and arranged to have her transported. But she had received the same cold diagnosis here that she had received in the small emergency room near her restaurant.
Jilly closed her eyes.
Her heart.
Why now, when she was on the verge of a huge career leap? Her restaurant was booked out for weeks. She had plans for a cookbook, and she had just received two offers to buy her signature line of organic salsa, Jilly’s Naturals. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, everything had fallen apart on her.
No more sixteen-hour workdays, the cardiologist had warned.
Not even three-hour workdays until her tests were done.
She would need at least half a dozen procedures plus a battery of lab tests before the total picture was clear. Something was wrong with her heart, starting with an arrhythmia that triggered a counter beat when she was under stress.
But when wasn’t she under stress? Maybe during the first few minutes of waking, when her big white Samoyed puppy was curled up at her feet and she had the whole day ahead of her, with all its possibilities. Reality always swept in too soon, carrying in a flood of calls, emails and text messages.
Produce deliveries to inspect.
Employees to placate.
The magic of food had called to Jilly ever since she was twelve. Cooking was the only thing she had ever wanted to do, her first and only dream.
Her fingers opened, massaging her chest above the spot where her problematic heart waited to stammer and skip, sending her back into oblivion.
Did she have a family history of heart disease? Had any relative suffered a heart attack very young? The thoughtful cardiologist had quizzed her for twenty minutes. Were there parents or siblings with heart defects? Any relevant family incidents that she could remember?
Jilly’s fingers closed to a fist above her heart. What parents? What siblings? Her genetic profile was a total blank. She had been found red-faced and howling beneath a cheap blue flannel blanket in a packing box on the steps of the local fire station. Less than three months old, the Summer Island doctor had estimated. Healthy. No problems beyond a little dehydration. Just wrapped up and left behind, discarded like an old newspaper.
Jilly closed her eyes. So what if she was alone? In the end you were always alone. You couldn’t take anything or anyone with you when you died, and you couldn’t trust anyone with your deepest hopes and secrets while you lived.
You did it by yourself or it didn’t get done.
Now the future was in her hands. She had to change, and she would work on that. Yet how could she possibly replace the job she loved? Cooking had given her an anchor when nothing else could.
She didn’t hear the light tap at her door. She was too busy searching the bright corridor of dreams that had been her compass since she was old enough to understand what orphan, foundling and abandoned on the firehouse steps meant.
“You idiot.”
She jumped when she heard the familiar voice, rough with concern. Then her oldest friend’s strong hands slid around her and gripped tight.
“Why do you always have to do everything alone, stubborn as a rabid mule?”
It was a timeworn joke between the four friends. When I need help I’ll ask for it. It was Jilly’s oldest answer to any question. And of course she never asked.
She whispered the familiar words now, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“You should have called us! I could strangle you.” But Grace’s hoarse words were full of love and support, despite their anger. “What happened? Were you burned?”
Jilly took a raw breath. No way to lie. Not to your oldest friend. Not to Grace, whose face held worry and irritation and complete, unqualified love.
“It happened at dinner. It was right after the tortilla soup and the wood-grilled salmon. I had a beef tartare entrée coming up. The Wagyu beef was perfect, with little marblings that—”
“Forget the food. What happened, Jilly?”
“It was—like a fist at my chest. Nausea. Straining to breathe and dizziness. I lost it. Just plain lost it. The doctors say that … it’s my heart. There’s some kind of atrial valve malformation. And when you factor in the stress of my work, plus the physical demands and the long hours …”
“What’s the diagnosis?”
“They think—well, that it was a heart attack,” Jilly whispered.
“No way.” Grace sank down on the bed. “You’re too young for that.”
“Apparently I’m not.” Jilly took a deep breath. “No more busy Saturday nights at my restaurant. No more Jilly’s Naturals. No more mango tomatillo tamales with espresso chipotle sauce. What am I going to do now, Grace?”
“We’ll be here. All of us. Caro and Olivia and I. It’s going to be fine.”
“How can it be fine? All I’m good at is cooking.”
“Be quiet and listen to me.” Grace gripped Jilly’s shoulders. “You’ve got us and you’ve got the Harbor House. Just remember that. If there’s a way to make this work for you, we’ll think of it together. And if not … then we’ll find a new dream for you to catch and hold. It will be even better than the old ones.”
“But how will I—”
“Just trust someone for once, will you? I learned how to trust again, and so can you. Now tell me everything. Start with what happened in the restaurant and all your symptoms. I’m going to do some research. Then you can get another opinion.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Jilly said softly. Her shoulders slumped as she leaned against Grace. “I saw the X-ray with the shadow. I saw the first lab results. There’s no point in hoping—”
“There’s always a reason to hope. If you say that again, I’m going to deck you, Jilly O’Hara.”
Jilly forced a smile. “If you pull out my EKG monitor, I could expire right here. ‘Death by best friend!’ I can see the headlines in the Summer Island Herald now.” Jilly gave a shaky laugh as Grace handed her a tissue and an expensive chocolate bar. “I’m only supposed to eat what they bring me. Nothing else. Tomorrow there are more tests.”
“I checked with the nurse. One piece is okay. Now dry your eyes and eat. Then we’re going to make a plan of attack.”
“SHE LOOKED SO SAD, almost as if she was broken. I’ve never seen our Jilly look like that.” Grace sat stiffly in the hospital’s big lounge. Outside, purple clouds swept across the distant foothills. Lightning flashed and shimmered, as restless as Grace’s mood.
“I’ve never seen Jilly give up. She’s totally single-minded. Nothing stops her,” Caro said worriedly. Her voice came closer to the phone.
“This thing has. Her doctor says
