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Authors: Julie Hyzy
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sounds as though you’ll be discharged soon.”
“We are hopeful for tomorrow morning. That is, assuming the results from today’s tests come clear. You know as well as I do, Olivia, that we who cook for the president cannot be found to be carrying illness. They have run extensive tests.”
Cyan had gone to the other side of Marcel’s bed. “It’s good to be careful,” she said, patting his uninjured arm. “Like Ollie, I never want to pry, but I hope you’ll keep us updated.”
“I certainly will,” he said. “And you may repeat this information to Monsieur Sargeant and to Bucky, and others in the staff. If word of my misstep helps to prevent someone else from making such a mistake, I am happy to share.”
He smacked his lips, eyeing the box of chocolates, which were now being devoured across the room. “This is not how I anticipated my week.”
“When you’re feeling better,” I said, “I hope you’ll be able to return to the White House.”
He held up his right arm—at least as far as he was able to. “With this? How can I be of any use to anyone?”
“We’re putting in another request for one of your assistants to take the lead while you’re out, but you know how much more we’d love having you back. Even if all you do is oversee the visiting chefs’ efforts from time to time during the day, that would be a huge help.”
Marcel’s dark face split into a deep grin. “Then I shall look forward to returning to work as soon as the doctors and our esteemed chief usher allow.”
I felt a great weight lift off me. “Wonderful,” I said.
Cyan and I made a little more small talk, but because Marcel’s friends seemed to be eager to get back to their visit, and because any further delay might result in Marcel being deprived of more chocolate, we said good-bye and promised to check in on him again soon.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Wentworth stepped out of her apartment as I was unlocking my door. “And how are things at the White House during this sequester?” she asked.
“Has it been that long since we’ve talked?”
Twisting her mouth to one side, she gave me a long, appraising look. “Seems to me now that you’re married, you don’t have time for us old folks anymore. I don’t think I’ve talked to you more than twice since my wedding.”
She and the apartment building’s handyman, Stanley, had tied the knot shortly after Gav and I had. Just as I had kept my name, Olivia Paras, she’d kept hers. I was happy about that. To me, she would always be Mrs. Wentworth.
“The sequester is keeping me busier than I’d expected,” I said.
“Where’s your ball and chain?”
I laughed. “I’m not sure he’d be too thrilled with that moniker.”
“That’s what they are, though,” she said. Even across the corridor, I could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Always keeping us home, slave to the stove.”
“You and Stan eat out almost every night,” I said.
She brushed a stray white hair off her forehead, causing her cascade of bracelets to jangle down her arm. “
Pfft.
If we don’t complain about our husbands, they’ll think we have it too easy.”
I crossed the short space between us and spoke softly. “But you and I both know we are the two luckiest women on the planet, don’t we?”
“Shush.” She slid a glance toward her apartment, as though afraid Stanley might hear. “Don’t want him to catch on.”
“I’m sure he already has.”
My cell phone buzzed in my purse. As I dug it out, I bade Mrs. Wentworth a good night and pulled the device out to answer. It was Gav.
Part of me was thrilled to hear from him. Part of me was disappointed. A call this late in the evening meant that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight.
I shut the apartment door before answering. “Hey,” I said.
“It’s good to hear your voice, Ollie.” He sounded tired and worn, but not distraught.
“How is Bill?” I asked. “Any change?”
Gav took an extra second to answer. “He’s
“We are hopeful for tomorrow morning. That is, assuming the results from today’s tests come clear. You know as well as I do, Olivia, that we who cook for the president cannot be found to be carrying illness. They have run extensive tests.”
Cyan had gone to the other side of Marcel’s bed. “It’s good to be careful,” she said, patting his uninjured arm. “Like Ollie, I never want to pry, but I hope you’ll keep us updated.”
“I certainly will,” he said. “And you may repeat this information to Monsieur Sargeant and to Bucky, and others in the staff. If word of my misstep helps to prevent someone else from making such a mistake, I am happy to share.”
He smacked his lips, eyeing the box of chocolates, which were now being devoured across the room. “This is not how I anticipated my week.”
“When you’re feeling better,” I said, “I hope you’ll be able to return to the White House.”
He held up his right arm—at least as far as he was able to. “With this? How can I be of any use to anyone?”
“We’re putting in another request for one of your assistants to take the lead while you’re out, but you know how much more we’d love having you back. Even if all you do is oversee the visiting chefs’ efforts from time to time during the day, that would be a huge help.”
Marcel’s dark face split into a deep grin. “Then I shall look forward to returning to work as soon as the doctors and our esteemed chief usher allow.”
I felt a great weight lift off me. “Wonderful,” I said.
Cyan and I made a little more small talk, but because Marcel’s friends seemed to be eager to get back to their visit, and because any further delay might result in Marcel being deprived of more chocolate, we said good-bye and promised to check in on him again soon.
CHAPTER 8
Mrs. Wentworth stepped out of her apartment as I was unlocking my door. “And how are things at the White House during this sequester?” she asked.
“Has it been that long since we’ve talked?”
Twisting her mouth to one side, she gave me a long, appraising look. “Seems to me now that you’re married, you don’t have time for us old folks anymore. I don’t think I’ve talked to you more than twice since my wedding.”
She and the apartment building’s handyman, Stanley, had tied the knot shortly after Gav and I had. Just as I had kept my name, Olivia Paras, she’d kept hers. I was happy about that. To me, she would always be Mrs. Wentworth.
“The sequester is keeping me busier than I’d expected,” I said.
“Where’s your ball and chain?”
I laughed. “I’m not sure he’d be too thrilled with that moniker.”
“That’s what they are, though,” she said. Even across the corridor, I could see the twinkle in her eyes. “Always keeping us home, slave to the stove.”
“You and Stan eat out almost every night,” I said.
She brushed a stray white hair off her forehead, causing her cascade of bracelets to jangle down her arm. “
Pfft.
If we don’t complain about our husbands, they’ll think we have it too easy.”
I crossed the short space between us and spoke softly. “But you and I both know we are the two luckiest women on the planet, don’t we?”
“Shush.” She slid a glance toward her apartment, as though afraid Stanley might hear. “Don’t want him to catch on.”
“I’m sure he already has.”
My cell phone buzzed in my purse. As I dug it out, I bade Mrs. Wentworth a good night and pulled the device out to answer. It was Gav.
Part of me was thrilled to hear from him. Part of me was disappointed. A call this late in the evening meant that he probably wouldn’t be home tonight.
I shut the apartment door before answering. “Hey,” I said.
“It’s good to hear your voice, Ollie.” He sounded tired and worn, but not distraught.
“How is Bill?” I asked. “Any change?”
Gav took an extra second to answer. “He’s
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