Luke stopped in front of the private dining room. He tucked the newspaper under one arm and opened the double doors.
The Old Man, Jason, Hackett and Gordon Foote were seated at the polished wooden table. There wa o coffee on the table. No cutlery, plates, napkins or menus, either. Bad sign, Luke thought.
The group at the table looked at him with varying expressions of concern and resolve.
A thin woman stepped out of the small butler’s pantry at the side of the room. She was professionally dressed in a tweed suit and sensible shoes. Oversized, black-framed glasses endowed her with an academic air. She fixed Luke with a sincere, kindly but very determined expression.
“Hello, Luke,” Dr. Van Dyke said quietly. “It’s been a long time.”
“Does this mean I don’t get breakfast?” Luke asked.
* * *
It’s called an intervention,” Vicki explained.
p. Irene choked on a bite of muffin that she had just slathered with butter. “A [_what? _]”
“An intervention,” Katy said hastily. “It’s a psychological technique that is used to confront a perso ho is exhibiting self-destructive behavior patterns. The idea is to force the individual to admit that h as problems and that he needs help.”
“I know what an intervention is.” Irene swallowed hastily and stared at Katy and Vicki, appalled. “But you don’t understand. Luke thinks he’s going to get breakfast and an offer of a job this morning.”
“Lot of good it would do to ask him to come back to the business,” Vicki said.
“John tried tha pproach. It was a disaster.”
“Ambushing Luke with a shrink is probably not a real good idea,” Irene said uneasily.
Vicki frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous. What’s taking place in that room isn’t an ambush. John an he others are trying to save Luke from himself This is a last-ditch effort to make him confront his underlying issues.”
“We’ve tried everything else,” Katy added. “He refuses to talk about his problems.
He won’t eve dmit that he has problems.”
“Dr. Van Dyke told John that an intervention was the only option left,” Vicki said.
Irene signaled to a hovering waiter. He hurried over.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“I’d like the spinach and feta cheese omelet to go. Would you please ask the cook to rush the order?”
“Of course.” He turned to Vicki and Katy. “Ladies? May I take your orders?”
Vicki was disconcerted. “Just coffee for now.”
“Same for me,” Katy said hurriedly.
“Thank you.” The waiter turned to Irene. “I’ll make certain that the kitchen receives your reques o hurry up the order.”
“Thanks,” she said.
Vicki waited until the waiter had left and then glowered at Irene. “Why did you ask him to rush your omelet?”
“Because I have a feeling I’m not going to be here very long.” Irene stuffed the last bit of muffin int er mouth and smiled at Vicki. “Mind passing the bread basket again?”
* * *
“Luke, your family and friends arranged this meeting because they are deeply concerned about you,”
p. Dr. Van Dyke said. “We all are.”
“Got a rule,” Luke said. “I never talk about my psychological problems before breakfast.” He opene he double doors of the private room.
Behind him, John slammed a fist down on the table. “Damnit, Luke, don’t you dare walk out of this room.”
“I’m not going anywhere, sir. Not just yet, at least. This is sort of amusing, in a weird kind of way.”
Luke spotted a harried young man in a white coat in the hall. “Any chance you could find me som offee and a cup, Bruce?”
“Sure, Mr. Danner. Be right back.”
“Thanks.”
Luke closed the doors again and turned to look at the others. “Now then, what did you say this ambush was called?”
Jason grimaced. “An intervention. And I would like to go on record as having told everyone present tha t wouldn’t work.”
Hackett leaned back in his chair and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I said the same thing or word o that effect. I believe ‘really stupid idea’ was the exact phrase I used.”
Luke noticed that the Old Man, Gordon and the obviously intrepid Dr. Van Dyke did not look happ ith the direction of the conversation.
“We are all agreed that you need help, Luke,” Van Dyke reminded the group.
“She’s right,” Gordon said heavily “Luke, you haven’t been yourself since you got out of the Marines. You know that.”
“You’re in a downward spiral, son,” John said gravely. “We’re trying to stop it before it goes too far.
Dr. Van Dyke has a plan.”
“Plans are good,” Luke said. “I have a few of my own.”
A knock interrupted him. He turned back around and opened the doors. Bruce stood there with a tray
“Coffee and a cup, sir.”
“Thanks.” Luke took the tray from him.
Bruce looked at the small crowd behind Luke. “Should I bring some more cups?”
“No,” Luke said, edging one door closed with the toe of his shoe. “I don’t think anyone else here is interested in coffee this morning. They’re too busy intervening.”
He nudged the other door shut and carried the pot and the cup to the table.
John’s face tightened angrily “I’ve had enough. You’ve got problems. Admit it.”
Luke poured coffee into the cup. “Everyone has problems.”
“Not like yours,” Dr. Van Dyke said in a calm, authoritative manner. “Given your history, it is entirely possible that you are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder with symptoms of anxiety depression, erectile dysfunction and hypervigilance.”
Luke paused with the cup halfway to his mouth. “Hypervigilance?”
“That jumpy, easily startled feeling,” Van Dyke explained.
“Right.” He nodded. “I drink coffee for that.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jason exchange a look with Hackett, who shook his head in silent warning. Gordon’s expression tightened. The Old Man seemed to slump a little in his chair.
The others were giving up already, Luke concluded. But Dr. Van Dyke was evidently made of sterner stuff. Oblivious to the changing mood in the room, she plowed onward.
“The best way to approach your issues in a constructive fashion is for you to start therapy immediately,” she declared. “Initially we will meet three times a week starting today. In addition, I will prescribe medications to ease your anxiety and depression.