All Our Yesterdays

All Our Yesterdays

Chapter 7 - A day of Emily

John Mathews woke up to the alarm clock ringing. It was six o'clock in the morning and he had to get up to go to work. In the hospital, plenty of patients were waiting. Beside him, his fiancé moved a little, but she did not wake. John was always surprised with her capacity of staying asleep even with all that noise. Delicately, he took a strand of hair from her face that had fallen over her closed eyes; then he kissed her and got up to take a shower. There was no need for Emily to get up so early.

He took almost half an hour in the shower. That was the main reason why John liked to get up early; he took long baths. Then, he dried himself, put on a bathrobe and, leaving his fiancé still asleep, he went downstairs to the kitchen. There, he prepared the breakfast she liked; toasts with strawberry jam, orange juice and milk with chocolate. Emily didn't drink coffee; or tea. He put everything on a tray and went back to the bedroom, where he found her in the exact same position he had left her.

Carefully, John put the food in the empty side of the bed and, turning around, he sat down close to her. He leaned his head and started to lightly kiss her neck.

"Wake up, dozer!" Mathews said softly. "It's time to get up."

Emily still moved a little with her eyes closed, but then she finally opened them, and faced him with a light smile on her lips.

"Good morning, dozer. I brought your breakfast," he said, motioning with his head to the tray.

"Good morning," she answered sleepily, stretching herself. "And thank you."

"You're welcome." He kissed her nose quickly and got up from the bed. He had to get dressed for work.

"You going in at seven today?"

"Yes."

"Won't you be late?"

"You know it's only five minutes to get to the hospital from here," John answered, buttoning the shirt.

"I know, I know." And after a pause, "I only get in at eight."

"I know," he said with a smile. "That's why I let you sleep a little more, dozer."

"Thank you."

"Have lunch with me today?"

"I can't, John."

"Why not? Emily, we have stuff of the wedding to discuss..."

"Today is Thursday. You know I have a consult with Camila. I won't have time to eat more than a sandwich."

"Another consult? But you already had a consult with her on Thursday... "

"It's twice a week. You know that."

"What I know is that she already should've passed you to one consult per week for a long time."

"She wanted. I didn't let her."

"And why not? Emily, I'm getting tired of it. Don't you think you should be more worried about the wedding now?"

"John, you don't understand. I can't simply give up..."

"No, on the contrary. I understand very well. You prefer to waste your time trying to relive the past instead of plan the future. This is always your choice, isn't it?" And with that, he took his suitcase and left, leaving her behind with a lost expression on her face.

Sighing, Emily finished drinking her juice and got out of bed. She knew John was right. She knew it would be better if she forgot everything, gave up and focused on the life they could build together. Still with her head full, she washed her face in the bathroom sink and then contemplated her image on the mirror for a while; a small thin nose, the lines of expression, which were not there awhile ago, the deep eyes and, in the moment, sad.

'It's easier to talk than to do,' Emily thought, remembering everything that she did not know about herself.

Finally, abandoning her image, she got undressed and got into the shower. She took a quick bath. Just ten minutes. Then, she dried herself, put on her bathrobe, like John did before, and left the bathroom.

In the bedroom, she carefully made the bed. She picked up the tray and went downstairs to the kitchen. That was her house. John's house was a bit farther from the hospital, and that's why he used to spend the night there when he had to go to work early. When they get married, though, they would live at his house, which was bigger. It would be more appropriate for when they had children. Thinking about it, Emily could not hold a resigned sigh. Her fiancé was crazy about children and wanted them soon. She, however, had her reservations. She liked children; that was true. It was not the idea of having kids that bothered her, but the idea of having them when she wasn't sure if that was the life she wanted. Having kids would be something definitive. You can leave a husband, but you can not leave a son. She had to be sure before anything.

She finished eating the toasts, washed the dishes and put the jam in the fridge. She went upstairs again to the bedroom and opened the closet thinking in what she would wear. After some indecision, she ended up deciding for a very classic style: a black skirt that reached her knees, a light blue blouse with buttons and a short blazer, also black. In the bathroom, she combed the short hair and put on a little of make up: base, face powder, a light eyeshade, mascara and lipstick. Emily was already a pretty woman without the make up, but she liked it. She was very careful with her looks.

When finished, she took a look at her watch just to see that it was time to go.She grabbed her purse and, going downstairs, left through the front door. She also worked at the hospital, but she was neither a doctor nor a nurse. Emily worked as a social worker. She liked her job. This job allowed her to help people that, in many times, arrived there as lost as she once was, although Emily frequently felt lost.

The sun was shining in the clear, blue sky, despite of the characteristic cold of that morning. In the streets, some people were jogging, while others, like her, going to work. That was a tranquil town and Emily knew all her neighbors very well.

"Good morning, Mrs. Brewster," she muttered smiling at an old woman who was passing with her dog to the opposite direction.

"Good morning, Emily, darling," the old lady said.

For some mysterious reason, those people really liked her, and accepted her. With this thought, Emily could not avoid smiling sincerely. Those people were the ones who made her feel welcome, like being at home. It was they who made everything less hard. And John. She could not start to describe how much he had helped her. Without him, Emily would not know what could have happened to her life.

And that was what made her doubts so unfair. John did not deserve that. He did not deserve a fiancé who was constantly thinking if she was doing the right thing. He deserved a person who loved him with no restrictions. She wanted to be that person. She was trying to be that person, but it was hard, very hard. Not that there was another man more important in her past. No. He was the only one she could remember loving, and still, Emily hesitated. Emily was scared.

While her mind was rambling, her feet took her to the hospital. In the entrance, she said a smiley "good morning" to the receptionist that hid exactly what she was really feeling and went right to her office, in the fifth floor. She was planning to spend most of the day putting her papers in order. The bureaucracy was really a problem and since Emily hated to waste time filling in papers instead of being working, she always ended up, at some moment, swamped by the huge amount of reports she had to do. So, when the situation was critical, she took one or two days dedicated just to doing that, and to doing everything at once.

Arriving in her small room, Emily started to work. There was no sense in waiting. She wanted to finish everything as soon as possible. Around one hour later, however, the phone ring interrupted her. It was a nurse from the emergency ward calling her. In an instant, she abandoned what she was doing and went toward the elevator.

"What happened?" she asked as soon as she found the nurse who had called.

"It's a patient of Doctor Jones. A boy. Come with me," she answered, taking her to the doctor.

"Hi, Ms. Watson," he said as soon as he saw her. "You came quick."

"And was I ever not quick?" she asked with a smile. "But what happened?"

"Take a look at this," he said showing her the radiography of the thorax of a child.

"Do you see the healed fractures over here?" And pointed to one of the ribs. "Here and here?"

"They're old fractures."

"Yes, they were never treated. The ten-year-old boy, his name is James, arrived with an injury in the head. The father said he fell from the stairs."

"But you don't believe that?"

"The Evans moved in nine months ago, and since that, the boy came three times. In the two firsts, the injuries could be considered fallings, but in this... No. The story simply doesn't fit with the injury, and, to complete the predicament, this X-ray shows me the pattern has been repeating for awhile."

"Where are the parents?" Emily asked.

"The mother died in the birth. The father is with the son now."

"Have you talked to the boy?"

"No, not yet."

"Could you take the father out of there so that I can talk to him?"

"Yes, sure. You never doubt my creativity," Jones said with a wink while putting the X-ray back to its place. "Come with me."

Emily followed him to a nursery room. Except for the boy's bed, the others were empty. The father was a big man, tall and massive. The kind of man you wouldn't like to fight to. He was leaned on the son's bed, apparently kind and worried.

"When can we go home?" he asked immediately.

"Soon. Actually, that's why I'm here. You have to fill in some insurance papers, so that I can release your son."

"More than I already did?"

"I'm sorry. I know the bureaucracy is unforgivable, but..."

"I will not leave Jimmy alone!"

"I thought so, Mr. Evans. That's why I brought Ms. Watson here. She works in the hospital and can keep an eye on James for awhile..."

"I'm sure it won't take too long, Mr. Evans," Emily said with a lovely smile. The big man still gave a distrustful look at her direction, but ended up following the doctor out of the room.

As soon as they left, she approached to the bed still smiling and sat down in the edge of it.

"Hello, Jimmy," she said. "How are you feeling?"

"Well," the boy answered with a weak voice.

"I'm Emily. You know, I used to help a lot of children like you." Her voice was soft and calm.

"Where's my father?" he asked looking nervously at the door.

"Your father is not here," she said holding his hand lightly. "Don't you want to tell me what happened, Jimmy?" The boy just looked at the window. "Doctor Jones told me you felt and hurt your head. Is that what happened?" James just waved his face in agreement. "Jim, look at me," she asked kindly and waited for the boy to turn his face. "Your father isn't here. He can't hurt you now. And, if you tell me what happened, I won't let him hurt you ever again, do you understand me, Jimmy?"

"It wasn't his fault, please, it wasn't his fault!" the boy started, suddenly agitated.

"Shhh... Shhh... It's all right, it's all right. If it wasn't his fault, what happened, then?"

"It was my fault. Only mine. I'm a very bad boy."

"You're a bad boy, James? Why?"

"Dad has already asked me not to leave my shoes all over the house. He has already said that, but I never obey him. It's my fault."

"What did your father do, James, when he saw you had left your shoes all over the house?" The boy didn't answer. At least not with words, but his look was enough to explain everything.

"Please, Emily, please." The boy was crying now. "It's all my fault. Don't do anything to him. I'm a bad boy..."

"Shhh..." she muttered, holding him tight. "You're not bad, James. You're not bad. And the fault is not yours. Not yours, do you hear me?" She kept repeating until he calmed down. Finally, James stopped crying and she released him. "I'll be right back, okay?" she said, leaving the room for a minute. At the reception, she called the police and then came back, bringing two security guards from the hospital with her, but when she arrived at the door, she found James already with his jacket and the father pulling him by his arm.

"We're getting out of here!"

"Mr. Evans, you can't..." Dr. Jones tried to stop him, blocking the way. "The exams..."

"You're lying! We're leaving." He started to move toward the door, but then he saw Emily with the security guards. "Ah, you bitch!" he said and went toward her, but the two men held him.

"I'm putting your son under the custody of the Social Service," she said picking up the boy, who was crying compulsively, in her arms. "The police should be here soon," she completed while the security guards took him away. The whole time the man stood yelling names and threats to her while the boy cried, calling for his father in her arms.

Finally, Mr. Evans was taken away and Emily put James, still yelling and kicking out, on the bed.

"I want my father!!! It's your fault! It's your fault! I want my father!!"

"James..." She still tried to calm him down, but the boy simply kept kicking and yelling.

"I'll take care of him," the doctor said, holding him against the bed. "You can go." And after a brief pause, "There are some days in which we really hate our jobs, aren't there?"

"Yes. And it's not even lunch time, Jones," she answered, irritated, before finally leaving the nursery.

That situation should be simple. There was the right and the wrong, the black and the white. There shouldn't be doubt. And there wasn't. That didn't mean, however, that it was simple. The abusing father was the only family the child knew, and the boy was caught to it with his entire straight. It was not easy to understand, but that's the way it happened. Nothing in life is simple. And it was in times like this that Emily wished she lived in a better world; a much better world. With a resigned sigh, she took the elevator and went back up to her room. One more case to deal with. Jones really was right. She could really love her job, but in days like this, she hated it. She sat down quiet in her chair and supported her elbows on the table, taking her hands to her face. In the next couple of hours, she made little progress with all her papers. There were so many things in her head! A lot more than a case like that. She had a lot to think about, a lot to decide about and could not avoid asking herself the most obvious questions.

A little before eleven-thirty, she stood up and left the room. It was almost in time for her consult and, who knows, Camila could help her finding some light over her doubts. Deep inside she did not believe that, though. The doctor had the unpleasant habit of never giving her direct answers. If they had not become so close friends, Emily would have looked for someone else for a long time.

When she arrived for the consult, she had to wait some minutes until another patient left the room. But it didn't take long, though, and she saw the smiling face of the doctor in the door, calling her.

"Hello! How's our little bride?"

"Getting her feet cold..." Emily answered, sort of kidding, sort of serious.

"Really? I thought the cold feet were gone when you decided to accept the proposal."

"But they keep coming back..."

"Want to talk about it?" Camila asked, sitting down in her armchair and waiting for the other to sit down in the small sofa.

"Does it make any difference if I say I don't want to?"

"After your initial statement, no. You've already made me curious and worried. What is going on, Emily?"

"I don't know... You know..."

"No, if you don't know, who am I to know? I think you'll have to explain me."

"I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of committing to huge mistake."

"And why do you think that?"

"It's that sensation of always... I can't avoid asking myself if there's something else for me outside there... If John is really the best I can get... Don't get me wrong. He's so sweet. I don't know what I would be doing now if he hadn't showed up in my life, and this is the worst part. I feel guilty for having these thoughts..."

"John helped you, yes, it's true, but you owe him nothing for that, Emily."

"I owe him my life."

"But this is not a debt you can pay getting married to him without loving him just because he loves you."

"And who said I don't love him?"

"Wasn't that what you just said?"

"No, it wasn't. I only ask myself if there's someone I can love more than I love John. Someone I can love unconditionally. No doubts... Someone I simply know is the right person..."

"Isn't it every woman's dream? Every person, actually?"

"The problem is I can't stop thinking that this someone... this imaginary man exists really for me... I know he exists... And I know John is not him."

"Don't get married, then."

"Shouldn't you be saying me it's all bullshit of my head? That everything I'm feeling is normal fear that every bride feels?"

"I'm not here to tell you how you're feeling, Emily. You have to figure it out by yourself. Now, if you tell me you're so sure that John isn't the right person for you, then I only can advise you not to get married. Having doubts is normal, but if you have doubts..."

"It's not that..." the other said standing up and going to the window.

"What is it, then?"

"It's hard to explain."

"I'm all ears," Camila said. "After all, you're paying me for that."

Emily laughed, though she did not want to.

"I feel as if I was living a liae that isn't mine. As if my life was somewhere else out there, waiting for me."

"This couldn't be a way of you telling me that there are things you'd like to do with your life and that you're not doing now? We all feel like that in some moments."

"No, I'm not speaking metaphorically. You know that. I'm speaking literally. Have I searched enough? Have I tried enough?"

"Is that why you're afraid of getting married?"

"Yes. Marrying to John would be the same as accepting this is my life and I don't know if I'm ready to do this."

"I thought you had been over this fear."

"Me too, Camila, me too. When I accepted his proposal, I thought I had left everything behind, but now... everything's coming back, you know what I mean?"

"I do."

"And at the same time, I can't do it to John. He doesn't deserve it."

"Emily, there's a big difference between gratefulness and love. You know that, don't you?"

"I love him."

"Are you sure?"

"If you asked me to list all the qualities I'd like to find in a man, we would get to the conclusion that John has practically all of them! There's nothing in him to make me not love him!"

"That doesn't mean much. And you didn't answer my question."

"How can you say something like that? I mean, if he, with all those qualities, isn't capable of making me happy, then who is? What are my chances of finding someone who is? There aren't two Johns in the world."

"Maybe you don't want another John."

"He loves me, Camila. Loves me more than anything. Only God knows why."

"This too is another bad reason for marrying to him."

"I know. He deserves someone who loves him the same way and, believe me, I'm trying."

"You're trying?" The doctor could barely hide a smile. "Emily, this is not the way things work. Either you love or you don't."

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. Other things in life may be complicated, but this is not: you don't try to love someone. You love. You might even see him every day for years without loving him and, in one moment, you find out you love him, but still, you find out, you don't try. It's not something you can control."

"I don't know if I'm strong enough to do it to him."

"Do what?"

"Destroy all his dreams, all his plans for our life! How can I do it after all he..."

"And we're back to the gratefulness!"

"Don't speak like that."

"I'm not speaking. I just think you should feel exactly like he feels about these plans. After all, it's your future too. You might have doubts about the wedding, but thinking about the life he will give you doesn't make you happy? Excited? Butterflies in your stomach?"

"No. It only gives me a knot in my stomach of fear of not satisfying his expectations."

"Are you sure this is the reason for your fear, Emily?" Camila asked, but the other didn't answer. She just turned to the window again and supported her forehead on the cold glass. She knew that was not the only reason.

Yes, she had this fear of not corresponding to his expectations, but this fear came from her own certainty of not being able to be the woman he loved; of loving him like he deserved. She did not know if she would be able of being happy taking the life he planned.

"Why the hell does everything have to be so complicated?" she said finally, with eyes still closed, without getting back to the sofa. "Why can't I simply love him?" she thought to herself. In some way, she knew what would be the right thing to do. She just still did not know if she would have the guts to do it.

During the rest of the time of the consult with Camila, Emily practically didn't say anything. What would it help? She had already said what she had to, and also had heard what she did not want to. What to do now? That was the problem.

She came back to her room with the intention of only grabbing her things to go eat a sandwich. She was hungry. As soon as she passed through the door, though, as it was just waiting for her to arrive, the phone rang.

"Hello.. What... What happened, Jane? Speak slowly... My God!... All right. Don't worry... I'm coming." And then she hung up the phone and left toward the elevator. The sandwich could wait.

As soon as she arrived in the top floor, she found the young lady who had just called her in the corridor, standing in front of a room's door, as if deciding if she should or not get in. Emily approached slowly, without the other noticing her, and put her hand lightly on her shoulder. Jane turned immediately and, recognizing her, took one of the hands to the mouth trying to hide her crying and hugged her.

"He's dying... He's going to die..." she muttered.

"Shh... I know, my darling." Emily hugged her back, whispering into the other's ear, like a mother would do. "It's all right. Everything's going to be all right."

"No, it's not. He's dying," the other answered in tears. "I mean," she completed, departing and picking a tissue to dry her face. "I knew this was going to happen... I thought I was prepared, but now..." Her voice got lost in the middle of more tears.

"You're never prepared enough for something like this, Jane. Never," Emily answered, hugging her again.

"But I thought I was, and now I don't know...I don't know if I can handle it... If I can stand beside him..."

"You won't have to do it alone. I'm here to help you, okay?"

"Will you stay with me?"

"For all the time needed."

"Thank you."

"Don't worry," Emily answered, facing the other in the eyes. "Don't you want to come in now? I'm sure he needs you."

"I know that." Jane started to dry her face again. When she thought she was reasonably presentable, she continued, "Let's go, then?"

"Yes, let's go." And both of them entered through the door into the room of a man who was dying of cancer.

Mr. Patrick was at an advanced age, but he was one of the loveliest persons that Emily knew. He and his daughter, Jane, had spent a lot of time in the hospital in the last few months, fighting against the disease and that's how they all got to know each other. The younger was nothing more than a young girl - she was only twenty - and her father was the only family last to her. Under all aspects, that would be a very, very sad afternoon...

Emily spent most of the time watching. Watching how they were related, how they loved each other. How Jane was careful when she had to change her father's position or give him something to drink or eat. How Mr. Patrick worried in assuring his daughter that everything would be all right, in telling her that he loved her. She would like to know what that was like, that so innocent and at the same time so powerful between parents and sons. She'd like to remember her father.

'But this day isn't about me,' she reproved herself mentally. She knew she wasn't there to think about her own unhappiness, but to help Jane, who surely needed as much support as she could get until that day was over.

Around five in the afternoon, he passed; peacefully, as if he had just fallen asleep. Emily stood with Jane for a while. Since that death had been announced for a while, practically everything was prepared, and there wasn't much left to be done.

Finally the young girl decided to go home, assuring she would be fine, that she didn't need company. After Jane left, though, Emily still stood in the room, alone, looking through the window for a long time. She was awaken from her reveries only when John's familiar hand caught her by her waist, hugging her tight.

"I heard what happened," he said softly.

"Mr. Patrick died around five."

"I know. Jane has already left?"

"Yes. She wanted to be alone, but I think I'll pass by later. Just to check how she is."

"Sorry I didn't pass here before. I just found out now."

"It's okay. Just because I'm having a hell of a day , doesn't mean you have to have one too."

"The kid from the morning, right?"

"Did you talk to Jones?"

"I met him during lunch."

"I hate cases like that."

"Don't we all?"

"Ah, but today was a really special day," Emily said, ironic. "I saw two families being destroyed in less than twelve hours."

"There was nothing you could do. The father beat his son and Mr. Patrick... Well, people die. Better than no one, we know that. We work in a hospital!"

"I know."

"What I can't stop thinking is that I contributed for your day to be so horrible, starting with my attack this morning," he said after a pause, finally turning her to face her. "I'm sorry, Emily."

"It's fine. You have some reason in all that."

"No, I had no reason. It's very unfair of me to want you to simply give up, stop asking. I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

"No, it's not. Emily, the only reason why I reacted like that today is that, well, is that I'm afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of losing you. You think I don't know?"

"Know what?"

"I knew I would lose you for this life, this world, that we don't even know, in the blink of an eye. I always knew. That's why I'm afraid."

"John..." Emily started, without really knowing what to answer ahead of this declaration, but he interrupted her.

"No, don't say anything, my sweetheart. Don't say anything." And he kissed her softly in her lips. "This is my problem and I should deal with it. I know it's not your fault," he completed so delicately that the tears she was holding inside from the beginning started to drip.

"Oh, John, I'm sorry... I'm sorry," she muttered passing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he whispered, passing his hands through her hair and kissing her head. "You don't have to be sorry." And then, releasing her a little so that he could see her face, started to dry the tears in her cheek with his fingers, changing the subject.

"Camila told me you guys are going out."

"Yes."

"Are you still going?" As an answer, she shaked her head affirmatively. "You should really. It'll make you feel better."

"But Jane..."

"Don't worry. You go out with Camila and have some fun. If you're so worried about Jane, I'll pass by to see how she is, okay?"

"Okay," Emily answered, finishing to dry her face.

"You'd better go now. Camila is already waiting for you in your room."

"She hates to wait."

"Exactly." He kissed her one more time. John stood in the empty room while Emily went to the bedroom first to wash her face and then went to her room, where she found Camila starting to get angry because of the long wait. The doctor calmed down a little, though, when she explained what had happened, then both of them left the hospital.

It was already dark, but the streets were well illuminated by lampposts. The town was pretty pleasant and Emily liked to walk, so they went walking a few blocks till reaching downtown.

"Oh, there's a store I want to see," she remembered when they passed by a street where the commerce was still opened.

"What kind of store?"

"Of bride dresses."

"What? Emily," the other made her stop, "after all we've talked this morning, I thought this would be the last thing in your head now."

"I know, but... Ah, damned! Here, you're my friend, not my doctor, so don't argue."

"But it's exactly as your friend that..."

"No 'buts'. Please, Camila, I really don't want to think about it now." And she dragged the other, crossing the street to the showcase of the store. After a few minutes watching, she decided to enter to talk to the saleswoman. It was in the exact moment that she extended the hand to open the door that she felt.

First, she thought it was her friend pulling her by her elbows, making her turn, because she thought she shouldn't be buying a bride dress without being sure she wanted to get married. She should've realized, however. She should've known that Camila wasn't strong enough to pull her that way and that, even if she was, she wouldn't do that so brutally. No, it wasn't Camila who had pulled her. And Emily didn't take long to realize that when she faced two big gray eyes watching her, goggled, surprised, absolutely bemused. There was something more in that look, though, than simply surprise. There was recognition, and relief, and love.

"My God, Ginny, it's you!" the man whispered in a way that she could barely hear.

"It's you!" he repeated, his eyes suddenly invaded by a huge feeling of happiness and, in the following moment, Emily saw herself being hug so tight, but so tight, that she thought she would not be able to breathe. She knew that was insane. The part of her brain that remained coherent was yelling to her to get rid of the hug, ask for some explanation, but, in that moment, Emily could not find the guts - or the will - enough to do so. No, in that exact moment, Emily felt... home. As she couldn't remember feeling like before.