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I stare at her helplessly. “But why…?”
A man shouts at us to move out of the way—at least that’s what I’m assuming he’s saying, based on his hand gestures—and I take Rachel’s elbow and steer her towards the side of the street. “Let’s find somewhere quiet and get a coffee,” I tell her. “And then we’ll talk about this properly.”
She lets me lead her by the arm to a café on a quiet side street. Once inside I
order us both macchiatos and steer Rachel to a table in the back. The noise from the street is muted, the only sound the murmur of a few other customers and the clinking of cups.
Rachel cradles her coffee as if she craves the warmth, even though it is boiling outside and only a tiny bit cooler in here.
“Why are you saying that?” I ask quietly. “Why do you think you might have done the wrong thing?”
“It just…” She bites her lip. “It doesn’t feel the way I expected it to. When the money started coming in… when James agreed… when we got here… I felt so hopeful. I really did. Everything was finally happening.” Her eyes fill with tears as she looks at me and I have to force mine back. “It felt like a beginning, at last. And that’s what I so wanted it to be…”
“It still could be, Rachel. It’s only been a week You need to give it time.”
“I know, but it’s just not… Dr. Rossi…” She sighs and shakes her head. “I’m afraid Emily is just a statistic to him, something to add to his precious data.”
“He’s nice,” I protest, even though I know what she means. Dr. Rossi is more of a clinician than a consultant; his manner is gentle but even I’ve noticed the way he refers to Emily like exhibit A. Still, if he gets the results…
“I wonder if I’ve been selfish,” Rachel says quietly. “If I came here for me instead of Emily.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because I needed to feel hope. I needed to feel like I was doing everything I could for her, not for her, but for me.”
I ponder her words for a few moments, thinking of how similarly I have felt. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“Isn’t it? All along James has been insisting he was saying no to the treatment because it was best for Emily. What if he was right?”
“And what if he wasn’t? The jury is still out on this one, Rachel. Give it some time.”
“Yesterday Dr. Rossi told me that this kind of nerve stimulation appears to be more effective on patients who are unresponsive because of traumatic brain injuries rather than neurological disorders. Something he didn’t mention before, although I suppose I could have guessed it. I just didn’t want to.”
“He doesn’t know for sure, though,” I say quickly. “He hasn’t done enough research…”
“Which might be why he is researching Emily.” She sighs again, shaking her head. “I don’t blame him. He’s doing good, important work. I’m just mad at myself for secretly hoping for some sort of miracle, even as I told myself there wouldn’t be one.”
“There’s no shame in that, Rachel. We’re all hoping for miracles.”
She gives me a frank look. “Are you?”
I shrug. I haven’t told Rachel that James and I are trying for a baby, not that we actually have been for last two months, but informing Rachel of my desire for her ex-husband’s baby seems weird, not to mention the height of insensitivity.
“Rachel, the point is, you weren’t wrong in coming here. Even if… even if the treatment has no discernible results. You came because you wanted to give Emily every chance you could. There is absolutely nothing wrong in that.”
“But if it doesn’t work at all? The money alone…”
“Who cares about the money? I mean,” I clarify quickly, “yes, it was a lot of your money—”
“My mother’s money, and I know she gave it willingly, but all those other people…”
“They gave it willingly too. They weren’t investing in a stock, Rachel. They’re not looking for that kind of return.”
She manages a wobbly smile. “That’s a relief.”
I reach over to put my hand on top of hers. “Don’t feel guilty. You are a mother who loves her child, and you’d do anything for her.” A lump is forming in my throat as I speak. “You’d sacrifice your own happiness and wellbeing for her… I’ve seen that time and again with you, and I admire it.” I force myself to swallow past that wretched lump. “More than you could possibly know.”
Rachel sniffs and dashes a tear from her cheek as she looks down at our joined hands. “Sorry,” she says with a shaky laugh. “I don’t know why I’m feeling so wobbly now. It must be PMS.”
