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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