Melissa Brayden: Heart Block

“That’s okay. Grace has summer camp all week. My schedule’s free.”

“I guess with you gone, Clarice will have to cover the office alone. Lord help us. Here is the address.” She scribbled onto a Post-it. “The house is on Banning Street in La Jolla. The appointment is set for four this afternoon.”

Sarah raised her eyebrows and whistled low as she studied the address. “Nice neighborhood.”

*

Emory pulled into her mother’s driveway at 4:17 p.m. and stared up at the sprawling home before her. She hadn’t been back to the house since the day of the funeral, and then it had been full of people. It felt strange knowing that when she entered the home this time, there would be no Catherine Owen to greet her with an air kiss to either cheek or chat with her about the latest charity auction or eventful women’s brunch. The realization left her flat. She’d never been close with her mother, that much was true, but she never imagined a world without her either.

Further up the driveway, Emory spotted a red VW Beetle and assumed it must belong to the worker the service had sent over to assess the job. As she approached, a Hispanic woman exited the car and waited expectantly for her at the top of the drive. She had her hair pulled into a ponytail and wore jeans and a light blue cotton T-shirt. “Miss Owen?”

“Emory, please. And you are?”

The woman extended her hand and smiled. “Sarah Matamoros. I’m very sorry to hear about your mother. I hope we’ll be able to help.”

“Thank you. I hope so too.”

As they walked the long sidewalk leading up to the front door, Emory tried to get a feel for the kind of service the company could provide, and more importantly, their competence level. She had high standards. “So do you take on this sort of thing often?”

“On occasion,” Sarah answered. “It’s certainly something we’re capable of handling, but I have to be honest with you, Ms. Owen, this looks to be a rather large house. I hadn’t anticipated—”

“Where are you from?” Emory interrupted her.

“Um, Logan Heights.”

“No, I mean you have a very slight accent. Where are you from originally?”

“Oh. My family immigrated from Guadalajara when I was nine. English is my second language.”

“Well, you speak it marvelously. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. Let’s go inside.”

When they entered the home, Sarah’s eyes widened in surprise. The house was beyond lavish. The entryway towered three stories in the air, and a grand staircase opened before them winding languidly up and away. An expansive living room lay ahead, decorated impeccably with fabrics, tapestry, and very expensive looking furniture. There were chandeliers, French doors, and all sorts of things she would tell Grace were on the do-not-touch list.

“I’m not sure how much your agency told you, but I’d like to have the house empty and on the market next month. That means there’s a lot of work to do here.”

“I’d have to spend some time looking around before I could give you a quote, Ms. Owen. This seems like it could take some time. A month is—”

“Again, please call me Emory and money is not a problem. Send me your bill when you finish. How is this kind of thing usually handled anyway?” She strolled further into the house. “Do you just box it up and send it away?”

Sarah couldn’t help but notice the removed look in Emory’s eyes when she turned back to face her. Geez, didn’t she care at all? “The items you plan to get rid of, yes, but the things you choose to keep, we arrange to have picked up and then delivered to a storage unit or your home.”

“I can’t imagine there will be much like that. Family photos and an occasional piece of art, perhaps. The rest I plan to donate. I’ll try to stop by each day after work to check in with you.” She glanced at her watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a conference call at five. When can you start?”

Sarah shrugged. “Now?”

“Perfect. Here’s a key. I’ll have boxes delivered tomorrow. See you soon.” And with that, the attractive blonde in the perfectly tailored business suit was gone. Sarah found herself alone in what she could only describe as an honest-to-goodness mansion. Her first impression was how cold it felt in comparison to her parents’ small home. She wondered if Emory Owen had grown up here and if perhaps that accounted for the cool, aloof persona that seemed to match that of the house so perfectly. Sad, if that was the case. She rolled up her sleeves, smiled, and set out to explore her new project. She loved a challenge.

*

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.”