Heart Block (2 page)

“Well, the first step is to get you set up with a pediatric cardiologist, who I imagine will want to run a few more tests. There’s a chance that Grace may require a pacemaker at some point, but that might be something the doctor will want to hold off on, as Grace hasn’t exhibited many symptoms up until this point.”

“What does she need in the meantime? Medication? How do we stop this from happening again?”

“For now, continue to monitor her physical activity. Children with heart blocks can still lead physically active lives, but their endurance is generally weaker. Grace informed me she had been running on the playground before school, and that could have contributed to the collapse during class. She may have to pull back a little.”

“You haven’t spent much time with my daughter.”

“I’ll leave the hard work to you then.” Dr. Turner patted Sarah’s shoulder and began walking down the hall. “The nurse will bring you some literature along with her discharge paperwork, and I’ll get you a list of referring cardiologists. Be back in a little while. And, Ms. Matamoros?”

Sarah straightened. “Yes.”

“Try not to worry.”

Sarah swallowed hard and nodded politely, knowing the impossibility of that request.

Once alone, she took a moment in the hallway and exhaled slowly before pushing open the door to the small hospital room. Grace turned her head on the pillow and smiled up at her. She’d worn her hair in a ponytail to school that day, but it was down now and framing her delicate face with soft waves. “So what’s going on in here, monster? Have you run the nurses ragged since I last saw you?”

“Nope. A perfect angel.” But the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Sarah sat next to Grace and leaned across the space between them, kissing her forehead and smoothing her hair. “It was scary today, wasn’t it? When the paramedics came?”

Grace met her eyes. “A little. I didn’t know what had happened and I was confused. But…”

“But what, mija?”

“I just don’t want you to be upset anymore. You were crying when you came in before, and I hate it when I make you sad.”

Sarah’s heart ached at just the thought of Grace thinking more about her feelings in this scenario. She’d always been a sensitive, caring kid, and for that, Sarah was grateful. She didn’t know what she would do without Grace. The thought ran her over like a Mack truck. She pushed the gathering emotion aside, however, and focused on putting on a brave face. She was the adult, and it was up to her to get them through whatever might be ahead. “Well, I’m not upset anymore. See?” She crossed her eyes playfully and Grace giggled. “I talked to Dr. Turner and she says you’re going to be fine. You just have to take it easy until we sort this whole thing out. Deal?” Sarah extended her hand.

“Deal.” Grace accepted the handshake, her smile genuine this time.

Sarah stood. “Hungry?”

“Thirsty. Can I have a Sprite?”

“I’ll see what I can dig up. I think I saw a vending machine on the next hall.”

As she walked, she reminded herself of Dr. Turner’s comforting words. This diagnosis did not mean Grace wouldn’t go on to live a normal, healthy life. They were just going to have to be a little more cautious and follow whatever orders the cardiologist laid out for them.

She paused at the vending machine, waiting her turn behind a well-dressed woman attempting to get the machine to accept her dollar bill. On her fifth unsuccessful attempt, the woman swore under her breath. On her sixth, she launched a physical assault against the machine, hitting it repeatedly with her open hand and kicking it simultaneously. Sarah watched in surprise before tentatively stepping in. “Excuse me?” Whether the woman didn’t hear her over the banging or was choosing not to acknowledge her was unclear, but Sarah pressed on. She took a step forward, now standing next to the machine and its attacker. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” and then finally, “STOP!”

The woman turned and looked at Sarah, blinking in surprise. She took a look around her, seeming to take stock. Her hands fell dejectedly to her side and she took a pointed step back from the machine, shaking her head once. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “It’s been a rough day.”

She turned to go, but Sarah put a hand on her forearm, stopping her. The look in the woman’s striking blue eyes was hauntingly empty. It registered deeply in Sarah, and she wondered what the woman must be going through. “Wait,” she said gently. “I have some extra quarters.” She stepped up to the machine and deposited three coins into the slot. “What would you like?”

“A Diet Coke would be great.”

“Coming right up.”

The woman accepted the cold drink and held it up weakly. “Thanks.” She then extended her dollar bill to Sarah in payment.

“Not necessary,” Sarah answered, purchasing the Sprite Grace had asked for. “I hope your day gets better.”

Sarah thought of the woman and the look of profound loss in her eyes as she walked back to Grace’s room and realized how lucky she was. She vowed then and there that she would treasure every moment she had with her loved ones and count each one of her blessings from this moment forward. Life was too precious not to.

“Trevor, do you have the agency packet ready for my presentation with 3M?” Emory asked. It should have been on her desk hours ago.

“I thought your appointment with 3M was next week,” her assistant said. He looked a lot like Bambi in headlights, but she didn’t care.

“They moved it up earlier today. I put it on my Outlook calendar. Didn’t you see it?” Emory dropped the 3M file on his desk with a thud. “I need you to keep up.”

He reached for the file. “I can have it ready for you in thirty minutes.”

“Don’t let this happen again. I don’t have time for your mistakes.” With that, she made her way back into her office and closed the door, hard. She felt a twinge of guilt for snapping at Trevor. She had high standards for her employees, yes, but it wasn’t her nature to level them so overtly. She brushed off her behavior as a symptom of the stress she was under and turned back to her monitor to strategize for her impending presentation.

Lucy Danaher entered her office at a quarter after twelve and perched on the side of her desk. “Hey, there. How’s that presentation coming?”

“It’ll get there.”

“Em. Em? Hello, I’m over here. Can we talk for a second?”

Emory paused, hating to kill the flow of her creative energy, but turned to face her friend and vice president of her company. “What can I do for you, Luce?

“You can tell me how you’re doing, to start.”

Emory shrugged nonchalantly and smiled. “I’m fine. If I could just close this deal, I’d be better.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes and stood, folding her arms and coming around the desk. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about. Emory, you just lost your mother. Are you sure you should be back at work so soon, guns blazing? This has been a difficult two weeks for you, and I know no one would think less of you for stepping away for a while. I can handle the 3M deal and we can filter down some of your smaller clients to the senior account execs.”

“Thank you, but really, I’m good. Getting back into the regular swing of things is what I need. I know you’re more than capable, but this one’s mine.” Emory relaxed into her chair then, a thought occurring to her. “There is one thing. Can you recommend a company to help with the house? You know, go through everything, box it up, and ship it out, that kind of thing? It’s going to be kind of a big undertaking, and I’m not up for it.”

“No problem. Let’s see…” Lucy thought for a minute, biting her bottom lip in a way Emory used to find very attractive when they were together. “My mother uses a company to clean her house twice a week, and I know they offer a lot of different around-the-house services. She thinks they’re amazing. I’ll give Trevor their number and he can set something up.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Luce,” Emory mumbled absently. She’d already swiveled back to her computer monitor, wasting no time refocusing on her project.

Lucy sighed in defeat. “Don’t I know it.”

*

It was eight a.m. on Tuesday morning, and Sarah managed to push open the glass door of the office with her foot, frustrated to hear the phone ringing and see the reception area empty once again. “Clarice, the phone is ringing!” In one hand, Sarah balanced a box of cleaning supplies and in the other a newly repaired vacuum cleaner to return to the supply closet. “Clarice! My hands are full. Can you answer the phone, por favor?” Realizing that Clarice was nowhere to be found, Sarah set the vacuum down, leapt across the counter, and answered the phone breathlessly. “Immaculate Home. How may I help you?” Dial tone. She sighed deeply at the thought of the lost opportunity. It was then that Clarice puttered in from the small kitchen adjacent to the reception desk, carrying a pint of ice cream, and licking the spoon.

“Good morning, Sarah, how are you today?”

“I’m great, Clarice, but I’d be doing better if we hadn’t missed a call. Try not to wander too far, okay?” She smiled at the elderly receptionist, who didn’t seem too concerned.

“Mija, is that you?”

Sarah smiled at her mother’s voice as she made her way down the short hallway to her office. “Hi, Mama.” She kissed her cheek before settling into the empty chair across the desk. “I picked up the extra supplies and had the sputtering vacuum repaired. How are things today?”

“Swamped.” Yolanda Matamoros gestured at the appointment book in front of her and sighed. “We’re completely booked, but I can’t stand the thought of turning away business. I think I might go out to Mrs. Jeffries’s myself and do her Thursday cleaning.”

Sarah nodded, not at all surprised by her mother’s dedication. It’s what had made the business what it was today, successful. This was her mother’s company and she was in charge, but that didn’t preclude her from rolling up her sleeves and going to work in the field whenever necessary. Sarah had worked for Immaculate Home since she was sixteen years old and took pride in the company and her mother’s leadership of it. “What can I do?”

“Let’s see.” She scanned the spreadsheet on her computer. “We did get a request for a home organization and clean out. You could take this one, mija. You’re incredibly good at organizing. It may take several days, though.”

“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.