Heart Block (32 page)

She looked to Walter who sat dutifully at her feet. “That did not go well,” she said. “I think it got five degrees colder in here when she called. What do you think?” His tail thumped wildly in support.

She carried the brushes she’d been working with over to the small sink in the kitchen and set about cleaning them thoroughly. She’d gotten paint all over her cutoff overalls, but it wasn’t like she minded. It had been a productive session.

The brushes had been her birthday gift from Grace, and she handled them with the care she would a newborn child. She knew from the brand name that they had been fairly expensive, and the gesture was not lost on her. There had been a small note attached to the wrapped package, and despite her heart’s protests, her mind thought it a good idea to play the words back in her head several times a day as some form of sick torture. “Happy Birthday, Emory. I hope your dreams come true. Maybe one day, you’ll want to use these again. Love, Grace.” Along with them had come a canvas from Sarah, another expensive purchase.

She thought a lot about Sarah and the hole she’d left and wasn’t sure how to get her old life back on track, hence her sabbatical. She needed new surroundings, a different routine, and some space from the people she knew if she was ever going to allow herself to heal. However, she couldn’t deny that the existence of Sarah and Grace in her life had kindled something within her, a renewed outlook on what her life could potentially be. And even if she couldn’t have them, she refused to discount what they had done for her soul.

Since she’d been in Calistoga, she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and rediscovered her love of painting, and it was not lost on her that this never would have happened had she not met Sarah. There was something that felt so very right about picking up a brush again, almost like coming home. Emory lost herself in her creations for hours at a time, shocked when she glanced up at the clock.

Her work, now that she was older, seemed heavier, soulful. She thought back to her first night in town and the moment she’d set to painting for the first time in years. The result of that night’s effort sat unassumingly against the wall in her bedroom. She’d stared at it, transfixed, for hours the following day with virtually no memory of painting it. It was like her hands had taken over, needing desperately to re-create the face that had the ability to make her feel so much.

Having had time to think, she’d resolved herself to the fact that all had worked out how it was supposed to. Sarah was from a place of warmth and was incredibly likable, representative of all things good. Her family was tight-knit and loving. Emory had been out of her depth.

But no more.

If nothing else, she could at least learn from Sarah. Emory vowed to herself that she would continue to grow and explore who she was and had the potential to be. The first step had been to take a step back from Global Newswire and gather her bearings. She’d lost perspective, she understood that now, and her life was becoming the Owen cliché. Fortunately, Lucy had been more than understanding and even applauded her decision when they’d met about it over coffee.

“I think this is a good move. This place can run without you for a few months. And I promise I won’t run the company to wrack and ruin. Everything will be waiting for you when you return.”

Emory smiled at her and set down her mug. “Thanks, Luce. I have nothing but faith in your ability to handle everything.”

Lucy reached across the small table that separated them and covered Emory’s hand with her own. “You can still call her, Em. This doesn’t have to be the end.”

She pulled her hand back. “Even if I wanted to, you didn’t see the look in her eyes when she walked off. I’d rather she shot me than looked at me that way. Plus, my mind’s made up, Lucy, and it’s up to me to figure out what to do with myself now.”

Lucy studied her. “Things are different, aren’t they? You’re different now.”

Emory nodded, knowing that important changes had and would continue to take place in her life. “The last few months—Mother dying so suddenly, meeting Sarah and Grace, growing to love them and then losing them both too—these months have given me new perspective. Before Sarah, I wasn’t living, Lucy, not the way I should have been. I need to do that now. It may have to be on my own, but I have to find a way to do more than just stay ahead at the office. Life is too short.”

“Now this is the kind of thing I’ve been dying to hear you say for years now.” Lucy came around the table and folded her into a tight hug. “I’m proud of you, Em, and grateful to Sarah for her role in this.”

Emory finished cleaning the brushes, stored her paints away for a future session, and took a long, hot bath. The water felt amazing against her already sore muscles and she took her time, allowing the unwinding process to have its full effect. She would never have allowed herself so much down time just four short weeks ago. Her days and nights had been scheduled to the minute, and even if she did have an evening at home, it was with a stack of work in hand.

She snuggled into bed for the night, Walter curled up at her feet, her always-loyal companion. She reached down and stroked his thick fur, earning an appreciative sigh.

After switching off the small lamp by her bed, Emory took a deep breath and made a cognitive decision to close off her mind. Beautiful hazel eyes had a tendency of creeping their way into her subconscious, and once that happened, sleep was a lost cause.

Tomorrow is a new day, she reminded herself, and she would find a way to somehow make it a good one.

*

November was definitely no October, Sarah decided. Not even close. The golden, glorious blue sky of October had been replaced by November’s bleak, daylight savings-induced darkness. The tree branches were bare and skeletal against the depressing pale sky. The temperatures had dropped considerably and she never did purchase herself that new jacket. Sarah hated November. It couldn’t win as far as she was concerned.

Halloween came and went—Grace had gone as Vincent Van Gogh, sans the ear. They’d attended her fourth grade Halloween parade and then gone trick-or-treating with Carmen and her boys. She’d spent the following Sunday, as always, at her parents’ house screaming her lungs out for the Chargers and avoiding any and all questions about her love life.

As she walked Grace to the bus stop that morning, Sarah listened intently as she rattled off the details of the papier-mâché turkey they’d be making in art class later that day. This was maybe the fifth time in twenty-four hours Grace had explained the process, but Sarah made sure to smile and nod accordingly.

“Do you think there’s a way to make the turkey actually gobble?” Grace asked. Her excitement was insatiable. “Maybe a speaker inside its body would work.”

“Slow down, mija. I think you might be dreaming a bit big. One step at a time.”

“Okay. We can talk about the speaker later.”

Sarah shook her head in amazement. The kid was tenacious. They’d gone shopping at the hobby store the night before for some extra supplies. Grace was so incredibly anxious to get to work on her turkey, already affectionately named Leonard, that she scampered in short spurts ahead of Sarah on the sidewalk and then meandered her way back to add in extra needed details on her planned masterpiece.

“Probably, I’ll make his feathers a mixture of different colors, but I want them to be as realistic as possible. Our classroom computer has Google, so I’ll see if Mrs. Henry will let me print out some photos for accuracy.” Grace walked backward facing her.

Sarah reached out and smoothed Grace’s hair. “Sounds like a good plan.”

“Do you think he would make a good centerpiece for our table when I’m done? We don’t have any Thanksgiving decorations up, and our place needs some spirit.”

“I think that could be arranged. Now give me a kiss. Your bus is pulling up.”

Grace obliged, planting a quick kiss on Sarah’s cheek and heading off. Feeling the buzz of her phone in her pocket, Sarah glanced down to read the text message from her assistant informing her that she now had a ten a.m. consultation with a prospective client.
Damn it
. It was going to be a tight morning, but she hated to turn away good business. It was Grace’s voice that pulled her from her thoughts.

“Mom,” she yelled, sticking her head out of the door to the school bus. “Have a great day!” Sarah’s heart swelled and just as she opened her mouth to call back to Grace, she watched her body go limp and crumple like a ragdoll, falling from the top step of the school bus onto the pavement below with a horrifying thud. The action of the world seemed to slow down around her as she looked on in shock. Sarah reached out helplessly, a silent scream of horror bringing her stumbling forward onto her knees. Grace wasn’t moving; she could see that much from her vantage point. There appeared to be a small pool of blood forming beneath her head.
Oh God, no.
In the midst of Grace’s stillness, pandemonium broke out all around her. Children on the bus were calling out, another parent at the bus stop rushed to Grace’s side, and the bus driver, dialing his phone, descended the stairs rapidly. In the midst of it all, Grace still had not moved.

All sound disappeared then and Sarah could hear only an intense roaring in her ears. She needed to get to Grace badly, but her body was not cooperating.

She couldn’t move.

Grass. There was the cool, damp feel of grass beneath her cheek and that was okay, she thought, as the world faded to black, because at least now she wouldn’t have to watch her child taken from her. She wouldn’t have to watch Grace die.

By the time Sarah came to, Grace had been transported to the hospital by ambulance. The other parent had ridden with Sarah in a police car, though her memory of the ride was almost entirely nonexistent. Except for the siren. She could still hear that shrill, horrible siren.

Once she arrived at the hospital, Sarah was placed in a small exam room, and though the hospital staff assured her repeatedly that Grace was awake, she couldn’t seem to stop calling out her name in a voice so wracked with fear that she no longer recognized it as her own. She was asked a lot of questions, that part she remembered, about her name, address, and what year it was. All she could think about, however, was Grace’s lifeless body as she’d last seen it on the cement below the school bus. The other mother, Trish somebody, stood at her shoulder, looking through Sarah’s cell phone for someone to contact.

“I’m going to call your mother,” Trish said. She pointed to the contact scroll in the phone. “Is that okay? Should I call your mother?”

Sarah nodded numbly. “Where’s Grace?” she asked the doctor who was shining a small light into her eye. Her voice sounded hoarse from screaming, and she noticed that her hands were still trembling.

“Another doctor is in charge of your daughter’s case, Ms. Matamoros. She’s just a few doors down, and I promise they’re taking good care of her. Now, can you tell me where you are?”

“The emergency room. Please let me see my daughter.”

“Soon. We have to make sure you’re all right first. You took a bit of a fall yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Sarah insisted harshly. She stood and moved deliberately into the hallway. “I need to see my daughter.
Now
.”

Seeming to finally understand her urgency, the doctor led her down the short hallway to a nearby hospital room. There were several people bustling about the bed, but there Grace was, alive, awake, and looking more than a little afraid.

Sarah forced a smile and kept her voice low so as not to disturb the medical staff. “Hi, sweetheart. Everything’s okay. Don’t worry. How are you feeling?” Grace looked pale and not so great. She could see that there were traces of blood still matted in her hair.

Grace blinked up at her, tears in her eyes. “My head hurts. What happened? I don’t feel well.”

“You fell down and bumped your head, baby. The doctors need to make sure you’re okay.”

A petite brunette referencing something on a clipboard stepped forward. “Ms. Matamoros, I’m Dr. Riggs. May we speak outside?”

Sarah nodded and kissed Grace’s forehead. “I’ll be back in just a minute. You rest. Everything is going to be okay.”

Once they were in the hallway, Dr. Riggs didn’t waste any time. “The good news is that we got Grace here in very good time following her accident, and with head trauma, every second counts. At this point, it’s encouraging that she’s awake and conversing with us. However, she did sustain a significant blow and she seems a little bit fuzzy, disoriented on-and-off. It’s highly likely that she’s suffering from a concussion, and I’d like to run an immediate CT just to rule out any complications. This is the kind of injury we have to take very seriously.”

Sarah blinked. “Of course. Can I go with her?” Sarah’s heart raced as a myriad of terrifying scenarios played themselves out in her head.

“Certainly.”

*

It had been over an hour since the CT, and Sarah paced the hospital room anxiously, waiting for word. Grace continued to move in and out of lucidity and had recently grown more and more quiet. She’s probably just exhausted from the ordeal, Sarah reasoned, anything to keep herself from imagining something worse.

Now it felt like a waiting game.

Her mother and father had arrived and they all waited, along with Carmen, in the common waiting room. “Why haven’t they come back, Mama?” Sarah whispered.

“They’re reading the tests, mija. She’s going to be just fine. I know it.” But when Dr. Riggs emerged fifteen minutes later, the words she imparted to Sarah were not at all reassuring.

She’d sat down with Sarah in the plastic chairs just outside the nurse’s station. “So here’s what we know. The CT showed significant signs of elevated intracranial pressure, which is a swelling of Grace’s brain due to the fall. I have to be frank, Ms. Matamoros, this is a big cause for concern and something we have to closely monitor. It’s important that we do everything we can to stop the swelling and alleviate the pressure.”

“What does that mean?” Her hands were shaking in her lap, so she clenched them into fists.