A Hope for Emily

“What is that supposed to mean?” Not that I want to know. In fact, just about the last thing I want is James giving some kind of half-baked pseudo-therapist assessment about my emotional state.

“It means I think it is time for you to let go, as hard as that is. Look at you.” I recoil as he nods towards me, as if I’m exhibit A of what? A wrecked woman? A nutcase? I’m a little thin, admittedly, and my hair and skin aren’t the best, but still. “Look at this place.” Now he nods towards my living room, which admittedly is uninspired, but who is he to judge? Should I be getting a swanky place in Beacon Hill like he did, filling it with impractical white leather? Marrying up? “Do you do anything other than go to the hospital? Do you see your friends?”

“I see my mother.” I haven’t told James about my mom having Parkinson’s yet. He always got along with her, and I know he’d be saddened, but I feel right now he’d just use it against me. You can’t deal with both your mom and Emily. It might be a fair point, but it’s not one I’m willing to give him.

“Besides your mother, I mean. And what about work? You loved being a teacher, Rachel. You were good at it—”

Yes, in another life, a life that didn’t include watching my daughter diminish day by day, hour by hour. Now the thought of spending my days telling fifteen-year-olds about The Great Gatsby instead of with Emily feels pointless and offensive.

“I’ve made my choices and I’ll stick by them, James. Emily is the most important thing in my life. Not my job. Not my friends. That’s a choice I made, and I am one hundred percent glad I made it. No regrets whatsoever.” I gaze at him levelly, a hint of challenge in my voice, my eyes. Can he say the same about his choices?

James stares at me for a long moment, and then he looks away. From next door I hear footsteps, and then Jake laughing. Life being lived.

“What exactly are you proposing to do?” he asks finally, and it’s the first time he’s entertained the prospect, e

ven in theory, that I could take Emily to Italy.

And so I outline the plans I’ve only been able to dream about so far—a month in Bologna, the treatment at the Centro di Neuroscienza that Dr. Rossi has agreed to provide for free; the guesthouse that has offered me a discounted rate for thirty days; the room at the Centro that could be made ready for Emily at a few days’ notice, the repatriation agency that will offer a door-to-door air ambulance service.

“And the money?” James asks heavily. “I know you don’t think that’s important, but neither of us have one hundred and fifty thousand dollars or more lying around, Rachel.”

“With Dr. Rossi offering his services for free, it might not be that much.”

“It could be more. Transporting Emily? That alone will cost fifty thousand dollars, I should think.”

“It depends whether she has to travel by air ambulance,” I counter. I’ve done my research.. “She might be eligible to travel accompanied on a commercial flight.”

James shrugs, conceding the point. “Even so, there is the around-the-clock care she’ll need, in a foreign country for a month?” He shakes his head. “None of that will come cheap.” He holds up his hand to forestall my reply, although I haven’t even opened my mouth. “I know it’s not about the money. If I thought this treatment had any chance of working, I’d do all that I could to get my hands on that kind of cash, whatever it took. I would.” He pauses, gazing at me steadily, willing me to believe him. I don’t reply. “But I don’t believe it will, and I’m not willing to pour my life savings into this… this wild goose chase.”

“I’m not asking you to,” I retort. Wild goose chase? “I’ll use however much I get from the crowdfunding, and the rest from my inheritance.”

James frowns. “Your inheritance?”

“From my mother.” I know my mother has put aside money for me. When she dies, the house will be mine, as well. It doesn’t sit exactly right banking on that money before she’s gone, but I know she’d want me to use it for Emily. She’d offered me money before.

“You’ve discussed this with your mother?”

I lift my chin. “I will.”

James sighs again. “You’re really willing to gamble your entire inheritance, as well as a lot of other people’s money, on this?”

“On Emily.” Why can’t he see that? Why can’t he feel as I do, that nothing is more important than doing all I can for her? Why can’t he realize that any improvement will be a total triumph for me, an absolute joy? It’s not about quality of life, as if we’re testing mattresses and deciding which are worth being rated a ten out of ten. It’s about a living, breathing person we both love having the best chance at life that we can give her.

But James doesn’t see that. He only sees the expense and the waste and the ongoing dilemma. He can’t see the possibility, the need, the hope.

Which is why his next words shock me.

“If you’re really sure you want to do this,” he says slowly, heavily, “and you really believe it’s worthwhile, then I won’t stand in your way any longer.”

I open my mouth to say something—thank you? —but James just shakes his head. He looks defeated, and terribly sad, which makes it hard for me to feel as jubilant as I want to.

“But please take down that Instagram account. The crowdfunding page—fine. I’ll accept that. But let’s not turn our lives, or our daughter’s life, into some kind of social media circus.”

“Yes, fine,” I say, my voice a whisper. “I’ll do that.” I feel a sudden need to apologize, but I don’t. James nods and then rises from the sofa, looking older and more careworn than when he’d come in. It occurs to me then, no matter what insults and accusations I hurled at him earlier, that he really believes this treatment is not in Emily’s best interest, or mine. He’s acting on his genuine convictions, not just because he’s tired or hassled. And that leaves me silent, fighting uncertainty, as he walks to the front door and out of my house.

20

Eva