A Hope for Emily

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not in your situation, Rachel. It’s easy to make decisions from the outside. Much, much harder from where you are, actually experiencing it.”

“Yes.” I nod again, but I am becoming more resolved by the second. Why wouldn’t you? Anything at all. “Thank you, Andrew,” I say, and I smile, and when he smiles back, I feel like we’ve navigated that awful, awkward abyss that so often opens up when I’ve told people about Emily, and maybe, just maybe we’ve made it to the other side. Maybe I can call Andrew my friend, something I haven’t really felt I’ve had in a long while.

“Thank you,” I say after a moment when we’ve been sipping our coffees. “You’ve been really kind. So often people don’t know what to say to me when I tell them about Emily, and so I end up saying nothing at all.”

He gives a grimacing nod. “I’m not trying to compare my situation to yours, not remotely, but I think I understand a little. When Christina left… no one knew what to say. I mean, it was so sudden, and it was so obviously not your usual trying-to-be-amicable split…” He shrugs. “People started avoiding me rather than speak to me. They didn’t mean to, I know that. They weren’t trying to be cruel. It was just… easier.”

“Yes.” I am nodding, gratified that he gets it, in his own way. “Yes, that’s exactly how it is.”

“That was the big reason we left Worcester. A clean slate, you know? A place where no one knew our story.” He let out a gentle huff of laughter. “And then I go and tell you, anyway, so…”

“It’s hard not to tell, though, isn’t it? It’s so much a part of who you are. You feel as if you’re lying if you don’t say anything.”

“Yes.” He nods, as I am nodding, our gazes locked, some deeper level of understanding connecting us now, binding us together. “Yes, exactly.”

It is so strange, this feeling of being understood and accepted, that it makes me nervous. I glance at my watch, and Andrew makes a big show of checking his phone, going through his messages.

“I should let you get to work,” I say, the obvious get-out.

“Yeah, I really should get some stuff done.” He smiles at me, standing as I do. “Thanks for coming out for a coffee. And thank you… for telling me about Emily.”

Suddenly my throat is tight, even though I’ve been feeling, if not happy, then something like it. “You’re welcome,” I manage.

“Let me know what you decide to do. I mean it, about the logo.”

Twenty minutes later I am hurrying down the corridor of the palliative care unit; it is almost eleven. Sheila, one of the nurses I have to come to know, raises her eyebrows as I make for Emily’s room, walking quickly.

“Busy morning?” she asks, and I try not to feel guilty. I’ve been here every single day, save for the Saturdays when James comes, and even then I usually manage a few hours either before or after.

“Yes, a bit,” I say, and I duck into Emily’s room, smiling at the sight of my girl, even though seeing her like this still breaks my heart. Her eyes are open, and hope and longing blaze through me as her gaze tracks me to the door.

“Hello, darling girl,” I whisper. “It’s Mommy.”

One hand twitches against the bed sheet, and I come closer, sitting next to her bed. “Emily? Em? It’s Mommy.” I’m not sure what I’m expecting; I’ve been here before, so many times. Still I take her other hand, the one that’s not moving, and I thread my fingers through her smaller ones. “Have you been waiting for me, sweetie?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light even as my throat thickens. “Have you been wondering where I am?”

I feel the slightest of pressures on my fingers; was that Emily, or just my yearning imagination? “Have you missed me, Emily?”

Her gaze, which has been staring straight ahead, moves slowly towards me. For a second I feel pinned in place, terrified and hopeful in equal measure. My daughter is looking at me.

“Emily…” I breathe, but before I can say anything more, the moment passes, her gaze moves on, her fingers slacken in mine.

I lean back in my chair, longing for Emily to look at me again, to feel that faintest of connections, but nothing happens, and that’s when I decide. The resolve that has been building ever since Eva knocked on my door explodes like a firework inside of me, and with my gaze still on Emil

y, I reach for my phone.

16

Eva

The day after Rachel texts me, I am on the doorstep of her house, my laptop under my arm, my heart beating hard. James left for the hospital half an hour ago. I feel, bizarrely, as if I am cheating on him.

“Thank you for coming.” Rachel sounds oddly formal as she invites me in. It’s as bland and charmless as before, a place to sleep rather than a home. I wonder if that’s intentional; if she doesn’t want to make it a home as long as Emily isn’t there. Sometimes it’s easier to care less.

“Tea? Coffee?” Rachel asks as she rubs her hands down the front of her shorts. Her dark hair is pulled up into a haphazard topknot, and she’s wearing a faded t-shirt and cut-offs, making her look younger than her forty-something years, despite the crow’s feet I see by her eyes, the lines of worry rather than laughter that bracket her nose and mouth.

“Umm… coffee would be great. But only if you’re making it.”