Heart Block (3 page)

*

After work the next day, Emory opened the door to her mother’s house and was greeted by a sound she’d never heard in there before—rock music. Was that U2?

“Hello? Um?”
Damn, what was the woman’s name? Sarah.
“Hello, Sarah?” Emory called above the cacophony. “Hello?” When she wasn’t greeted in return, she dropped her attaché case at the door and followed the sounds of Bono to the kitchen where she found every cabinet standing open and packing supplies across the floor. In the midst of it all, there was Sarah, dancing around wildly with the freedom one only has when they’re alone. Her eyes were closed as she jumped up and down, shook her hips, and mouthed the lyrics of the song along with the radio. Emory was stunned by the display and all she could do was stare, unsure how to proceed. Eventually, as the dancing continued, a small smile crept onto her lips. The first smile in quite a while.

Sarah opened her eyes and nearly dropped dead at the sight before her. Ms. Owen—Emory—she mentally corrected herself, was standing right there in the kitchen, a perfect witness to her booty poppin’. If she could have paid the floor to swallow her up, she would have mortgaged her life away in a heartbeat. Her first action was to race to the portable boom box she’d brought with her and silence the blaring music. Next, she thought she’d better find a way to explain her behavior to her seemingly amused client. Wait, amused was good. So playing that card, she flashed her most winsome smile. “Sorry you had to see that. Sometimes after a long day, I cut loose for a minute. A dance break, I guess some might call it.”

“Not a problem,” Emory answered. The smile still touched the corners of her mouth. “I think I needed that, actually. How are things here?”

Sarah took this opportunity to dust off her clothes and moved quickly to the sink to wash her hands. Somehow, the visual of this perfectly pressed woman reminded her of the fact that she probably looked like a wild person after her day. It wasn’t so much that she was embarrassed. She was pleased with her work and the progress she’d made, but she could at least go to the trouble of making the effort. “It’s been a very productive day. Your mother must have been a very fascinating woman. I’ve come across some exotic pieces of china I thought you should take a look at, and there’s a crystal bowl in here that I thought you might also like me to set aside for you.”

Emory rubbed the back of her neck. “No, uh-uh. All of that can go. I told you, unless it looks like it has some family connection, you can get rid of it. It doesn’t matter how exotic or expensive. This whole house is exotic and expensive. If we played that game, we’d never finish.”

Emory’s frustration was apparent and Sarah felt the smile fall right off her face. “I’m sorry. I just thought when I—”

“It’s fine. I’m the one who should apologize. I’ve just had a rough day.” She turned then and made a beeline for the one cabinet that wasn’t open. The one that contained the liquor. “I’m going to have a drink. Join me?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I don’t think so.”

“Suit yourself.”

As Emory mixed herself a drink, Sarah caught the creases in her brow and could tell Emory was indeed upset, which was understandable given the month she’d had. “Is there anything I can, um…do? Do you want to talk about it?” It was incredibly forward of her and not at all her place, but Emory was a human being who was dealing with a significant loss, and she should be sensitive to that.

“I lost an account at work today. It was a project I’d been working on night and day for weeks, and it didn’t go through. It’s just…frustrating as hell.”

Sarah tilted her head to the side, understanding curiously that Emory was not upset about the loss of her mother, but instead about an issue at work. It didn’t compute, but she pressed forward. “What is it you do for a living, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Emory leaned her hip against the counter and sipped her dry martini. “I own a newswire agency.”

“Like the Associated Press, you mean?”

“Kind of. We’re more of a wire for hire. Companies use our services to send out their press releases. Plus, the Securities and Exchange Commission requires all public companies achieve something called ‘simultaneous disclosure,’ which means any and all investor announcements must be sent out to a variety of news sources at the exact same moment. We’re able to satisfy that need at Global Newswire with a fleet of high-powered satellites.”

Sarah was intrigued. “So if AT&T lays off two thousand employees…”

“They’re required by law to report that to the public, and more importantly, their investors, all at the exact same moment. We make that happen.”

“I had no idea a company like that existed.”

“Most people don’t, but without us, the stock market would be a very different place.”

“Wow. Impressive. Maybe you can tell me more about it sometime.” She inclined her head to the door. “For now, I better head out. It’s time to pick up my daughter.”

“Oh, you have a child?”

“An eight-year-old, yes. She’s in summer camp and my father picks her up for me when I’m working.”

“You didn’t mention that when I hired you.”

“Is it a problem? I can have them send someone else if—”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry.” Emory straightened. “I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“No, I don’t mind.” She casually touched Emory’s arm as she made her way out of the kitchen. “I enjoyed hearing about your work. It sounds exciting.” And she genuinely meant it. She liked meeting new people and had a habit of making friends with the clients she worked for. It was yet another trait she’d inherited from her gregarious mother, an outwardly friendly disposition. Emory Owen, however, was an interesting departure from the upper middle class families that typically hired the agency. Her high-powered corporate lifestyle was fascinating, if not a little intimidating.

Sarah shrugged off thoughts of Emory as she opened the door to her apartment in the southern part of San Diego. Time to leave work at work.

“Mama!” Grace rounded the corner carrying with her a small shiny blue bowl. “Today at camp we made pottery and guess what?”

“What?” Sarah wrapped her up in a warm greeting and kissed her cheek about three dozen times before examining the bowl with exaggerated appreciation.

“We baked it in the oven to make it hard as a rock.”

“Wow, little monster, that’s crazy good. From the looks of this masterpiece, you might be a real-life artist.” Sarah held the bowl up in appreciation and watched as Grace’s eyes shone brightly at the thought.

“Do you think I could be an artist, Papi?” Grace raced back into the kitchen to get her grandfather’s opinion. Sarah followed just in time to hear her father’s response as he laid down the newspaper in contemplation.

“No question, Graciela. You could do it, if anyone could. You’re destined for great things.”

Sarah placed a kiss on his expectant cheek. “I agree. Now, if we can just get the aspiring artist to keep her room clean, we’ll be in business. Thank you for picking her up today. This job is going to take a little longer than Mama initially thought. You wouldn’t believe this place if I told you. It’s humongous.”

“Maybe your mother should send you some help,” he said.

“No, I can do it. Mama’s overloaded as is. What she really needs is to hire more workers, but she’s so particular about who’s good enough. It’s a losing battle with her.”

“She’s a stubborn woman. Just like her own mama and just like someone else I know, carita. See you tomorrow.” He bopped her on the head with his newspaper as he passed.

*

Emory sat in the darkness of her mother’s kitchen, nursing her second dry martini. The alcohol had loosened the pent up thoughts in her head. Alone in the house, she could feel the memories, or ironically, lack thereof, swirl all around her, and it was proving too hard to push them aside.

She’d not allowed herself to think much about her mother, not fully, and it had been a good decision. It was best to just move forward. If her mother were here, that’s what she would tell her, just as she’d told her when her father died sixteen years earlier. All emotion should be controlled, managed, minimized. But it felt increasingly like the night was closing in on her, and Emory finally gave in.

Her mind drifted to the Christmases her family shared together when she and Vanessa returned home from boarding school. She thought of the designer sweaters she’d received at seven years old in place of the frivolous items like paints and brushes she’d begged her parents for. Then there were the “family” vacations from which her on-site nannies appear in more photos than her parents do. She shook her head at how desperately she’d wanted to be noticed by her parents, and how she would have given anything to make them happy, proud of her just a little.

Emory stood and wandered to one of the pristine couches in the living room, intent on sleeping off some of the Grey Goose before driving home. And then it hit her. Here she was, thirty-two years old, and she would never have that chance now. They were gone. It was over. She closed her eyes, understanding fully that she would forever remain a disappointment. The thought was sobering.

“You know, I don’t think there’s a drink in the entire world I’d like better than raspberry iced tea. It’s what heaven must be like.” Sarah glanced down at the tall, glistening glass in her hand and turned to face Carmen. “It really is the most remarkable beverage.”

Her childhood friend shook her head in amusement. “It doesn’t take a lot to make you happy, you know that?”

“Not true. I’ll get back to you when I win the lottery and move to Hawaii.” She punctuated the last word with a raising of her eyebrows and a deep pull on her straw as she stared dreamily into the sky. It was Saturday and Grace was spending the night with her cousins. Sarah welcomed the opportunity for a little girl talk with Carmen at Sabro’s, the little outdoor café they frequented.

“Anything else I can get for you, ladies?” the waitress asked as she cleared the dinner dishes from their table.

“I think we’re going to need another round, if I know my thirsty friend here.” Carmen angled her thumb at Sarah who nodded happily.

“So what else is new with you?” Carmen asked, turning her attention back to Sarah fully. “We haven’t talked in over a week. It feels weird not to see my best friend for days on end. I’m neglected.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. We picked up kind of a big job and Mama was shorthanded, so I took it.” Carmen Alcocer had been Sarah’s best friend since she’d moved to San Diego as a child. They’d lived two doors down from each other through the entirety of their growing up years, and there was no one closer to her in the world. “You know something, it’s actually kind of nice to be out in the field. You should see this place, Carmen. You would die.”

“It’s in bad shape?” She played with her straw.

“Not even close. It’s a mansion, at least, and in absolutely pristine condition. It’s like no one ever really lived there. They just came by to take tours and snap photos. The warmth is completely absent. No family photographs on the wall, no greeting cards tucked away or messages on the refrigerator. It’s completely presentational.” Sarah shrugged, mystified.

“I don’t think I could be comfortable in a place like that. I don’t care how luxurious it was.”

“Me neither. I don’t see the appeal of having nice things if you never use them. I kind of feel sorry for the woman in a way and her daughters too.”

“Her daughters?”

“Yeah, she apparently has two. Her younger daughter is the one who hired me.”

“What’s she like?”

“Beautiful, successful, rich, and she knows it. Outside of that, I can’t tell you much. It must have been a cold place to grow up though. You can’t fault her for how she turned out.”

“Well,” Carmen began, tossing her napkin onto the table, “as much as I’d like to stay and talk with you for another hour or five, Roman, lord of the manor, will be home soon and complaining obnoxiously about the whereabouts of his dinner. If I didn’t love him, I’d kill him.”

Sarah laughed. “Geez, another reason I long desperately to be married again.”

“Oh, you’ll get your turn. In fact, I’ve been waiting for the right moment to mention this. I have someone who I think would be perfect for you. Before you say anything, hear me out.”

Sarah groaned loudly and nudged Carmen’s shoulder with her own as they walked down the sidewalk to their cars. “No, Carmen, no more setups. Absolutely not. They never work out, and I always wind up feeling like a failure.” So she sounded like a petulant child, that’s how she felt. She had her daughter to consider, and maybe that made her standards way too high. At any rate, she was exhausted from Carmen’s endless setups and was coming to the conclusion that she was best on her own. She and Grace against the world. That’s how it should be. End of story.

“Before you hang up your little black cocktail dress for life, just go out with this last one. His name is James and he’s an architect who works on the job site with Roman.”

“An architect?” Sarah couldn’t help but perk up a tad. An architect did sound promising—a steady job, an education—maybe one date wouldn’t hurt. “All right, all right. I can get behind one date, but don’t get your hopes up.” She sighed. “Is he free Friday?”

“I’ll check,” Carmen practically sang. “Did I mention he’s an architect?” Her eyes sparkled in matchmaker victory.

*

Emory didn’t make it to her mother’s house the next day or the two days after that. She had meetings late into each evening and was still playing catch-up from the days she’d been out the two weeks prior.

She decided to check in with Lucy on her way out for the day, knowing she’d be working late on the sales kit redesign and going over the mock-ups with a fine tooth comb. She stuck her head into Lucy’s office and smiled. “I guess you win tonight. I’m out.”

Lucy swiveled around in her chair and jokingly patted herself on the back. “It’s rare that I outlast the boss. I accept the victory proudly. I would like to thank God and Red Bull.” Her light brown hair was pulled back loosely into a clasp at the back of her neck, and she’d already removed the designer jacket and heels she’d worn to work that day. Emory knew her well enough to tell that she was settling in. “I’ve got at least another hour, maybe two, probably three. I’m proud of you for breaking away though. You’ve been working like a crazy person.”