Eggsecutive Orders (27 page)

“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.

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.

CHAPTER 19

I STARED OUT THE WINDOW OF THE METRO train, seeing nothing. My conversation with Tom replayed itself in my mind, like a wretched scene from a sad movie. I analyzed every movement, every nuance. Not that there was much to decode. Once I’d told him what was on my mind, Tom had made it clear he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Had I done the right thing? Was I inadvertently punishing him for not supporting me? Was I being selfish with my need for the freedom to poke my nose where I wanted to poke it?