Melissa Brayden: Heart Block

“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.

Chapter Three

“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.”