Part 2: Yes and No
I leaned forward.
“Emma?”
Nothing.
Noah looked at me.
“See? She said yes.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“One movement means yes. Two means no.”
I knew unconscious patients could make involuntary movements. I didn’t want to mistake a reflex for communication.
“Show me, buddy.”
Noah nodded.
“Mom, is my name Noah?”
Her finger moved once.
He asked another question.
“Am I nine years old?”
Her finger moved twice.
My heart raced.
“Take your hand away for a second, Noah.”
He did.
I leaned toward Emma.
“Emma, is Noah seven?”
After a pause, her finger moved once.
I sank back into my seat, stunned.
“How long has this been going on?”
Noah lowered his head.
“About four Saturdays.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried. They said people in comas sometimes move.”
I swallowed.
“Buddy, you should’ve told me.”
He looked hurt.
“You wouldn’t have believed me either.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because I heard you and Grandma talking about keeping me away from Mom.”
I remembered that conversation.
We’d been worried Noah wasn’t sleeping enough.
But he had misunderstood.
“I thought you’d stop bringing me here,” he whispered.
I took his hand.
“We were worried about you, sweetheart.”
He nodded.
Then he said something that struck me harder than anything else.
“Dad, why are you always scared to stay with Mom?”
I froze.
“Scared? Noah, I’m here every day.”
“I know. But you’re always leaving.”
He started counting on his fingers.
“You get coffee. You take work calls. You talk to Grandma. You ask the nurses questions. You go downstairs.”
I tried to answer.
Every reason sounded sensible.
But Noah wasn’t done.
“You come here a lot, Dad. But when everything gets quiet, you leave.”
I looked toward Emma.
He was right.
For two months, I’d kept myself busy because sitting beside my unconscious wife with nothing to do terrified me.
Then Noah spoke again.
“I think you’re scared Mom will remember.”
My chest tightened.
“Remember what?”
“You two fighting before your trip.”
I closed my eyes.
Emma and I had argued the evening before I left.
She’d stood in our kitchen, asking me to stay home.
“Jeremy, please don’t go this time.”
“Emma, it’s only three days.”
“It’s never just three days. You’re always working.”
“The meeting is important.”
“And what about us?”
I’d picked up my suitcase.
“We’ll talk when I get back.”
Then I’d walked out.
We never had that conversation.
Emma’s medical emergency wasn’t caused by my trip. I knew that.
But guilt had trailed me ever since.
Noah watched me quietly.
“Was Mom angry when you left?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why you won’t stay?”
I took a breath.
“Partly.”
He looked puzzled.
“But you love Mom.”
“More than anything.”
“Then why?”
I struggled to explain.
“Sometimes I get so busy fixing problems that I forget people need more than solutions.”
Noah looked toward Emma.
“Mom just wanted you here.”
I nodded.
“I know that now.”
He thought for a moment.
“Let’s ask her something.”
“What?”
“If she’s still mad.”
My heart began to pound.
“Noah, maybe we shouldn’t.”
But he turned to Emma.
“Mom, are you mad at Dad?”
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Then asked again.
Still nothing.
I looked away.
“Maybe she’s tired.”
Noah frowned.
“Maybe that’s too hard.”
He thought carefully.
Then leaned closer.
“Mom, do you want Dad to stay?”
Silence.
I watched her hand.
Several seconds passed.
Then one finger moved.
Once.
Yes.
