A Hope for Emily

She’d played hook-a-duck, as we’d gently and lovingly guided her—so obvious the parents of only one child, the absolute center of our existence—and she’d tossed the pole aside and reached into the water with both hands, crowing triumphantly when she’d managed to grab hold onto one of the rubber ducks.

Everyone had laughed, and James and I had exchanged smiling looks—isn’t she funny? Isn’t she amazing?

Of course, I’m not so forgetful or deluded to think every memory is rose-tinted. There were some shadows to that day—James’ mother coughing, her thin frame wracked to pieces, a cancer diagnosis just weeks away, and then his father taking a call in another room and disappearing for an hour. Later we found out he’d been having an affair; he ended up marrying the woman on the phone, at least we assumed that’s who it was—Laura Lee, a frosted blonde with steely eyes and a Southern accent like syrup.

Still, overall, it was a good day. A happy day. At the end of it, I held Emily heavy and sleepy in my arms, her thumb tucked in her mouth, her head on my shoulder, and felt that rush of gratitude no one feels often enough. I really am so blessed.

I want that again, in some small way. But is this the way to get it?

I fall asleep sometime after six in the morning, and waken groggy and heavy-eyed at quarter past eight. I’m already late for Emily.

I scramble out of bed, clumsy with fatigue, and shower and dress in a matter of minutes. I forego food and grab my bag, heading outside by half past, breathless with exertion.

Andrew is coming out of his door at the same time, and he smiles at me. “Hey, long time, no see.”

“Yes.” I give him a harried, fleeting smile as I fumble with my keys at the door.

“How have you been?”

“Oh.” I wave a hand. “Fine.” I feel guilty, although I’m not sure why. I haven’t been avoiding him, at least not exactly. But I haven’t been seeking him out, either. “What about you? Are you settled in?”

“Getting there.”

I’ve locked my door, and I turn to him with what I hope is an it’s-been-nice-to-see-you kind of smile. In other words, goodbye.

Then Andrew surprises me by saying, “Are you in a rush? Would you like to get a coffee?”

I blink at him, too startled by the invitation to speak. Doesn’t he see—can’t he tell—that I’m in a rush? Everything about me says must be going now, surely.

And yet… why am I rushing?

Emily will still be there in an hour. Emily will be there forever.

Unless…

I jangle my keys uncertainly. “I’m not in a rush,” I say after a moment. “Not exactly. But don’t you have to get to work?”

He shakes his head. “I’m working from home today. Jake’s at playgroup till one, and I was just about to head to Stacks to set up a mobile office.”

“I love Stacks,” I say before I can think better of it. “Much better than Starbucks.” Stacks is an artisan espresso bar and community space in Newton Highlands with a welcoming atmosphere and great coffee. I haven’t been there in ages.

“Join me?” Andrew asks, lifting one eyebrow, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if he suspects I’ll say no, which he should. “I’ll need to start work, so it won’t take up your whole morning.”

“All right.” I am surprised by the words, by myself. When do I do this? What about Emily?

And yet the thought of doing something different, even just the once, of sipping excellent coffee and feeling the sunshine on my face, is too much to resist. Plus I need the caffeine.

I’ll be at the hospital by nine-thirty, I tell myself. At the latest.

Andrew and I drive separately to Stacks, finding parking spaces on the street and then meeting inside the little café, where the smell of roasting beans provides a welcoming aroma. I order a tear drop, vanilla and half and half mixed together and layered with espresso, and Andrew has a

latte.

Within a few minute we’re sitting at a table in the window on a beautiful summer’s day, and I am feeling the awkwardness. I’m not sure what to say to him, so I take a sip of my drink.

“I’m sorry if I’m being too nosy,” Andrew says after a moment, “but what have you been up to? I see you leave every day pretty early in the morning, and you don’t come home until after seven. And you told me you were taking time off work…” His forehead crinkles as he shakes his head. “Sorry, I am being nosy. I just wondered.”

Of course he did. “I go to the hospital.” I practically blurt the words, and Andrew looks half taken aback, half horrified, clearly thinking he’s been socially clumsy.