Heart Block by Melissa Brayden Read Free Book Online Page B

curious, but it seemed the more I read, the more I couldn’t put them down.”
    Emory looked back at her dumbfounded, skeptical. “Are you sure that they belonged to my mother? It’s more likely that she was keeping them for someone.”
    “They were hers. Each inside cover contains her name and the year she began the journal.”
    Emory ran her fingers across her forehead absently. “I just wouldn’t have imagined that she…Mother wasn’t what I would call a deep person.”
    Sarah took a step forward feeling the need to defend the woman she had come to know in the past few hours. “That’s not true. She had a lot of deep feelings and, I think that maybe you should take a look at what she’s written, Emory. I’ve bookmarked a few sections for you if you don’t want to read everything.” When Emory didn’t respond but instead stared blankly back at her, she placed the books on the counter. “I guess…I’ll just leave them there then.” As Sarah turned to go, she was stopped cold by the dull, venomous tone of Emory’s voice.
    “Why would you bring these to me? I specifically informed you when we first met not to bother me with the details of whatever it is you might find. It’s not up to you to decide what’s in my best interest and what’s not. You’ve overstepped your bounds and it’s unacceptable.”
    Emory’s blue eyes were like ice, and Sarah felt as if she’d been slapped as they bore into her. Of course she’d known that she was pushing the envelope with the journals, but she believed in her heart that it was the right thing to do. Emory needed to read what she’d read and maybe it would help her recognize her own grief.
    But Emory’s reaction made her think that perhaps she’d been wrong. She realized now that she should have just stayed out of it. She took a breath and answered simply. “I’m sorry, Ms. Owen. I won’t make that mistake in the future.” She quickly made her exit.

    *

    An hour and a half later, Emory was still glued to the kitchen chair in the midst of paperwork not three feet away from the stack of books that glared back at her. Why was this even an issue? She should pick up her keys and go. She had a mountain of work waiting on her that would keep her busy late into the night. There was no reason to get caught up in whatever the hell was in that bundle of pages. She knew her mother. Hell, she more than knew her, and hearing her voice again from beyond the grave was only going to reiterate what she already knew, that Catherine Owen was a self-involved society woman who cared more about appearances than substance. It was best to put all of that behind her now.
    Even though that’s what she told herself, that’s not what she did. Swearing under her breath, Emory snatched the book on top of the stack, the one Sarah had bookmarked, and made her way onto the patio. She stared at its blue fabric cover for several full minutes before opening to the page Sarah had noted. She scanned the eerily familiar handwriting and a shiver ran down her spine as she began to read silently.

    May 29, 1997
    I write to you from Wallingford, Connecticut. Today, my younger daughter graduated with honors from the most prestigious preparatory school in the nation. This mother’s heart was full as I watched that beautiful young woman, who was once but a helpless infant in my arms, cross the stage and accept her hard-earned diploma.
    Emory was named salutatorian of her graduating class and was asked to make a speech at commencement. At first, I was nervous for her. I’d never heard her speak publicly, though she’d always been an articulate child. Once she began, however, my fears fled me and I was awestruck at her grace and the wisdom she imparted to her peers. She’s grown into such a well-mannered, mature young woman, with much of that credit going directly to her and the admirable life she’s led thus far. I was lucky to have brought my handkerchief along with me to the ceremony. I’ve