Текст книги "Heart Block"
Автор книги: Melissa Brayden
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Synopsis
Happily ever after is easier said than done…
Sarah Matamoros can’t complain. After immigrating from Mexico when she was nine years old, she’s content with the life she’s made for herself in sunny San Diego. She works hard at her mother’s housecleaning service by day and spends the evenings with her quirky eight-year-old daughter, Grace.
From a very young age, Emory Owen had several concepts drilled into her head. Success is everything. Be the best. Fight your way to the top. Expectations were high in the Owen household and the world was watching. Born into a high society family, Emory never wanted for anything…at least anything money could buy. When she meets Sarah, hired to sort her mother’s home, her sterile life suddenly sparks into color.
But when the emotional logistics of combining two very different worlds proves to be too much, a terrifying turn of events spurs the question: If love exists, can it really find a way?
Heart Block
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Heart Block
© 2012 By Melissa Brayden. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-809-4
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: November 2012
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Cindy Cresap
Production Design: Susan Ramundo
Cover Design By Sheri ([email protected])
By the Author
Waiting in the Wings
Heart Block
Acknowledgments
First of all, I have to share with you how much I enjoyed working with the characters in Heart Block and how much I will miss them now that our journey together is complete. But I know without a doubt that I’ll carry a little piece of each one of them along with me as I go. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
But down to serious business. There were numerous people who contributed to making this story happen, and I would be remiss in not offering them my gratitude.
Many heartfelt thanks to the following people:
Len Barot and the well-oiled machine of creativity that is Bold Strokes Books. I feel supported, nurtured, and cheered on in all the right moments, and that’s pretty cool. It’s my hope that we have many more stories to tell together.
Sheri. You turn out amazing covers and this one brings me great happiness.
The great writers I’m now happy to call my friends. That’s been the best surprise of all. The publishing world can feel scary at times, and I’m beyond grateful for the advice, laughs, and heartfelt conversations we’ve had over the past year. How lucky I feel to know you.
My editor, Cindy Cresap, who is smarter than me. Thank you for catching my errors and thinking of things that would never occur to me in a million years. You’re also always right and thereby valuable beyond measure. You made this book stronger and are the voice of reason to my Hail Mary attempts at writing. Thank goodness for that.
The “Core Five” and the “New Additions.” You made me who I am and taught me what I know. Thank you for wine nights on the patio. Game nights around the table. And memories to last a lifetime. You keep me going. You’re my safe place to fall.
The readers who have sent me notes, e-mails, and Facebook messages that keep me smiling. You make a difference.
Dedication
Love to A, T, & B
Chapter One
Laundry had never been sassier. Sarah clutched the basket of clothes to her side with her right hand and freed her hair from the ponytail holder with her left. Giving her curly hair an effective shake so it fell in haphazard waves down her back, she proceeded to dance down the hallway of her two-bedroom apartment for all she was worth. It was mid morning, she had the place to herself, and damn if she wasn’t going to work it for the length of the song. She sashayed aggressively on the downbeat of the chorus to “Brick House” and shimmied forward then backward through the second verse, adding her own Latin flair. She full-on rocked out the remaining distance before jumping onto the couch, discarding the laundry basket, and falling to her knees, finishing the number like the champ she knew she was. She internally applauded herself, not necessarily for skill, but for serious commitment. Finally, she picked up the laundry basket and calmly completed her walk to the washing machine.
It was a good day, and Sarah was enjoying the leisurely pace she’d established for completing the mundane chores on her to-do list. Just outside her petite laundry room, she straightened Grace’s second grade school picture on the wall and smiled as the image of her daughter, two years younger then, grinned back at her.
Sarah made a mental checklist of all the things she needed to accomplish before the day was out and groaned inwardly when she recognized the tap-tap-tap of small raindrops on the laundry room window. Okay, she’d have to make a few adjustments to her day. Luckily, there were still several more around-the-house chores she could knock off the list, followed by a short trip to the grocery store. She sighed deeply, deciding that in order to be practical, she should probably pick up the pace a tad. Less dancing, more working.
She hit the start button on the washer, mamboed her way into the kitchen, and poured her second cup of coffee that morning. There could never be too much coffee. Somewhere in the back of her mind, it registered that the phone was ringing. She turned absently in its direction, interrupting her enjoyment of the warm, caffeinated pick-me-up.
“Hello,” she answered cheerfully. She was always a morning person.
“Yes. Hello. May I speak with Sarah Matamoros please?”
“This is Sarah.” She glanced at the caller ID readout. It was Grace’s school calling, which gave her minor pause. She’d dropped her off at school nearly two hours ago. “Is everything okay with Grace?”
The calm female voice hesitated. “That’s what I’m calling about, Ms. Matamoros. Grace had an incident in her classroom this morning and lost consciousness for several minutes.”
Sarah stood up straight, her hand fluttering to her heart, her stomach dropping as if on cue. “What happened?”
“We’re not exactly sure. Her teacher mentioned she’d been quieter than usual most of the morning, but she assumed Grace was just tired. Just as the students were beginning work on their science assignment, Grace got up to sharpen her pencil and collapsed in front of the sharpener. She didn’t strike anything as she fell, but it took a couple of minutes to revive her and EMS was called. She’s alert now and communicative but still somewhat confused about what happened. The paramedics have expressed concern and would like to transport her to Mercy General for further evaluation. Can you meet them there?”
“Of course.” Sarah looked around the room wildly for her purse. “I’m leaving now. Thank you.” She hung up the phone just as her once-stable world seemed to tilt on its axis. She gripped the countertop tightly to steady herself against the onslaught, her heart ready to jump from her chest. After a few purposeful deep breaths, her vision once again cleared and the room righted itself.
As she made her way through the door of her apartment, she thought back to earlier in the day, scrutinizing Grace’s every move with new perspective. She’d been just fine a few hours before in the car on the way to school. They’d talked about their plans for the summer and the possibility of Grace attending the YMCA’s day camp now that she would be in the fourth grade and showing signs of responsibility. She’d been so excited. The image of Grace’s face lighting up at the news played like a movie in Sarah’s mind. So what had gone wrong? Her rational side understood that Grace could have fainted from something as simple as not having eaten a decent breakfast. They had been in a hurry and she hadn’t examined whether Grace had actually eaten the cereal and juice she’d set out for her. But the mother in Sarah feared the worst, conjuring up all sorts of terrifying scenarios. She put her key in the ignition and gunned the engine, doing eighty-five easy on the freeway.
*
It was raining outside. Hard. Emory Owen could hear it mercilessly pelt the roof and see the thick drops as they raced past the somewhat smudged window she stared out. It was the kind of rain that made her want to stay inside, snuggled up under the comfort of her favorite chenille blanket, a cup of hot mint tea in her hand. Instead, she sat amidst uncomfortable blue plastic chairs, harsh fluorescent lighting, and year-old magazines in the waiting room of Mercy General.
“Miss Owen?” A pause. “Excuse me, Miss Owen; did you hear what I said?”
She did and she didn’t. Emory turned fully to the older woman in the white coat who’d said her name. She blinked, trying in vain to clear her head. “I’m sorry. Would you mind repeating that?” Numb. With very good reason, she felt numb.
The woman’s tone softened. “My name is Dr. Turner and I’m in charge of your mother’s case.” Emory accepted the extended hand and stared at the woman, randomly noticing the patches of gray at her temples. “Why don’t we sit down?” Emory nodded her agreement, trying to read the doctor’s face. “We’ve run some tests on your mother. It was a massive stroke, just as we originally thought. Unfortunately, Ms. Owen, her prognosis at this point is not very promising and there are some things we need to discuss.”
Emory nodded her understanding, suddenly acutely aware of the sounds in the room—the hum of the lights overhead, the steady beep of an unidentified machine behind the nurse’s station, the squeak of the custodian’s sneaker on the vinyl floor just feet away. Everything seemed so much louder. Why?
“The stroke has caused her brain a great deal of trauma. What this comes down to, Ms. Owen, is a profound loss of brain function.”
“She’s brain dead? Is that what you’re saying?”
The doctor nodded. “It is. Her heart and lungs are currently sustained by artificial means, but—”
“I understand. Can I see her?” Emory asked.
“Of course. Is there someone we can call for you?”
“No, there’s no one. I’ll handle it.” And she would.
*
“A heart block?” Sarah repeated. “I’m not sure I understand. What does that mean, Doctor…?”
“Turner,” the woman supplied. She had kind eyes. “A heart block occurs when the electrical impulses that tell the heart to beat do not transmit properly. The EKG showed that the heart block in Grace’s case is producing a bradycardia, or very slow rhythm, which we believe was the cause of her loss of consciousness this morning.”
Sarah leaned against the wall for support. She didn’t like the implications of what she was hearing. “Is this a life-threatening condition?”
“No, not usually. Grace is lucky. She’s not dealing with a complete block but rather a block of the second degree. The impulses in her heart are delayed, slowing her rhythm, but they’re not blocked entirely.”
Sarah shook her head slowly. “Why didn’t I pick up that something was wrong?”
Dr. Turner placed a reassuring hand on Sarah’s shoulder, dipping her head to meet her eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up. Without an episode like this one to prompt an EKG, the block wouldn’t have presented itself on a normal checkup. Most likely, Grace was born with this condition. Often times with symptoms like fatigue, shortness of breath, a fluttering feeling in the chest, children don’t know how to describe what they’re feeling and assume they’re simply tired.”
It did make sense, but Sarah still felt as if her mother’s intuition had somehow failed her. She should have known something was wrong, should have picked up on the problem. “What do we do now?”
“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.
Chapter Two
“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.
*
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.
