What do we need to talk about?”

“I haven’t gotten to MacPherson yet,” I said, avoiding the question. Thinking quickly, I tried to come up with a place that would afford us a little privacy. “If you’re nearby, we can meet at that martini bar you’ve always wanted to try.”

“You want to go to a martini bar? What about Froggie’s?”

I didn’t want to tell him that I wanted to protect Froggie’s. That we’d had a lot of good memories there. I didn’t know exactly what I planned to say, but I did know that a conversation like this was best held elsewhere. “The martini bar is closer. I can be there in a few minutes.”

He made an odd noise. “I guess I have no choice.”

I didn’t order a martini. I opted for coffee instead. Tom looked over the tiny leather-bound menu and asked the waitress for a Sam Adams.

“I thought you were looking forward to trying something new,” I said.

We were seated at a tall table in the dark bar’s front window. He leaned forward on his arms. “So… why are we here, Ollie?”

All day I had been rehearsing options. How I would open, how I would progress, what I might expect Tom to say. How I would answer. But all my preparation went out the nearby window. I turned to watch a couple across the street. Arm in arm, they laughed. Little puffs of air curled in front of them as they turned the corner and strolled away.

Tom touched my arm. “Ollie?”

It didn’t help to look at him. Actually, it made it worse.

“This is hard,” I said.

“What is?”

Was that fear in his eyes, or just the reflection of a passing car’s headlights? I took a breath.

“Ollie, don’t do this.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. “I know you’re upset about my comments recently. I know you think I don’t understand you-”

“You don’t.”

He squeezed. “But I do.”

I tugged my hand back. “I want you to tell Craig that he can stop threatening you.”

He leaned back, looking hurt. “I’m not afraid of Craig.”

“I’m afraid of what he can do to you. And to your career.”

Tom waved his hand as though brushing away a fly. “I can handle him.”

“You’re not going to have to.”

The hurt look came back.

My stomach flip-flopped, and my heart raced with panic. My words came out fast, almost as though I was afraid that if I took my time, I wouldn’t have the courage to say them. “I want you to tell Craig that we’ve broken up.” I swallowed. “I want you to tell him we’re not a couple anymore.”

He was shaking his head. “This is all wrong,” he said, staring out the window. “We can’t let Craig-or even this investigation-dictate how we live our lives.” He made eye contact again. “We have to be true to ourselves.”

I nodded. “That’s the other part of it.”

He looked confused.

“I can’t be the person you want me to be.”

He said nothing.

I folded my hands on the table then dropped them to my lap before continuing. “I can’t let this go.”

“You can’t let us go?”

“No,” I said sadly. “I can’t let all these kitchen accusations continue without doing anything. Without defending myself.”

“But, Ollie. You’re not authorized-”

“I know I’m not,” I snapped. “And I never intended to throw myself into the middle of the investigation, but I can’t just stare in from the sidelines, either. Every move I make, I worry: Will this be construed as getting involved? Am I putting Tom’s career at risk? Will Tom get mad at me because I talked with Ruth Minkus? Because I met with Suzie and Steve? Because I studied Minkus’s dossier? It’s making me crazy.”

“Where did you get Minkus’s dossier?”

Now I waved him off.

The coffee grew cold and the beer warm as I told Tom exactly how I had been feeling since he made me promise not to poke my nose into the investigation. “I never intend to get involved in these things. You know that. But I can’t keep second-guessing myself. I can’t keep worrying that I’m stepping out of bounds somehow.” I met his gaze. “I have to be who I am, Tom. I have to be true to myself. And our circumstances are such that I can’t be myself-not really-if you’re part of my life.”

He pursed his lips, not meeting my eyes. Finally, when he did, he said, “That’s it then?”

“Is there anything you want to say? Anything else you want to talk about?”

His expression grew tight. “No. I think you made yourself clear.” With that, he pulled out his wallet, tossed cash on the table, and stood up. “Do you want me to walk you to the Metro station?” he asked with no emotion whatsoever. “It’s late.”

I had expected questions, even hoped for him to argue me out of it. But instead, my now-former boyfriend stood next to the tall table, waiting for me to alight from my chair. “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Let me rephrase that. I will walk you to the Metro unless you tell me I can’t.”

“Thank you,” I said. When in doubt, always be polite, my mom advised. A sad thought flashed through my mind. Mom was on a first date-and I was on a last. “I appreciate it.”

We walked in silence the entire way. Tom didn’t accompany me down into the station, and at the top of the stairs, I was prepared for an awkward good-bye. But when I turned to him, he had already started away. “Tom,” I called to his back.

He waved a hand, and half turned in acknowledgment. But he kept walking.