A Hope for Emily

I look at her smile, those beautiful little baby teeth, her bright eyes, her joy. This child deserves a chance. Every child does.

I glance at Rachel. “Do you want to do the honors?”

“All right.” She gives me a shaky smile, lets out another uncertain laugh, and then navigates the track pad so the arrow is on the publish button. Click.

A few seconds later, after the colourful circle has spun around, we are taken to a new page. Congratulations, Emily’s Story is live!

Rachel clicks on the mouse to reload the page, and there it is, Emily’s Story, for everyone to read and see. I picture it being retweeted, shared on Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat. I imagine a newspaper picking it up, splashed on a million users’ homepage, with the thousands and thousands of comments that can result, in just a matter of minutes.

I know it probably won’t get that far, and that will probably be a good thing. A media deluge is in no one’s best interest. And yet… someone will see it. It’s out there, available for public perusal, consumption, judgment.

This is really happening, and I am part of it. For better or worse, this is about me now too.

17

Rachel

For the next week, after Emily’s page goes live, I am buzzing inside, filled with excitement, anticipation, and more than a little fear. I know I should tell James what I did, I was planning to that evening, but I didn’t and somehow the moment never comes and in any case, so few people are reading the page that I tell myself it doesn’t matter yet. Three days after I hit publish, there are only forty-four views. I’ll talk to James when it starts to matter, when I actually have something to discuss and share. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

“It will gain momentum,” Eva assures me, when I work up the courage to phone and ask her about it. “Don’t worry.”

I’m not worried, at least not in that way. Actually the thought of just forty-four people reading about Emily, knowing her story, makes me feel a bit anxious. What are they thinking? What do they feel, when they look at her photo? I’m not sure I want to gain any more momentum, even as I am desperate for it to, for this to work.

Just a few hours after we put up the page, Andrew comes over and asks if he can brainstorm with me about potential logos. I’m already feeling kind of raw, having gone through everything with Eva, seen all the photos of Emily, and when Andrew asks if Emily had a favorite toy or book he might incorporate into the design, I feel even more fragile. I’m not used to accessing all these memories, offering them up to others, and yet talking about her feels good. Painful, but good.

“She loved ducks,” I tell him as I show him the photos from her first birthday—the yellow cake, the hook-a-duck on the deck. He smiles at each one. “And she had a toy elephant… it’s at the hospital.” My throat closes on the words. Emily’s ragged toy elephant, Blue, is lying next to her on her bed, forgotten and untouched for months now, but still there.

“Is there any particular image you’d prefer?” Andrew asks, his voice gentle. I force down the lump of emotion that has lodged in my throat. I don’t want him to see me cry.

“No… I mean, I don’t know. Just something simple, I think. Not too sentimental or corny or anything like that.”

“Okay.”

He smiles again, and then reaches over and touches my hand, a butterfly brush of his fingers against mine. I do my best to smile back and then I look away. It seems so strange I have people in my life again, people I might even call friends, although I’m not sure I’m ready to think of Eva like that. Still, she helped me, and so has Andrew. It feels like a lot; it feels, miraculously, like enough, at least for now.

“Are you doing anything today?” Andrew asks, and I blink, startled. It’s early afternoon, but this day already feels momentous.

“No, not really.” Saturday is usually my day for sleep, or shopping, housework and maybe visiting my mom. “I’m seeing my mom for dinner.” I don’t know why he’s asking.

“It’s just… Jake and I are thought we’d try Wellington Park. We haven’t been there before.” I

stare, saying nothing, still unsure what he wants from me. “I wondered if you wanted to go with us,” Andrew explains gently. “We might take a picnic, although we’ve had lunch. Some snacks, at least.”

“Oh…” Emotions tumble through me, too many to name. Does Andrew feel sorry for me? Do I want to go to a park with him and Jake? Can I handle that?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says quickly. “I’m sorry if asking is…” He pauses. “Insensitive.”

“No, it’s not.” Of course it’s not. I can go to a park. I can go to a park with a child almost the same age as Emily.

Can’t I?

Andrew gives a little shrug. “I just thought… it’s so nice out, although it’s meant to rain later. Make hay while the sun shines, and all that.” He gives me a lopsided smile, and I smile back.

“Yes. Right.” I take a breath to steady myself. “Thanks. I’d… I’d like to go.” I almost said I’d love to, but I couldn’t quite make myself, because the truth is, I don’t know how I feel about going, but some part of me realizes that I need to. Like my mother said, I need to do something. Take some small steps towards living again, even if everything in me resists.

We take Andrew’s car, since Jake’s booster seat is already installed in the back, and just the sight of that innocuous object causes me to catch my breath. I took Emily’s car seat out a few months ago, when it was clear she wasn’t coming back home, at least not for a long while. I only did it to stop any questions, but it felt like a surrender.

Jake is excited as we head off, a few gray clouds lurking on the horizon, reminding us of the rainstorms predicted for tonight.