Harvest Moon. Робин Карр

chuckled humorlessly. “Unbelievable. I had to clear out the kitchen …”

      “Huh?”

      “I told them to turn off the stoves and get the hell out of the kitchen or I’d have the police do it,” he said. “Thing is, a lot of people have high-stress jobs—surgeons, stockbrokers, pilots. But I’d never work in that kitchen.”

      “Don’t like to cook?” she asked tiredly.

      “I love to cook. I bet I’m the best one at the house.” Then he grinned. “Firehouse. And of course there’s stress in being a paramedic. But I saw a difference the minute I was in that kitchen. We work as a team. We can count on each other.”

      Kelly was fading; she could hardly hold her eyes open. “Did you give me something?”

      “Valium,” he said. “The ER doc ordered it. It’ll calm you down a little. You’re anxious, which could account for the rapid pulse and high blood pressure.”

      “We work as a team, too. We have to in a five-star kitchen …”

      “Yeah, but on your team, they kick the injured to one side. That can go hard on your nerves.”

      “Hm. Well this Valium certainly fixes that.”

      He smiled. “Have a little nap. We’re almost there.”

      “Do you have my purse?” she asked. “Can I have my cell phone? “

      “Let’s get you to ER and let the docs have a crack at you first,” he said. “We’ll dig out your cell phone later. You’re too groggy to make good use of it right now anyway.”

      Apparently she wasn’t going to die. At least not yet. And she didn’t have her cell phone. It must have fallen out of her purse when she was taken to the ambulance.

      After five hours in the ER, she was released to go home. She had follow-up appointments with a cardiologist for a stress test and an internist to give her a physical and deal with her elevated blood pressure, which could be stress-related. Blood work indicated she was also anemic; her head CT was negative—no concussion.

      But the first thing she did in the morning was go to the restaurant in search of her cell phone. When she couldn’t find it, she called Phillip at home, waking him. “Who got my purse for the paramedics?” she asked him.

      “Me,” he said with a tired groan. “I’m the only person who can get in all the lockers. I figured you’d need ID and your insurance card.”

      “But my cell phone is gone. I don’t even have a landline in my flat, and all my numbers, address book, calendar and appointments are in that phone!”

      “I’ll look around when I open up, but it didn’t turn up when we were shutting down.”

      “I’m at the restaurant now,” she said. “I know the alarm code!”

      “Listen,” the manager said, sounding as if he came awake slowly. “You need to take a couple of days to figure out why you crashed. That disruption cost us money. What did they say at the hospital?”

      “No big deal,” she reported. “I’ll be fine. But I will take a day or two. I have follow-up appointments to get some … vitamins … And I obviously have to buy a phone.”

      “Look under all the equipment, lockers, etcetera. Maybe it got kicked out of the way or something.”

      She sighed. “I have, Phillip.”

      “Sorry, then,” he said and hung up.

      She continued to talk into the silence. “Thank you, I’m feeling fine, Phillip! I’m sure I’ll be all right, but it’s so sweet of you to ask if there’s anything you can do to help!” And then she clicked off the phone and slammed it down onto the desk.

      She wasn’t feeling so fine; she was still a bit groggy from the effects of the Valium. The ER doc had pointed out that not only was her blood pressure too high, but her molars were flattening out from grinding her teeth. The light-headedness and heart palpitations had probably been due to an anxiety attack—that should be verified if possible. Stress, anemia and exhaustion all added up to her fainting spell.

      “Is it going to kill me?” Kelly had asked. Perhaps she could blow off the follow-up appointments.

      The ER doctor had shrugged and said, “It will at least seriously affect your quality of life. You should really consider slowing things down if you can.”

      There was the little matter that her heart was broken; talk about a fatal injury to quality of life.

      Fortunately, she could remember the most important numbers stored in the lost cell phone—her sister Jillian’s and Luca’s. To her supreme shame, she called Luca’s phone first. His voice mail came on. Her message was, “I lost my phone and have a new number. This new number should be recorded on your phone directory, but just in case it’s not, it’s the same area code, 555-7604. Please call me, I’ve had quite a shock. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll have to assume your wife was telling me the truth—that you sent her to speak to me, to inform me that we can no longer have a friendship of any kind—personal or professional.” Then she sent a text to his phone with the same message. Then she attempted to send him an email with the very same message, but she had to create a new account first. Losing the phone on which she carried all her information and email accounts was incredibly complicated.

      But to her complete frustration, she didn’t hear from Luca all day.

      After seeing both the internist and cardiologist, she placed a call to one of Luca’s personal assistants, Shannon. “Hi, Shannon, it’s Kelly Matlock, sous chef at La Touche. I seem to have misplaced my cell phone and have a new number and new email address. I’m trying to reach Luca. I have a business matter to discuss. Will you please pass on my new number, email, and ask him to call or something?”

      “Absolutely, Ms. Matlock! I’d be happy to. I should see him in an hour or so.”

      But the new cell phone didn’t ring.

      Kelly called Jillian in Virgin River, but all she said was that she’d lost her phone and had a new number. She’d tell all when the doctors had had their say and the crisis had passed, but she didn’t want to worry her sister. Besides, Jillian had just gone through her own difficult time and was barely reunited with her man. Instead, Kelly holed up at home, waiting for that new cell phone to ring. She betrayed her pride by making a few more attempts on Luca’s cell, but to her credit she was as professional as ever with the messages she left.

      The second day brought the results of tests, which, thankfully, were far from catastrophic. She was given a shot with an iron booster. Prescriptions were called in to the drug store for blood pressure and low-dosage antianxiety medications along with the name of a good over-the-counter vitamin with extra iron. Kelly was going to be just fine; all doctors recommended a better diet—better than what a five-star chef could provide?—more rest, less pressure, reduced stress.

      She laughed to herself. Yeah, right.

      She had kept her flat darkened so she’d rest, but sleep eluded her. She realized she hated the apartment. It was a small two-room efficiency that cost a fortune because it was in the city, but she had only leased this particular one because it was so close to the restaurant and she rarely had to use her car.

      Loved the city, hated her place. But hell, she didn’t spend much time there anyway. It seemed her life had revolved around the restaurant for three years. She had friends, good friends, but rarely saw them; hardly ever made time to play or relax with them. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to a movie. Work, work, work—and much of it was just to keep her position safe, not out of sheer joy. Even her love life seemed to begin and end at La Touche.

      She returned after two whole days off. A couple of line cooks had beaten her to the kitchen and were slicing and dicing; they didn’t ask her how she was feeling. She got about the business of