ago, and now she was here, wan and scarred, a ghost of herself. How did this happen? How did I not see?
I looked back at that lamentable parents’ weekend and thought how stupidly self-centered and insecure I was, hurt by Emma’s reticence, not thinking for a moment that it could have been a cry for help. A desperate one.
Morning dawned, bright sunlight streaming through the windows, the sky a hard, bright blue. On the TV at the nurses’ station there were reports about all the ridiculous Black Friday deals—people storming Walmart for a hundred bucks off a flat-screen TV. I felt exhausted and looked worse; a kindly nurse gave me a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste, which was just about enough to make me feel mostly human. Emma didn’t stir.
The doctor came, checked her vitals, and went away again. I texted Nick for the third time, to tell him nothing had changed, but I thought Emma was going to be okay. It felt like an empty promise, and yet one I clutched at. What was “okay” in this situation?
I waited and waited, my mind too fogged from fatigue to dwell even on memories. And then, towards lunchtime, finally, my baby girl woke up.
Her eyelids fluttered once, twice, and I leaned forward, my heart pounding. “Emma…”
Another flutter, and another, and then she turned her head to look at me, her dazed gaze sharpening as I came into focus.
“Oh, Emma.” I reached for her hand, my voice full of tears, but Emma drew her hand away from mine. She turned her head so she couldn’t see me, and my heart dropped like a stone in my chest.
Emma is released four days later, on Tuesday, after forty-eight hours of observation and a mental health assessment that I’m not allowed to know about. She has the name of a counselor in Boston and another in West Hartford, and she’s coming home.
In the four endless days that I’ve been in Boston with her, Emma has barely spoken to me. I checked into a hotel, and bought some clothes and toiletries, and basically lived at the hospital, either in her room or the cafeteria. I’ve tried patience, and smiling silence, and keeping conversation simply about the basics, but whatever I do feels wrong. The most innocent question serves only to annoy her. When I asked her if there was anyone she wanted me to contact for her, she snapped, “Just don’t, Mom.”
I did contact Harvard, since she was due back there on Monday, and told them she was taking a leave of absence. They said she had to be back for her finals in mid-December for her semester to count, and I didn’t know whether to care about that or not. Part of me did, desperately. Another part of me was just so very glad she was alive.
As we drive back home, I have no idea what to expect. I’ve been so consumed with Emma, I haven’t even thought Nick or Josh or Dylan. It’s not until Beth comes down to the kitchen, just a few minutes after we’ve come home, that I realize I forgot about her visit with Dylan today. I can’t handle her cold fury, not on top of everything else, and I do my best to appease her. I’m not sure if it works.
After Beth has gone, I return to the kitchen, and gaze at the remnants of my family. Emma, silent and hunched over, at the table. Nick standing in the center of the kitchen, looking lost. Dylan by the sink, his eyes so wide and watchful. And Josh upstairs, barricaded in his room. He couldn’t even come downstairs to welcome his sister home.
“Let’s get you to bed, mister,” I say with a smile for Dylan, and he comes towards me quickly, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding on tight. I rest my hand on top of his head as I stroke his back. “It’s okay, Dylan. Don’t worry. Everything’s okay.” His body shudders, and my heart aches. The injustice of subjecting this poor little boy to more anxiety and uncertainty burns within me. I hate that I may have made things worse for him, just when they were starting to get better.
I spend longer than usual putting Dylan to bed, both to reassure him and avoid whatever is happening downstairs. Maybe Nick will have better luck with Emma than I have. I never considered her a Daddy’s girl before, but she’s certainly not a Mommy’s one