“I don’t feel like it,” Adrienne said. “I’m tired.”
“You can sleep for the rest of the week,” Caren said. “This is going to be the last time to sit with all of us.”
Joe came out of the kitchen. He put his arm around Adrienne and kissed her temple.
“Thatcher married her,” Adrienne said. She gazed at the surprised faces of Spillman and Bruno, the downcast eyes of Duncan and Caren who had probably suspected as much all along. Joe tightened his grip on Adrienne’s shoulder.
“It was the right thing to do,” Adrienne said. This was the only way she could bear to think of it: as a generous gesture on Thatcher’s part. A good deed. But she knew it was just as likely that Fiona did it as a favor to Thatcher, that he’d begged her. He loved Fiona more than any woman in the world. Not romantically, maybe, but he loved her just the same. “I don’t feel much like hanging out.”
“No,” Caren whispered.
“I’m going home to get some sleep,” Adrienne said.
Caren passed her the keys to the Jetta. “Take my car,” she said.
“And take this,” Duncan said. He held aloft the brass hand bell that he used each night to announce last call.
“No, I can’t,” Adrienne said.
“Take it,” Duncan said. “You earned it.”
“You earned it,” Bruno said.
“You earned it,” Joe said.
“Take the bell, Adrienne,” Spillman said.
She took the bell. It was heavier than she expected. Her eyes filled with tears and she couldn’t bring herself to look at anyone, or worse yet, utter words of good-bye, so instead she rang the bell and listened to its deep metallic thrum. The Bistro was quiet then except for the distant sound of the ocean, and the resonant note of the bell.
Adrienne rang the bell again, then again, as she walked out of the restaurant. Its tone was pure and holy, a benediction.
The New York Times, Sunday, August 28, 2005
CHEF DIES AT 35; LANDMARK RESTAURANT CLOSES
by Drew Amman-Keller
Nantucket, Mass.
Fiona Kemp, 35, chef/owner of the popular beachfront restaurant the Blue Bistro, died at Massachusetts General Hospital early yesterday morning from complications arising from cystic fibrosis. Ms. Kemp was frequently portrayed in the food press as quiet and reclusive. She did not give interviews, she did not allow her photo to be taken, and she rarely set foot in the dining room of her own restaurant. Still, she was widely acknowledged to be a talent without peer in New England kitchens. Her focus on simple, fresh, “fun” foods (such as sandwiches, fondue, and whimsically named entrées like “lamb lollipops”) earned her top accolades from the critics and loyal devotion from the restaurant’s customers.
In a conversation via cell phone from Logan Airport, Ms. Kemp’s partner, Thatcher Smith, denied that Ms. Kemp kept a low profile intentionally to conceal her illness. “Fiona’s illness was genetic,” Smith said. “She battled symptoms since she was a child. But the illness never took center stage-her career did. Fiona stayed in the kitchen because she didn’t want to draw attention away from her food.” Mr. Smith did acknowledge that their plans to close the restaurant at the end of the month were, in part, due to Ms. Kemp’s health. She was on the list for a lung transplant. “We decided in the spring that this would be our last year. Fiona needed a rest. So, quite frankly, do I.” Mr. Smith declined to talk about his plans for the future. “Right now I want to mourn Fiona-an excellent chef, a beautiful person, my best friend.”
The Blue Bistro closed its doors yesterday, nearly a week earlier than planned. News of Ms. Kemp’s death broke yesterday afternoon in a press release sent to the AP, and since then, according to Mario Subiaco, pastry chef, the restaurant has been deluged with phone calls and over a hundred bouquets of flowers have been left outside the now-locked front entrance.
“She had a lot of fans,” Mr. Subiaco said. “She will be missed, most keenly by those of us who worked alongside of her.”
Inquirer and Mirror, Week of August 26, 2005
PROPERTY TRANSFERS
Fiona C. Kemp and Thatcher E. Smith to the Sebastian Robert Elpern Nominee Trust: 27 North Beach Extension, $8,500,000.
South Bend Tribune, Monday, August 29, 2005
OBITUARIES
Fiona Clarice Kemp of Nantucket, Massachusetts, and formerly of South Bend, died on Sunday at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston. She was 35.
Ms. Kemp was born at St. Joseph’s Hospital in South Bend to Clarice Mayor Kemp and Dr. Hobson Kemp, a professor of engineering at the University of Notre Dame. She graduated from John Adams High school in 1987 and attended the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park, New York. In 1991, she moved to Nantucket, where she worked for two years as a line cook at the Wauwinet Inn before opening her own restaurant, the Blue Bistro, in 1993.
Ms. Kemp collected many accolades as a chef. Her cuisine was featured in such publications as Bon Appétit, Travel & Leisure, and the Chicago Tribune. She was named one of America’s Hottest Chefs 1998 by Food & Wine magazine.
She is survived by her parents and her husband, Thatcher Smith.
A private memorial service will be held at Sacred Heart Chapel, the University of Notre Dame. Memorial contributions may be made in Fiona’s name to the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation, 6931 Arlington Road, Bethesda, Maryland 20814.
13
Last Call
Because he is twelve, and in middle school, and because Fiona is a girl, Thatcher always takes friends along when he stops by Fiona’s house, and most of the time these friends are Jimmy Sosnowski and Philip St. Clair. This particular day in May, Fiona has slipped Thatch a note in the hallway between history and music class, a scrap of paper that says, simply, “cheesecake.” Last week, she passed him notes that said “quiche” and “meatballs,” and the week before it was “bread pudding” and “veal parmigiana.” Most of the time the word is enticing enough to get him over right after school-for example, the veal parmigiana. Thatcher and Jimmy and Phil sat at Fiona’s kitchen table throwing apples from the fruit bowl at one another and teasing the Kemps’ Yorkshire terrier, Sharky, while Fiona, in her mother’s frilly, flowered, and very queer-looking apron, dredged the veal cutlets in flour, dipped them in egg, dressed them with breadcrumbs, and then sautéed them in hot oil in her mother’s electric frying pan. The boys really liked the frying part-there was something cool about meat in hot, splattering oil. But they lost interest during the sauce and cheese steps, and by the time Fiona slid the baking pan into the oven, Jimmy and Phil were ready to go home. Not Thatcher-he stayed until Fiona pulled the cheesy, bubbling dish from the oven and ate with Fiona and Dr. and Mrs. Kemp. His father worked late and his brothers were scattered throughout the neighborhood (his two older brothers could drive and many times they ate at the Burger King on Grape Road). Thatcher liked it when Fiona cooked; he liked it more than he would ever admit.
So cheesecake. Thatcher figures it will be easy to get Jimmy and Phil to come along for a dessert, but Phil has gotten a new skateboard and so, after school, two hours are spent in the parking lot of the Notre Dame football stadium with the three of them trying stunts (none of them particularly impressive). Every twenty minutes or so, Thatcher reminds Jimmy and Phil about the cheesecake. He knows Fiona will be, at these very minutes, making it. Her cooking fascinates him. She is the only twelve-year-old Thatcher knows who has her own subscription to Gourmet magazine. Cooking is something Fiona does, Mrs. Kemp told him once, because Fiona is sick. Really sick, the kind of sick that puts her in the hospital in Chicago for weeks at a time. Fiona’s illness makes Jimmy and Phil uncomfortable, on top of the fact that she’s a girl. They don’t want to catch anything. How many times has Thatcher told them? “She doesn’t have anything you can catch. She was born sick.”