Page 1 of Summer Rose

Chapter One

The last day of Rebecca’s life was a lot like the rest of them—busy. As head chef of Maine’s estimable Bar Harbor Brasserie, she set her Saturday alarm for five thirty and woke with just enough time to brew herself a piping-hot cup of coffee, get dressed in the dark, kiss Fred’s cheek as he sleepily whispered he loved her, and rush off for the fish market. As usual, there was no time to waste. Everything had to happen on time or not at all.

If she’d known it was the last day, would she have slowed down? Spent another few minutes in bed? Gathered her family together at the breakfast table for cinnamon rolls and a final laugh? There was no way to ever know this. That was the nature of time. You could never get it back.

The fish market on the edge of town opened at six. Although it was January and months from Bar Harbor’s tourist season, chefs and restaurateurs scavenged the market early for the best cuts of seafood and bright red lobsters. That morning, Rebecca had to fight tooth and nail to get the very finest because the governor of Maine planned to dine at her restaurant that night. He’d chosen her restaurant and not any of the other popular establishments across Bar Harbor. This was a privilege and an honor, yes, but that didn’t mean it didn’t terrify Rebecca to her core.

Fred Vance, Rebecca’s favorite person and the love of her life, was also her restaurant manager, which was usually a good thing. Usually. Regarding the governor, Fred had suggested this dinner and its photo opportunities could make the difference between being a “great” restaurant and being one of the “best.”

As the fish and lobster procured, safely layered with ice in a cooler in the back of her SUV, Rebecca called Fred. As soon as she heard his groggy hello, she said, “I don’t know if I’m up for this.”

She could feel Fred’s smile through the phone. “Are you kidding me? You’re Rebecca Vance. I’ve never seen you fail.”

“What if I do, Freddy? I mean, this is a huge deal. The governor! Why did he choose our restaurant?”

“Because you’re a renowned chef in the Maine culinary scene? Because he likes good food?” Fred paused and chuckled to himself. “Because he wants to make you miserable.”

“I knew it,” Rebecca muttered.

“Listen. If you mess something up, we’ll take the kids, move to the Keys, and go into hiding,” Fred said. “Didn’t you say, as long as you’re cooking, you could be happy anywhere? You can open a taco stand.”

Rebecca groaned but soon heard herself laugh, grateful for the easy way Fred looked at the world. Her anxiety had always needed his calm.

“So. What’s going on there?” Rebecca asked. “Is Shelby up yet?”

“I hear her puttering around up there,” Fred said.

“Good. Tell her I’ll be back to pick her up by seven thirty. Tell her not to forget her ID!”

“It’s already here on the table where you put it last night.”

“Right.”

“Why don’t you take a few deep breaths for me?” Fred suggested.

“I would never do that for you,” Rebecca joked. She hovered at a red light, closed her eyes, and focused on inhaling, then slowly exhaling.

Fred explained he was heading to the restaurant, where he had to do payroll. Rebecca told him she loved him, then asked him twice if he was sure he could attend Chad’s basketball game that night and come back to the restaurant afterward to thank the governor for his time. Fred answered, “yes,” and then, “don’t ask me again.” He told her he loved her three times because he knew her mind raced too quickly for her to hear it the first time. The third time was just a bonus.

Shelby was the middle Vance child and a junior in high school. Today, of all days, she’d signed up to take the SATs for the second time. During her first attempt back in autumn, she’d had a mild panic attack midway through the math section and hid in the bathroom for five minutes as the supervisor had knocked on the door, demanding she come back. Needless to say, the scores hadn’t matched what all the Vances knew Shelby was capable of.

Rebecca opened the door between the garage and the kitchen and found her daughter at the counter with a piece of toast and a knife covered in peanut butter. “Do you have your ID?”

Shelby rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. I have my ID. Just because Lily forgot hers four years ago doesn’t mean I’ll do the same.”

“You say it like it wasn’t the biggest disaster of 2018.” Rebecca checked the coffee pot, which Fred had graciously restocked, and poured herself another helping.

Chad made his way down the staircase with all his taut muscles and electric energy. Wearing a pair of basketball shorts and an all-American smile, he kissed Rebecca on the cheek, then hollered, “I’m going out for breakfast with the team!”

“Put on real pants!” Rebecca called after him. She rubbed her temples as Shelby laughed. After three sips of her coffee, she pointed her thumb toward the garage. “We’re leaving in five. I’m going to check on your sister. Okay?”

Before Shelby could answer, Rebecca was on the staircase. On mornings like these, she felt like a bird, fluttering through events and responsibilities in her life and praying not to flatten herself against a window. Outside her eldest daughter’s bedroom, she listened intently and finally found the sound of her daughter’s deep breathing. Just a week ago, Lily had called from Columbia University with a terrible diagnosis. It was mono and had already wiped out half her dormitory floor. “Mom? Can you pick me up?” she’d croaked. When it rained, it poured.

“Lily’s still sleeping, thank goodness,” Rebecca reported to Shelby in the front seat of the SUV. Shelby’s nails clacked over her phone screen, and Rebecca again considered the fact that she shouldn’t have gotten phones for her children at such a young age. Were they too devoted to technology? Had she deprived them of a wonderful youth? Then again, was there anything you could ever do to stop progress in the world?

Shelby hustled from the SUV to the front door of the high school. She paused to wave back at her mother and then disappeared into the shadows. Rebecca sent a necessary “just dropped Shelby off” text to Fred, who sent back a thumbs-up. Often, they joked they were the only two teammates in a tremendously complicated video game. It was them versus the world.

Rebecca parked the SUV in the back parking lot of Bar Harbor Brasserie, which she and Fred had opened ten years ago when their children had been eleven, seven, and six. Friends had asked if they were insane. Dave, her sous chef, bustled from the back and waved a sturdy hand, ready to help her with the fish coolers. Rebecca had already sent him twelve frantic text messages, hoping to illustrate just how important today was for the future of Bar Harbor Brasserie. It wasn’t hard to get Dave excited about something. If Fred and Rebecca were the heart and soul of the restaurant, Dave was the respiratory system that kept them breathing.

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