A Hope for Emily

“Oh, Rachel.” Eva comes over and rubs my back, as if I’m a child who has had a bad dream. How I wish this were nothing but a bad dream. I’d wake up, I’d blink the sleep out of my eyes as the vestiges of the nightmare clung to me, and then Emily would run up to me and scramble into my lap, snuggling against me.

Wake, Mama? You awake?

Yes. I’m awake. I’m wide awake. Because it’s not a dream. It has never, ever been a dream.

“Today’s a hard day,” Eva says, and I let out a sound that is meant to be a laugh but isn’t anything—just a ragged huff of breath.

“Every day is a hard day, Eva.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t. Never mind.” I’m so tired. I feel, suddenly, as if I could curl up right on this cold tile floor and go to sleep. I’d sleep and sleep and maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll never wake up.

Somehow, with a strength I thought had gone, I pull myself together. I rub my face with my hands and straighten, even smile, or sort of. My lips move, at least. “I think I need a coffee. Can I get you one? Espresso, right?”

Eva looks discomfited, and some instinctive, internal radar makes me frown. “What is it?”

“Nothing…” But she looks a little shifty, her gaze darting away, and I feel as if we are in a kaleidoscope and someone has just given it a twirl.

“It’s something.” I don’t how things shifted so quickly, only that they did. “Do you not want a coffee?” If she doesn’t, why on earth would it be a big deal?

“No, no,” Eva says quickly. Too quickly. “I mean, yes. I’ll have a coffee. Let me get them.” She fumbles for her purse, not meeting my gaze, and I am trying to think why she wouldn’t want a coffee, why she’d insist on getting it, and most of all, why she would look so guilty about it.

“I’ll get them,” I say. “I need to get out for a bit. Your usual?” Which is a double espresso.

Eva hesitates, biting her lip. What is going on?

“Actually,” she says. “I think I’ve been having too many espressos lately. I’m starting to feel jumpy. I’ll have a latte instead. Decaf.” It all sounds so innocuous, and yet it isn’t, because she is explaining too much and her tone is false. Falsely casual, the same as her smile, with an almost manic look in her eyes. I stare. She looks back at me, the smile trembling at the corners of her mouth.

And then I realize, the knowledge falling on me as if from a great height, landing with a thud, flattening me. “Hold on,” I say slowly. “Hold on. You’re… you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

And

even though she doesn’t answer, I see it in her face—the rush of guilt, along with the fierce joy she can’t hide.

24

Eva

Rachel stares at me, a dazed, blank look on her face as I try not to feel wretchedly guilty. I didn’t want to tell her. I knew it could only hurt her, that I’m expecting her husband’s child, this new life that is full of hope and promise, unlike that of the little girl lying in the bed right next to us. Of course I didn’t want to tell her.

“You’re pregnant,” she says again, and she slowly lowers herself into the chair next to Emily, as if she is an old woman.

“I’m sorry.”

“How long have you known?”

“I took the test yesterday.” I realize that I will answer any question she asks me; I will be completely honest. It feels only right.

Rachel shakes her head, a slow back and forth. “Well,” she finally says. “Well. Congratulations.” And then her face crumples, and somehow I am kneeling in front of her, my arms around her as she draws shuddering breath after breath, trying to hold onto her composure.

“I’m sorry,” I say again. It feels like the only thing I can say. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she manages after a moment as she pulls away from me, wiping her face. “For heaven’s sake. What kind of absolute ogre would I be, to be angry that you’re having a baby?” She looks up at me, her face smeared with tears, a smile trembling on her mouth like a butterfly about to take a wing. “I mean, that is, you’re happy about it, I assume? You were… trying?”

“Yes, and yes.” But I sound hesitant, uncertain, and now it’s my face that is threatening to crumple, my lips that can’t quite quirk into a smile. I look away quickly, wanting to hide my emotion, knowing this isn’t the place or time for it, but Rachel’s not having any of it.

“Eva.” She puts a hand on my arm. “What’s going on? You are happy about it, aren’t you?”