What the Heart Wants Page 5

  Beyond her closed bedroom door, she could hear footsteps. The sound snapped her out of her panicked thoughts. She hissed and sucked her teeth, hating having a stranger romping about inside her home. She couldn’t wait to get the woman out of her house.

  It had all begun with fatherly interference, as usual.

  Dad had insisted she have a nurse on call since she’d decided to check out of the hospital a few days before her scheduled release. The staff and general environment were driving her mad, which she believed hampered her recovery, making things impossible. Who could argue with that? After all, if her well-being was everyone’s priority, then they had to take her sentiments into consideration, be they exaggerated, outright fabricated or not.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached for her cup of hot green and blackberry tea that rested on the handcrafted Bubinga wood nightstand and took a delicate sip. The brew had a drop of cream in it, just how she liked it. Due to her situation, the doctor had urged her not to drink anything that could cause heart palpitations, and he’d provided a lengthy list. She now despised him, too.

  No energy drinks.

  No sugary juices or sodas.

  Coffee, her favorite of all, was off the damn table, in the trash can, placed on the curb, collected and sent away to the landfill of her deepest desires.

  The doctor suggested decaf. What a joke.

  Emily scoffed at the memory. Talking about adding insult to injury. She explained to the physician that she’d rather drink expired dog food blitzed in a bullet blender than allow a single drop of horrid decaf coffee—the ugly stepsister to the real cup of joe—to touch her tongue.

  She set the teacup back down and lost herself in her thoughts.

  Being back at work made her smile. Just the thought of sitting behind her desk gave her goose bumps.

  Dreams, the good kind. I miss those.

  The night before she’d left the hospital, she’d had a horrible dream—the same one she’d had each night since the operation. That night, though, had been the final, crooked straw; she needed out of that damn place. Those terrible nightly hallucinations, for that’s what they’d felt like, had caused her to wake up in a cold sweat feeling completely disoriented. It always began the same way.

  A white shiny coffin sat on one side in a dark room, illuminated by a single light that hung from the ceiling on a cord. Dark red dying roses were arranged atop it while a haunting melody played very low, so low one could barely hear it. Faceless people moved about the room, drifting close to the casket, the men dressed in dark suits and the women in long boring dresses, mostly in shades of gray. She could always hear heavy breathing throughout the dream, then the breathing would slow down and finally stop abruptly right before the end.

  The funeral scene would eventually fade away, the room replaced with rows and rows of evenly cut, vibrant green grass going on for miles, as far as the eye could see.

  Flashes of light sparked in the distant sky, like lightning bolts booming to a heavy drumbeat, followed by screaming and what sounded like a stampede. State of panic. She could never figure out why these invisible people were screaming, running about, and why she could only hear them, not see them. The grayish-blue sky held evidence of a looming storm and the clouds kept rolling, threatening to do damage. The nightmare was discombobulated, but always left her feeling terror, sadness, and sorrow, as if something wicked was on its way. And then, it would happen.

  Someone always spoke at the end, just before the breathing stopped. A female voice. Emily could never make out what the woman was saying, but a part of her was fearful of understanding the words. The lady talking sounded as if she were drowning, underwater, speaking with a mouthful of sea salt and reef. Her voice grew louder and louder with each dream, but it was always muffled. The final dream was pretty much the same, only it was pouring rain in this latest version and there was chanting and an African drumbeat that was hard to miss.

  That was it. Emily had had enough. She blamed the hospital and the terrible workforce for pushing her into the cruel arms of madness. Everyone was driving her crazy. She believed she’d proven her theory correct, for on the first night when she got home, there was no dream.

  But that didn’t last long. On the second night, the fucking nightmare returned, and then on the third night, too.

  “Shit.” She jumped when she heard her cell phone ringing. With a body full of medicine and a mind that now wandered endlessly like a lost child looking for its mother, she felt so out of sorts. Grabbing the phone, she answered quickly, almost dropping it in the process. “Hi, Dad.” She threw on a faux cheery voice. Might as well make those six weeks of acting school pay off.

  “How’s my favorite daughter?” he chortled.

  “I’m your only daughter.” She grinned and rolled her eyes at his favorite joke of all time, then glanced down at her laptop. “I’m doing well, actually, just looking at these reports. Looks like Greg did a pretty good job while I was away.” She tried to sound sincere.

  “He did. I looked over his work as much as time would permit. He handled everything in an expert fashion.”

  “Yes, well, I did find a few items that I feel need to be addressed. I’ll make a few adjustments and then you and he can meet with the client in a few days, give the suggestions that I add, no fee to the client of course, and then move forward.”

  Silence ensued. Dad was taking far too long to respond. Perhaps he was distracted.

  “Emily, you are going too hard, too fast, and too soon.” She sighed loudly and fell back against her mauve quilted headboard. “The doctor said you needed to take it easy.”

  “But I am. I am in bed.”

  “In bed working, that’s not the same. You assured me you would do as asked.” As asked? I’m not some five-year-old. “I thought you were just going to read the reports, not try to pick them apart.” She could hear the disappointment and worry in his tone, yet her irritation grew nevertheless.

  “Well, I mean,” she shrugged, trying to form her sentences just so, “I’m not actually picking the reports apart, per se. I’m merely reviewing them.” She was met with steely silence, this time worse than the first. “I just uh, you know, thought of a few suggestions regarding changes Greg should make to them is all.” She heard him take a deep breath on the other end. “We’d do them a disservice to not follow up, Dad. It’s not a big deal, nothing earth shattering, but definitely matters that need to be taken care of.”

  “I know I’m going to regret asking this.” He huffed. “Like what?”

  “Like, they’re being far too aggressive with some of these stock options, for example. I’ve highlighted them in yellow. Secondly, their expenses could be reduced by a minimum of eighteen percent if the company would change healthcare providers, and the services offered would be relatively the same. Another issue is the profit and loss margin is forecasted to be significantly smaller this fiscal year due to these elaborate functions they are having. Gas cards, shopping trip vouchers, frivolous employee appreciation dinners, and the—”

  “Emily. Emily…”

  “I mean, seriously.” She scoffed. “Taylor and Fete is a small upscale clothing company, not Saks Fifth Avenue, for Pete’s sake. It’s fantastic in theory to be a kitten and liken yourself to a tiger, but you have to actually take a trip to the jungle to get the full gist of the wildlife, not just play make-believe. Now, don’t get me wrong, they’re certainly impressive, Dad. They’ve accomplished a lot in a short amount of time in a cutthroat industry such as retail, and I’m not second-guessing Greg’s assessment, but in the grand scheme of things, Taylor and Fete have no business sending twenty-three employees, first class I might add, to Rio de Janeiro for five days and four nights.”

  “Emily.”

  “And have you seen the depreciation of their spring collection? They might as well have taken a big industrial-sized lighter to their money and set it on fire. Who in the hell is handling their quality control? The entire rollout was a disaster, two years in
a row. It appears to be happening during production, but of course, that’s not my expertise—the point is, it used to be their main bread and butter and was featured countless times during Fashion Week. Now? They’d be lucky to get it presented in a back alley. I’m afraid they’ve put all their eggs in one basket, but this one had a hole in it. This is what happens when you depend on only a one-trick pony for all of your continued success. What happened to the backup plan having a backup plan notion? As fickle as the market is, you’d think they’d know this. It’s going to be at least—”

  “EMILY.” Her father’s voice boomed through the phone, ringing in stereo in her ear. “This is exactly what I did not want to happen. You’re doing it again. You have embedded yourself in your work within mere days, like a damn tick on a dog, all over again. Have you learned nothing? I bet you were not home for more than two hours before you were combing over inquiries, answering email queries, and sending out correspondence.”

  He’s right about that, but that’s not the point.

  “Why are you yelling at me? I can’t believe this. Dad, don’t you want me to be involved anymore? You told me I’d be back to work in no time. Now that I am, you’re finding fault in it. I’m in the bed, not there at the office. That’s a compromise. I thought you’d be happy with me bringing this information to you. I did it for you and the company.” She sulked. It seldom happened that her father screamed at her in such a manner. A mixture of sadness and anger brewed within her, and she hated every second of it. “Do you not want me to do my job anymore?”

  “No. I mean, yes,” he said in exasperation. “I want you to be back at work. You’re not just my daughter, you’re a valuable asset to the company, irreplaceable, but not at the expense of your health, Emily. You just don’t get it. You must stop this at once. What good are you to anyone, including yourself, if you’re dead?”

  “You’re being overly dramatic.” She took another sip of her tea.

  “I don’t believe that I am, Emily, and drama is not exactly a part of my personality. The facts remain the same. You just had major heart surgery, or did you forget that? The slightest bit of stress, irritation, the smallest of annoyances at this time could send you right back to the hospital. Is that what you want?”

  After a moment of hesitation and blinking back tears, she worked up the strength to answer.

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re still healing. Your body is still trying to get used to this new organ inside it and here you are, talking to me about a spring clothing collection and how it is the downfall of a multimillion-dollar company that can make thousands of dollars in ten seconds with the snap of their fingers.”

  She blinked back more tears. Angry tears. “But Dad—”

  “I do not want to hear one more word about this report, do you hear me?” She swallowed, shocked by his tone. “DO. YOU. HEAR. ME?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’m glad I’ve made myself perfectly clear.” You old jerk. How dare you speak to me like this? She shook as he socked it to her. “Your nurse is there at your apartment to ensure that you receive proper pain management and care.”

  “Oh goody.”

  He ignored her words and continued. “I have hired you a personal chef to take care of your breakfast, lunch, and dinner starting tomorrow, and as you know, you begin physical therapy in two days. Please take this time to do things you never do.”

  “Like what? What do you suggest?” She yawned, not giving a damn. Researching the rate of hair growth on assholes of a lost but not forgotten Norwegian tribe? Perhaps skinny-dipping in a large pool filled with lime Jell-O and a drop of flesh-eating acid?

  “How about reading a book for pleasure? Watch a good comedy program? There are other things too, like playing solitaire. Listen to your favorite music. Now that seems right up your alley. You used to love listening to music in your room when you were a teenager.” I was also stabbing your picture repeatedly with my furry pink unicorn pen after you’d confiscated my Stone Temple Pilots CD. “You’d be in there for hours. If that’s not to your liking, you could take a long, luxurious bubble bath, maybe with some of those nice bath bombs I’ve seen.” Certainly, and get a raging vaginal infection that has me scratching an unstoppable itch that dwells in my nether regions. In front of mixed company. Thanks, but no thanks. “Honey, all in all, I just want you to enjoy yourself, not allow work to define you. I already made that mistake.” He paused for a moment, then said, “Live your life, your new life.”

  My new life. This is a new life, isn’t it?

  Something struck her then. Dad’s words were painfully accurate, and for some odd reason, he’d said the right thing at the right time. Her world revolved around her job. There was no denying that. Practically everything she did, every place she went, she had business on her brain. Who could she run into to shoot her shot? Who could she meet and rub elbows with? What conversations could she strike up to weave herself into the perfect position to offer her card to a millionaire or two? Even her dating life had suffered.

  Some men had outright admitted that she was so career-focused, it made them feel, well, lesser than. She was a barracuda and she knew it. Emily always figured that if a man couldn’t handle the fact she was driven, then he simply wasn’t the one for her. But perhaps she did shoulder some of the blame? Her ex-boyfriend, Brian, an attorney and avid golf player who wished to turn pro, had stated that one of his biggest issues with her was that she put work above all else. She figured he’d just been blowing smoke up her ass to explain away his infidelity and how he’d make regular penile deposits in other women’s accounts. As she’d tossed all his shit into a duffel bag and told him to get the hell out of the apartment they’d shared back then, she hadn’t once considered that what he’d told her might have been true. But what if it had been? What if it still was the case?

  “My new life,” she said, repeating her father’s words like a mantra.

  “Yes. Your new life. This is a brand-new start, a first chapter all over again. You’re one of the privileged, a select few. You are so fortunate, Emily. You don’t understand how worried I was.” His voice cracked and her new heart broke for him. Yes, it was clear now. Something had been wrong, terribly wrong. “I couldn’t tell you, I had to be strong for you, but after losing your mother, Em, I could not lose my daughter, too. I’d go insane. I know you already think I’m crazy.” He chuckled. “But imagine that ten times worse.” She hung her head and smiled as tears streaked her cheeks.

  “I don’t think you’re crazy, Dad. Maybe I am, though.” She sighed. “Hey, speaking of crazy, I need to confess something.” She placed the phone down and put it on speaker as she leaned back to catch her breath. The tightness in her chest had returned.

  “What is it?”

  “I feel like, I feel different. Not like, in a bad way, but in the sense that I’m thinking things I’ve never thought about before, in a whole new way. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  “For instance?”

  She took a moment to mull things over, second-guessing herself. Perhaps she should’ve never brought this up. The last thing she wanted was to sound kooky, out of her mind.

  “Just strange dreams. Look, uh, I have a question.” She’d decided to go down another path and change the topic. No need to open that can of worms. He’d call a shrink that did house calls for certain, and if that didn’t work, he’d try to have her committed. That would be the last thing she needed.

  “What’s your question?”

  “When I was a child, I didn’t have many friends.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a question.”

  “It’s not.” She chuckled. “That’s just a fact. You and Mom kept me so sheltered, I barely had time to get to know anyone. But I don’t think that was the main reason for my issue. I can’t blame anyone, actually.”

  “That’s absurd. What about summer camp? The horseback riding group? What about the acting classes and all the friends you made during high sch
ool and college?”

  “Those weren’t friends…just associates. I am talking about someone that I could pick up the phone and call at three in the morning to come pick me up from a bar because I was too sloshed to drive, no questions asked.”

  “What a lovely thought.” They both laughed at that.

  “I’m serious, Dad…a real friend. Someone who’d be there for me through thick and thin. I’ve heard people describe these borderline romantic friendships. Women who’ve been friends since they were babies or maybe met in college and are now in their sixties and still tight, close as butt cheeks. I don’t have any friends like that.”

  “Am I not your friend?”

  She smirked at his words. “You know what I mean. And besides, you tell me things I don’t want to hear sometimes. Not exactly the comrade I had in mind.” She poked fun at herself, and it felt good.

  “Oh,” he stated dully. “An enabler.”

  “Dad, basically, a friend that would do anything for me, and vice versa, regardless of my background. They would think I was fantastic even if I only had five dollars to my name. So, back to the subject at hand. I wanted to know if you remember that one girl I used to hang with in ninth grade? I can’t recall her name.” It was driving her crazy; the memory had popped into her head that morning, but for the life of her, she couldn’t recall the girl’s name. “She was really sweet and we used to have a lot of fun together. I even invited her over to the house several times.”

  “Hmmm, I’m sorry, Emily, I don’t remember. There were so many young ladies in and out of here due to your popularity and associations you were involved with. You may feel that you didn’t have a lot of friends, but it certainly seemed like you did. I’m certain your mother would beg to differ, too.”

  “Those were just people I was trying to impress, get them to like me. They never really liked me, Dad. No one really did…well, maybe a couple. Most of them were just using me or came to the house out of sheer curiosity. I bet they hated my guts. What a bitch I was, right?!” She gasped, shocked at the words coming out of her mouth. Where in the hell had they come from? Never had she said such things. Never had she thought of those visits that way until right then. Right now.