A Hope for Emily

“How do you know if it’s worth it?”

He swears. I flinch. I meant the question honestly, from the depths of my being. How do you know? How can you balance those crucial scales—a life on one side, some numberless expenditure of energy, emotion, money, whatever, on the other. How do you make those balance? What tips them from one side to the other? Who gets to decide?

“You know what I mean,” he snaps. “Don’t make me sound as if I’m so heartless. I get enough of that from Rachel, trust me. What I mean is, is it worth all the money, the emotional energy of running on that hamster wheel of hope and then disappointment, the discomfort to Emily, the risk to Emily…?”

I can’t help but cynically notice he mentioned money first. But then James is an insurance man. His job is to run risk assessments, to decide exactly how much a life is worth. Even, it seems, his own daughter’s.

“But, James, how do you know it’s not worth all those things?” I ask. I can’t not ask, because the thought is blaring in my brain like a hand flattened on a car horn. “How on earth can you possibly know?”

I see James’ expression close, like the snapping shut of a fan. He is done explaining himself, especially to me. “You haven’t seen Emily,” he says after yet another long, tense moment. I’m not sure I can take any more of them.

“You’ve never invited me to.”

“I’ve wanted to keep the parts of my life separate, I admit it,” James says. “It felt easier that way. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, but the truth is, you haven’t seen her. You don’t know what she’s like now.”

“No, but Rachel does.”

“Yes,” James answers evenly, “And as I told you, she’s desperate. She’s not thinking straight about this. She’s lost all perspective. She’d take Emily to the moon if she thought it would help.”

And you wouldn’t? Why am I feeling so ungenerous to him? All his points were good ones; they appealed to my sympathy as well as my common sense. I still don’t doubt he loves Emily. And yet…

There is, unfortunately, an and yet.

“I don’t understand why you’re taking her side,” James says wearily. “I mean, I know Rachel talked to you. I understand she’d appeal to your sympathy. And maybe I’ve kept you more in the dark than I should have, because it’s been easier not to talk about it. To have one part of my life that’s free from thinking about it all, even if that sounds callous. It’s just… I need that, Eva. I need us to be… “ He shakes his head helplessly. “Separate.”

“I understand that.” I speak slowly, choosing my words

with care, because I know how much they matter. “But, James, why do there have to be sides?”

“Because Rachel and I disagree on what is best for our daughter, and we happen to share responsibility equally for decisions about Emily’s care.” His voice has hardened again. “She can’t take her to Italy unless I agree.”

“And there’s no way you ever would?” I have to ask, even though he’s made it all too clear. I need to hear him say it.

“No.” His voice is flat. “Not unless something huge changed—Emily’s brain function improved, or the treatment became credited. But as things stand now? No. Definitely not. And that’s for Emily’s sake, as well as for Rachel’s sake, if you can believe me. She has got to let go. It’s not good for her, this holding on.”

“And for your sake,” I remark before I can think to stop myself. James looks as if Ive slapped him, and I feel a rush of guilt. I’m being too aggressive. I know that.

“Yes, for my sake too,” he says as he rises from the sofa. “Does that make me a monster, Eva? That I actually want this all to end? Yes, I’ve got to that point, and it’s taken nearly three years. But do you think this has been easy? That I can just walk away without a backward glance?” His fists clench as his voice tears. “It’s been fucking hard, okay? All the time. Every single second of my life. What we’ve had… finding you… feeling like there’s something good in my life again…” He swallows. “Please don’t take that from me.”

He walks into the kitchen where I hear him open the fridge, the door slamming against the wall. The next sound is the pop of the top of a beer bottle. I close my eyes, filled with a painful mix of regret and resolve.

Why did I keep pushing? Why did I have to make it such a thing? And yet I know I won’t stop now. James asked me why I was taking Rachel’s side, and no matter what I said, I know that I am.

I’m taking her side because I understand a mother’s need to do whatever she can for her child. Even if it costs her. Especially if it costs her. And that need appeals to me so strongly, so intrinsically, that I can’t separate myself from it, even as part of my brain is telling me to shut the hell up and let this go, in a way that Rachel can’t.

I’m not Rachel. Emily is not my child. Just walk away, Eva!

But I don’t. I walk to the kitchen, and I watch my husband drain his beer.

“I’m sorry, James,” I say quietly, and everything about him softens, which makes what I say next all the harder. I want to put my arms around him, but I don’t. Instead I speak. “But I really think you need to hear Rachel out properly, in person. You may have texted her back, but I don’t think you’ve really listened to her.” I pause, wanting to be fair to him. “At least, she doesn’t feel listened to.”

“She doesn’t feel…? Eva, she’ll never feel that way. If I listen to her, even a little bit, I’ll just give her more hope, more reason to pursue this crazy path.” He shakes his head. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” The words burst out of me, fuelled by too much history, too much memory. “Emily is your daughter. Surely you should do—you should want to do—whatever you can for her? I get that it’s hard. That it’s been hard for three years. But as her father you shouldn’t ever have to decide if it’s worth it.” The last two words come out in something like a snarl.

James stares at me for a long moment, his face slackening as he registers the full force of my feelings. “I don’t want to fight about this,” he finally says, sounding so tired and sad I want to cry. “I don’t want this to come between us.” And yet I know, just as he does, that it already has. “But I’ll say again that you haven’t been where I am. Where Rachel is. You haven’t seen Emily day in and day out, you haven’t heard the doctors, run the statistics—”

“She’s not a statistic.”