“Remember?” he coaxed a second time.
“Yes, I guess I do.”
Grey coughed and excused himself, returning a moment later. “I’m sure I’ll improve before Saturday.”
Meghan squeezed her eyes shut as the pain washed over her in swelling waves. “Seeing that you’re a little under the weather, and Saturday is up in the air, would you mind terribly if I canceled our date?”
“Meghan, Meghan, Meghan,” he chided in a singsong voice that sounded amazingly like his rendition of I see. “You’re not going to get out of this dinner party that easily. Honey, the more often you accompany me to these functions, the more relaxed you’ll become. I want you with me.”
“From the sounds of this virus, you’re going to get worse before you get better.” Meghan had no idea if that was true or not, but she was grasping at straws.
“If I am still under the weather, we’ll cancel.”
“But I’d like to make other plans. I don’t want to be left on hold like this,” she said, digging to the bottom of the barrel for excuses.
“I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘other plans’?”
“I’ve been asked out by … one of the men from the reading group, and frankly, I’d forgotten all about the dinner party.” This was elasticizing the truth to the very limit. But according to Eric, she could have a date with Don Harrison if she wanted one. She didn’t. But Grey didn’t need to know that. At this point, her only intention was to convince him she didn’t want to see him any longer before either of them suffered any more from a dead-end relationship.
“One of the men from the reading group,” Grey repeated. He sounded as though he were reeling from this news; his voice was barely audible.
“Since you’re not feeling well anyway, I can’t see where it would hurt any to cancel our plans.”
“Is it Eric Vogel?”
“No. I already told you, he’s engaged.”
“I see.” He paused, then asked, “And you’d prefer to go out with this other guy?”
“Yes,” she whispered, then regrouped her thoughts and stated calmly, “That is, if it isn’t too much of a problem for you, since I had committed myself to you first.”
This was so much more difficult than she’d thought it would be.
The silence that followed was loud enough to break the sound barrier. What felt like sonic booms slammed against her eardrums until her head was shaking and her whole body was trembling in their aftermath.
“I hadn’t realized your social calendar was so crowded.”
Meghan recognized the anger in his voice, and it was like inflicting a wound upon herself. “I’ll call you later in the week and see how you’re feeling.”
“Don’t worry about Saturday night. Go ahead and date your friend or any other men you might meet between now and Saturday.” His words felt like a cold slap in the face.
“Thank you for understanding. Good-bye, Grey.”
He may have bid her farewell, but if he had, Meghan didn’t hear him. All she’d heard was another series of sneezes and coughs.
For a full minute after the line had been disconnected, Meghan kept her hand on the receiver. Taking in deep breaths seemed to help, but it didn’t help control her desire to bury her face in her hands. She didn’t do that, of course—not when she had customers waiting.
***
A violent sneeze ripped the flimsy tissue in half, and Grey automatically reached for another. His head felt as if someone had turned him upside down and all his blood had pooled in his sinuses. His chest hurt even worse; it felt as though a two-ton truck had decided to park there and had no intention of moving. He was utterly miserable! And he had three classes to get through before he could head home.
Meghan wasn’t helping matters any. She’d come up with this cock-and-bull story about wanting to go out with another man Saturday night, and he’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker.
At first.
He’d been so infuriated with her that he was sure the elevation in his temperature had been due to his short conversation with Meghan the day before.
Once he’d settled down, sat back, and reflected on their discussion, he realized she’d been lying, and doing a poor job of it. If he hadn’t been so irritated with her, he would have easily seen through her deception.
In the light of a fresh day, Grey downright refused to believe she was interested in someone else. He couldn’t very well claim that at age thirty-four he hadn’t been in love before now, but the powerful emotion he felt for Meghan O’Day went far beyond anything in his limited experience. He’d been infatuated, captivated, and charmed by any number of women over the years. But it was this one sweet Irish miss who laid claim to his heart. He couldn’t love Meghan the way he did and not know when she was making something up.
Grey guessed all this nonsense about her dating someone else related directly to his mother’s visit. That aristocratic old lady had buffaloed Meghan into believing she wasn’t good enough for him. Grey would bet cold cash on that fact. He couldn’t blame Meghan for letting Frances browbeat her into such thinking. Grey’s mother had done a good job on Meghan, who’d had no experience in dealing with his manipulating parent. Grey, on the other hand, had had a lifetime of practice, and he wasn’t about to let his own mother cheat him out of the best thing that had ever happened to him: Meghan O’Day.
Noticing the time, Grey reached for his tweed jacket, his overcoat, and his briefcase. He hesitated long enough to line his jacket pocket with tissues. He was through the worst of this stupid cold—at least that was what he continued to tell himself—but then he immediately broke into a series of loud coughs that racked his throat and chest.
“Professor Carlyle, are you all right? Perhaps I should make a doctor’s appointment for you.”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he said, waving off his assistant’s concern.
“If you’re not better in the morning, I really think you should see someone.”
The first person who flashed into his mind that he should see was Meghan. A slow smile eased its way across his face. The Milton-quoting waitress would make an excellent nurse—unlike Pamela Riverside, who would probably insist he take cod-liver oil and stay away from her in case he was contagious. Naturally, if Meghan were around, he would have to exaggerate the extent of his sickness. But the mere thought of Meghan sitting at his side, running her cool hands over his fevered brow and whispering sweet nothings in his ear, was far more appealing than a heavy dose of medication or Pamela Riverside.
Before he left the building, Grey turned up the collar of his overcoat. Dear grief, it had been cold lately. A fresh batch of snow had thickly carpeted the campus grounds. Several students had taken to building snowmen, and their merriment filled the crisp afternoon air.
Grey heard the sound of Meghan’s musical laughter long before he found her in the crowd. A smile teased the corners of his mouth as he paused in the shoveled walkway, holding his briefcase close to his side while his gaze scanned the large group of fun-making young people.
A flash of auburn-colored hair captured his attention and his gaze settled there. It was Meghan, all right. His Meghan. Only she was standing with her arms wrapped around another man and her eyes were smiling up at him.
The amusement left Grey’s expression to be replaced by a weary kind of pain that struck sharp and deep. It took a moment for him to find his breath. When he did, he held his head high and continued down the pathway as though nothing had happened. He sincerely doubted that Meghan would ever know that he’d seen her.
***
“Mom!” Meghan cried, flying into the house, her voice filled with alarm. “I need you.”
The kitchen door swung open. “Honey, what is it?”
“Grey. He’s ill!” She gripped her mother’s forearms and swallowed several times before she could continue. Her own heartbeat sounded like a cannon in her ear. “I was on campus earlier and overheard a student comment that Grey hasn’t been
to school in three days and all his classes have been canceled.”
“Aren’t you jumping to conclusions?”
“No. When I talked to him Monday night, he sounded like he had a dreadful cold then. Apparently, he’s much worse now.”
Colleen O’Day tucked a few strands of gray hair behind her ear and casually strolled back into the kitchen, where she’d been folding clothes on the round oak table. “I thought you told me you’d decided not to see your professor friend anymore.”
“Yes, but he’s sick now and—”
Her mother raised her hand as if she were stopping traffic. “Although it was difficult at the time, I bit my tongue, figuring this is your life. You’re twenty-four and old enough to be making your own decisions. Whether I happen to agree with you or not is something else entirely.”
“I’m worried about Grey. Surely you can understand that.”
Colleen O’Day fluffed out a thick towel and neatly folded it in thirds. “From what you were telling me the other day, you’d decided you didn’t much care for the professor anymore.”
“Mom,” Meghan said with an impatient sigh, “I didn’t come here for a lecture.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I want you to make your special soup for Grey. I know once he’s had some of your broth, he’ll feel better. I always did. Remember when I was a little girl how you used to tell me the soup had magical healing powers?”
“Meghan”—Colleen issued her daughter’s name on an exasperated sigh and reached for another towel—“how do you expect to get the soup to him? According to what you said, you have no intention of seeing him again. Do you expect leprechauns to deliver it?”
“Don’t be silly.”
“From what you said, you’re not worthy enough to lace that distinguished man’s shoes, let alone be seen with him. To hear you tell it, the good name of O’Day is sure to tarnish the professor’s reputation and possibly ruin his career. You didn’t seem to mind, though, because you’d already decided that he was too pompous and dignified for the likes of you anyway.”
“You’re exaggerating, Mother, and that’s not like you. I care enough about Grey to want the best for him. Isn’t that what loving someone means?”
Her mother held the laundry basket against her stomach and sadly shook her head. “Perhaps I am stretching the facts a bit, but that’s because I disagree with you so strongly. Loving a man often does call for sacrifice, but not the kind you’re making. But as I said earlier, it’s your life. If you want to break your own heart, far be it from me to stand in your way and gift you with forty-odd years of wisdom.”
Meghan knotted her fists at her side. “Will you make the soup or not?”
“And who’s going to take it to him?”
“You?” Meghan proposed hopefully.
“Me?” Her mother laughed at the mere suggestion. “I’m not traipsing halfway across town to deliver my special healing soup to your old boyfriend, Meghan Katherine O’Day. If you don’t care to go out with him any longer, then why should I care if he’s ill? He’s your friend, not mine.”
“How can you say that?” Grey had brought her mother flowers, complimented her cooking, and gone out of his way to let her know how much he appreciated sharing Sunday meals with them. She couldn’t understand her mother’s attitude.
Colleen O’Day shrugged as though what happened to Professor Carlyle was of little concern to her. “All I know is that my daughter wants nothing more to do with the man.”
“He’s ill.”
“Why should that bother you?” Colleen pressed. “You don’t plan to see him again.”
Frustrated, Meghan closed her eyes. “Will you make the soup or not?”
“Not.”
Meghan was so shocked her mouth fell open.
“But I might be persuaded to share the family recipe with my only daughter. It’s time she learned of its miraculous healing powers herself. My one wish is that it will loosen a few of her own brain cells so she can see what a terrible mistake she’s making.”
***
The two mason jars were securely tucked inside the shopping bag when Meghan entered the faculty building. Grey’s office was on the third floor of the same structure, but that wasn’t where she was headed.
When her mother had copied the recipe, Colleen O’Day had done so with the express hope that Meghan would deliver the soup to Grey herself and in the process settle her differences with Grey. Unfortunately, Meghan couldn’t do that, but she hadn’t wanted to disillusion her mother with the truth. She planned to deliver the soup in a roundabout manner and pray that her mother never found out.
Dr. Pamela Riverside would take the soup to him.
After some heavy-duty soul searching, Meghan had devised a plan of action. She was going to show Pamela Riverside the way to this particular man’s heart. It was obvious the poor woman needed help. She might balk now, but someday she would appreciate Meghan’s efforts.
As Dr. Riverside’s office was on Grey’s floor, the same receptionist announced Meghan. Meghan didn’t wait, however, but saw herself into Dr. Riverside’s room.
Grey’s colleague was seated behind a meticulously clean desk in a spotless office that wasn’t marked by a single personal item other than her books.
“Ms. O’Day,” Pamela greeted, rising to her feet. “This is a pleasant surprise.”
But she didn’t look pleased, which was just as well. Meghan closed the door and stepped forward, not stopping until she stood directly in front of the other woman’s desk.
“Do you love him?”
The other woman sucked in her breath. “I beg your pardon.”
“Dr. Carlyle! Do you love him?”
“I hardly think my feelings for Greyson Carlyle are any of your business.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Setting the shopping bag on top of the desk, Meghan crossed her arms and battled down an overwhelming sense of sadness. “You’re exactly the right kind of woman for him. His mother knows it. You know it. And I know it.”
Pamela Riverside cast her gaze downward. “Unfortunately, Greyson hasn’t seemed to have figured it out yet.”
“And he won’t with you looking like that.”
Pamela slapped her hand against her breast in shock and outrage. “Exactly what are you saying?”
“Your clothes,” Meghan cried, waving her hand at the fastidious dark blue suit as though she were a fairy godmother and held the powers of transformation in the tips of her fingers. “I haven’t seen you in anything but that same dark suit and jacket in all the times we’ve met. That thing looks twenty years old.”
“I’ll have you know I bought this only last month.”
“And have five exactly like it hanging in your closet.”
Pamela sucked in a tiny breath that told Meghan she’d hit the nail square on the head. “And those horrible shoes have got to go.”
With her hands braced against her hips, Grey’s associate glared down at her feet. “These are the most comfortable shoes I’ve ever worn. I refuse to let you—”
“Of course they’re comfortable. That’s because your grandmother broke them in for you. Go shopping, Dr. Riverside, throw caution to the wind and try a new department store. Start with a silk teddy and go from there.”
The woman’s mouth opened and closed several times, as though she couldn’t say everything she wanted to fast enough. “If you insist upon insulting me, Ms. O’Day, then perhaps you should leave.”
“Take the pins out of your hair.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing you correctly.”
“Your hair,” Meghan repeated, pointing her finger at the professor, unwilling to brook any argument. “And do it now.”
With her face growing more pale by the minute, Pamela reached behind her head and released the tightly coiled chignon. The dark length unrolled down her back and she loosened it so that it fell about her face.
The transformation was remarkable. Pleased, Megha
n nodded quietly as she studied Pamela’s facial features in a fresh light. “Much better. While you’re at the department store, make an appointment with a beautician. Have her cut about an inch all the way around, and don’t ever wear it up again.”
“Well, I never!” she barked.
“Well, it’s time you did.”
Grey’s colleague looked so shocked that she snapped her mouth shut.
“He’s sick, you know, and in his weakened condition he’ll be more receptive to gestures of concern from you. Go shopping and make sure everything you have on is new. Have your hair done the way I said and then go and visit him. And last but not least, take him this soup and tell him you made it yourself.”
“I rarely cook. Greyson knows that.”
“Lie.”
“Ms. O’Day, I’ll have you know I’m as honest as the day is long.”
“These are the shortest days of the year, Dr. Riverside. Take advantage of it.” Meghan paused and drew in a quivering breath. “Make him happy or, by heaven, you’ll wish you had.” With that, she marched out of the office.
Tears brimmed in Meghan’s eyes, making it almost impossible for her to navigate her way to the elevator.
***
Grey was on the mend. For the last four days he’d been living on orange juice, canned chicken soup, and peanut butter—tasting nothing. The chill that had permeated his bones was gone, but the cough that seemed to convulse his intestines lingered on. He hadn’t talked to Meghan in those four days, and it felt like four years. His heart was heavy, his head stuffy, and his thoughts more twisted than an old pine tree’s limbs. The combination left him in no mood for company, but Pamela Riverside had just phoned claiming she had to talk to him; she possessed urgent information that he must act on immediately.