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“James, I’m pregnant.”
Something flashes across his face; I can’t tell if it’s mere surprise, relief, or something else, something I don’t want to name.
“When did you find out?” he asks after a pause.
“Three days ago. But I think I’m at least eight weeks along.” He doesn’t say anything, and I force myself to ask, “How do you feel about it?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, making it messier. “Honestly? I don’t know.”
“Okay.” That’s better than some of the things he could have said, things I’ve been half-expecting him to say.
“It’s just… with Emily…” He looks at me, anguished now. “I know I’ve been saying that all along, and it probably sounds like an excuse, but we’re… we’re close to the end now. And it doesn’t feel the way I thought it would.”
“How did you think it would feel?” I ask quietly.
“I thought I would be relieved.” His voice breaks on the damning word. “I know how terrible that sounds, but it’s been so long, and she’s only gotten worse and worse. I wanted it to be over.” He draws a breath which shudders through me. “I tried to pretend that wasn’t what I wanted, but Rachel saw through me. You did too, I think. And I feel so guilty…”
“Oh, James.” I shake my head, my arms wrapped around myself. “I think we’ve all felt guilty.”
“It’s been so hard to know what the right thing to do is. And then to separate what you want from what you hope and what you fear… what is selfish and what is altruistic, what’s best for you, what’s best for Emily. I’ve been in knots.”
He’s never said so much before, and it fills my heart. “I know you have.”
“And now that the end is actually here, on the horizon… I feel like I’ve wasted so many opportunities. How many times have I sat by her bed and just been on my phone? Or the evenings I let Rachel handle everything, when I could have been with my daughter? I should have taken time off work, a leave of absence…” A sob escapes him then, and when I see the tears rolling down his face I put my arms around him, and draw his head to my breast as if he were a child.
“James.” I say. “James.” We make our stumbling way to the edge of the bed, and he weeps into my shoulder for a few tender minutes while I stroke his hair. Then he eases back, wiping his face, and his gaze falls on the little box, the lid next to it, the photos visible inside.
“What is that?”
I take a deep breath. Surely now is not the time, yet what other time is there? “That’s an ultrasound photo,” I say quietly.
James looks at me in confusion. “But you said you’re only eight weeks…”
“They’re not from this pregnancy.” James stares at me. “I had a daughter,” I say softly. His eyes widen. “She… she died when I was twenty-four weeks along.”
“Eva…”
Of course I can’t leave it there. And so I explain, as I did to Rachel, haltingly, hesitantly, afraid of his shock and judgment, but neither come.
“Oh, Eva,” he says, shaking his head, looking so very sad. “Oh, Eva.”
We embrace again, without words, without tears, simply leaning on each other as the sky darkens to twilight and the shadows lengthen in the room. For once, nothing more needs to be said.
* * *
The next few weeks pass as if in a hazy dream. Normal life, yet nothing feels normal. James spends a lot of time at the hospital, nearly every evening, and I spend time there too, with Rachel.
Rachel and I really have become friends, even though it’s so unexpected. Even if it doesn’t entirely make se
nse.
The tests and scans Dr. Brown did confirmed what was becoming plain to everyone, even me: Emily was fading before our very eyes. Considering her condition before, it seemed strange that she could be even less there now, but that’s exactly how it felt. She wasn’t gone, not yet, but she was going.
“I feel as if I’m living someone else’s life,” Rachel said as she held Emily’s hand and I refreshed the water on some flowers James’ father had sent. “I feel so distant from this, from her. Maybe it’s just a coping mechanism. The numbness.”
“I think it is.” I remember I felt numb after the abortion. I acted as if it hadn’t happened. Nobody knew, Lucas had gone, and that made it all easier—and harder, because no one knew my pain. Not even me. But maybe, like Rachel now, that was the only I could get through the days, and then the weeks, and then the years.
“I’ve started therapy,” I blurt to Rachel, and she raises her eyebrows. “Because of… you know.”
