A Hope for Emily

We stare at each other, a silent impasse. The very air between us feels as if it is pulsing. “Look, Eva,” James says finally. “This is between Rachel and me. The decisions I make about my daughter…”

I fold my arms. “I’m not making any decisions. But the fact is, Rachel came to see me—”

“She shouldn’t have.”

“But she did. Why are you not even talking with her? She says you won’t reply to any of her emails or texts…” I don’t mean to sound accusing; I was going for confused, but I hear the sharp note and inwardly wince. James’ lips compress.

“I did reply, at first, but I can’t believe I’m having to justify myself to you. You sound as if you’re on her side in this, and you don’t know anything about it.”

“Then tell me, James. I just want to understand.” I fling an arm out, feel myself teeter onto that damnably thin ice. “Why is this such a no-go area for us? You never want to talk about Rachel or Emily with me. Never. And I’m your wife.”

James is silent for a few seconds, his jaw so

tense I think I can hear the grit of his teeth. “Why would I?” he asks eventually, and his voice is low, agonised. “Why would I, Eva?”

“Because I care…” Yet I sound hesitant.

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He releases a long, low breath. “This is hard for me, Eva,” he says finally. “I don’t like… it’s too painful, to talk about Emily. Rachel. All of it. When I’m with you, I want to…” He doesn’t finish the sentence.

“I understand that, but this is something else now.” My voice is level; I feel calm all of a sudden, almost supernaturally composed, as if I’m a spectator to my own self. “Rachel came to me, James, because she said you refused to talk to her. To engage with her at all. She asked me to talk to you about this experimental treatment she wants Emily to have, to see if you’d just consider—”

“Do you even know what she’s asking me to consider?”

“I know a bit.” I pause. “What’s going on?” I ask gently. “Why won’t you even talk to her about it ?”

“I did talk to her.” I wait. He sighs and shakes his head. Then he looks up, and the bleakness I see in his eyes softens the tough shell that’s been forming around my heart. He looks so sad. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I paint him in someone else’s colors, because I’ve been here before, in a completely different way. But James is not, thank God, like Lucas. He’s totally different.

“I replied to her text,” he amends, and the shell hardens again.

“One text?”

“And an email. I wasn’t trying to be heartless, Eva. But how much do you really know about any of this? What, exactly, did Rachel tell you?”

We’re on thin ice again, tiptoeing across slick, treacherous surfaces. “She told me that she emailed you about the experimental treatment. It’s some kind of nerve stimulation, and it’s been successful in treating people in Emily’s condition.”

“Is that all?”

“I didn’t ask for more detail, James. I just said I would talk to you.” I fling my hands out, hating that we’re fighting over this. Over Rachel and Emily. “Look, I’m not the enemy here. There isn’t any enemy, unless it’s Emily’s condition. We don’t have to fight about this. We can just talk.”

James shrugs. “I’m not fighting.”

But he is. I can feel that he is, everything in him tense and ready to spring.

I sigh and drop my hands. “So why won’t you talk to her besides a text and an email?”

James leans back against the sofa and folds his arms. “Do you know,” he asks in a level voice, “that the treatment is in Italy?” I don’t reply, and he doesn’t wait for me to. “Do you know that it is so experimental, only three people have had it, total, with varying results?” Another question he does not wait for me to answer, not that I would. “Do you know that the price tag of this treatment, of which not one cent will be covered by our insurance policy, is upward of fifty thousand dollars, and that’s just for Emily to be there for one week? Rachel wants to take her for a month, minimum.”

I open my mouth but I can’t think what to say, and James steamrollers on anyway. “Do you know that after I texted Rachel saying that I couldn’t do this, after I responded to her first twenty-page email, telling her this was not feasible in any way, and that I do not believe it is in Emily’s best interest, never mind hers or mine, she has continued to bombard me with texts, emails, and voicemails upwards of three times a day?”

No, I didn’t know any of that, and James knows I didn’t. He leans forward, appealing now, his eyes bright with determination, or maybe even tears. He looks like my James, the one who laughs at my corny jokes, who stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist, who puts my feet in his lap when we’re watching a movie. “Look, Eva, if there was a treatment I thought would work, that was worth it, I would take Emily there in a heartbeat. A heartbeat. I love her as much as Rachel does, even if sometimes it feels as if nobody believes that, as if I’m some unfeeling…” He swallows, shaking his head.

“I don’t think that,” I whisper. “I don’t think you’re unfeeling.”

“Then trust me when I say, this treatment—it’s crazy. It’s so experimental it’s not even in clinical trials yet. No one is considering it seriously—not Emily’s medical team, whom I’ve asked, nor any other professional in this country that I’ve found online. It’s not approved anywhere; no one else is doing this. Rachel’s found one crackpot doctor in Italy who’s willing to take her money and she wants to climb right on board, because she’s so desperate for Emily to get better. I understand that, of course I do. I’ve understood it all along, and I used to feel it—when it seemed like Emily could still get better. When her symptoms weren’t so severe.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple moving convulsively. “But, Eva, at some point you’ve got to say no, no matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts. This is not going to work. It’s not worth the time, the money, or the emotional investment for everyone involved. And most importantly, it’s not worth it for Emily, for the health risks it poses, and the disruption to her life, such as it is, that it would cause.” By the time he finished his chest is heaving, and my mind is spinning.

Part of me wants to agree with him. He makes so much sense, and yet… “How do you know?” I ask quietly.

James’s breathing is ragged, as if he’s run a race, climbed a mountain. He shakes his head as he looks at me. “How do I know what?”