Yes, I can. I open my mouth to say I don’t even know what, but then James smiles at me, and kisses my cheek. “I’m going to go change. You still want to head downtown for dinner? There’s a new Lebanese place I wanted to try.”
I see in his smile that I’m his oasis, his shelter from the storm with Rachel, and I can’t bear the thought of taking that from him. Do I have to tell him? If Rachel says she did it on her own…
My heart thuds as I murmur some agreement while James goes to change. I’ve got to tell him about my involvement, I know I do. I also need to tell him that I’ve been fired. Our world is about to be upended and it’s all my fault. I close my eyes.
“I know it will blow over,” he says as he comes back into the kitchen. “These things usually do. It’s just… well, it’s something neither Rachel nor I need right now. I don’t think she anticipated this, to be honest.”
“Have you spoken to her?” My voice sounds strange and mechanical.
“Only briefly. We’re going to meet up tomorrow. She apologized, said she didn’t realize this would happen. I think she’s a bit freaked out by it all, actually.”
“Mm.” I pointlessly wipe the kitchen counter as I don’t meet his eyes.
“Eva?” The sudden, serious tone in his voice makes me still. “Is something wrong?”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “What… what do you mean?”
James frowns and puts his hands flat on the kitchen island. “I don’t know. You just seem a bit… off. Is everything okay?”
The concern in his voice is the end of me. I can’t lie to him. And even though he’s given me the perfect opening to tell him about being fired, to make it only about that, I say something else instead. “James, I already know about Emily’s page. The internet stuff.” He stares at me, still frowning, not understanding. “I helped Rachel to make the page. It was actually all my idea, to set it up, to try and make it go viral.”
“What…” The word comes out of him like a breath and he shakes his head slowly, still not understanding. Not wanting to.
“I created the Instagram account,” I continue relentlessly, needing to say it all, a confessional. “And I posted on Facebook, and a bunch of other sites, and basically did it all to drum up interest.”
“Why…” He looks winded, shell-shocked.
“I… I wanted to help. I thought Emily deserved that chance. I still do.”
“Emily?” The disbelief in his voice hurts me, somehow, as if he doesn’t think she matters to me.
“Yes, Emily. I care about her—”
“You’ve never even met her.”
“And why is that?” I counter. “Besides, she’s just a child. She’s your daughter. If there is treatment that can help—”
“I told you about the treatment, Eva!” James rakes a hand through his hair, looking too stunned to be angry. Yet. “How experimental, how expensive, how hopeless it is—”
“I know what you said, but—”
“This wasn’t your decision to make.” The words are quiet and certain; he sounds hurt rather than angry, and that makes everything so much worse. I watch as he collapses onto the sofa, his head in his hands.
“James…” I let his name trail off into nothing. He doesn’t answer. Then, with a rush of horror and guilt, I realize he is taking deep breaths, trying not to cry. Because of me, and what I did.
“James…”
He shakes his head, still cradled in his hands, and then he gets up from the sofa and reaches for his jacket.
“Please, let’s talk…” I say, my voice cracking, but he just shakes his head again, his eyes bloodshot, his lips set.
“No.” He shrugs his jacket on and grabs his keys. “I can’t. Not right now.”
“James—”
“I can’t.”
The words are a broken cry, and then he is gone.