“I strongly doubt that,” Whitney said, as Emma gave her a guilty look and giggled. Emma had been pushing the cart they’d already filled with dairy products and fresh vegetables, when a woman behind them jostled Emma and then let out a gasp when she saw her.
“Oh my God, it’s you! I can’t believe it,” she said, staring at Emma, who looked confused. The woman was only inches from her face. “I watched the show every week until you left it, and I cried for a week when you died.” She was talking a mile a minute, and Emma looked frightened. Whitney wanted to get her away from the woman as fast as she could, but she was blocking them in the aisle with her cart.
“I didn’t die, I was in a coma,” Emma said, confusing the show with real life.
“No, you were dead, they said so,” the woman insisted. “It nearly broke my heart when they wrote you out of the show,” she said intensely, and then waved to three friends who were pushing carts nearby, full of laundry detergent and toilet paper. Whitney could see that Emma was starting to look panicked. But by then, the fan’s friends had moved their carts toward them, and there was no way for Emma and Whitney to escape, unless they abandoned their cart. The woman who had discovered them was shrieking. “Do you believe it! It’s Emma Watts!” she said to her friends, as though Emma were an object of some kind, and not a human being. Two of her friends moved in closer then, and one of them took a picture of Emma with her cellphone, literally inches from her face.
“Thanks so much,” Whitney said, pushing one of their carts aside, and trying to maneuver Emma forward so they could get away from them, but Emma was rooted to the spot and was terrified. And with that, all three of the women were taking her picture and trying to pose with her.
“We left balloons for you at the hospital after the accident,” one of them was saying. “And we were sorry about your mom, that was just so terrible. When are you going to be on a show again?” They were talking at her all at once, as one of them drifted away, talking on her cellphone, and all Whitney wanted to do was get Emma out of the store before the women devoured her. It was the first time anything like it had happened, and reminded Whitney of similar incidents when she was a child, and fans rushed toward her mother and crowded around her, usually followed by paparazzi with cameras flashing in their faces. It had always terrified her, although Paige didn’t mind at all. She thought it was funny, and even exciting. Whitney had been phobic about it, and still had a horror of crowds as a result, and she was determined to protect Emma from them. She finally pulled her by the arm, and led her away as quickly as possible to get the rest of their groceries and then stand in line at the checkout.
“I’m sorry,” Whitney apologized to her, she could see that Emma was pale and shaking.
“It’s okay,” she said softly, “it used to happen all the time. Mom always thought it was a good thing, she said it meant the fans loved me on the show.” Then she looked at Whitney with a sad expression. “Did they say I died on the show when they wrote me out?” She looked upset about it, and Whitney didn’t want to admit she knew.
“I don’t know. I never watched it again once you weren’t in it. They probably had to do something dramatic,” Whitney said calmly, wishing the checker would hurry up. She didn’t want to run into the same women again when they were checking out.
The line took forever, and it was a relief when they paid and finally pushed their cart out to the parking lot, but as soon as they came through the doors, a photographer leapt at Emma, and Whitney realized that the women must have called the newspaper, and they had rushed over one of the paparazzi that hung around L.A., stalking actors and actresses and anyone publicity hungry enough to pose for them. The photographer spotted Emma immediately, and he was taking head shots at close range, as Emma turned away to try and avoid him.
“Come on, let’s have a big smile for your fans. This is a real ‘Where is she now?’ moment, your fans are going to love it….Where ya been, honey?” Emma didn’t answer, and Whitney wanted to slug him. But the flurry of activity had caught people’s attention, and a crowd was forming around them, as Whitney unlocked the car door and pushed Emma in, while she tried to block the photographer with their cart full of groceries.
“Leave her alone, for chrissake,” Whitney shouted at him, while he continued to shoot Emma’s picture through the back windows, and one of Whitney shouting at him.
“Who are you?” he said in Whitney’s face as she shoved past him, threw the grocery bags into the car, closed the doors, and got into the driver’s seat, but a dozen fans were crowded around them by then, and Whitney was afraid to run them down. She kept her hand on the wheel, and eased slowly into gear and moved forward, and they parted to let her pass, and then she drove as fast as she dared out of the parking lot, and turned to look at Emma, who was crying.
“They were scary,” she said in a raw voice. “Why do they do that?”
“Because you’re a star, sweetheart, and they have nothing better to do,” Whitney answered as they drove home. She opened the garage door with the remote, and took the groceries to the kitchen through an inside door in case they’d been followed, but everything was peaceful at home. She double locked the front door, then she put her arms around Emma and held her until she stopped shaking. “It’s okay, baby, it’s all over.”
The next day, Brett called them when she saw the story in the tabloids at the grocery store. She brought it over so they could see it. There was a photo of Emma on the front page with the headline, “Heartbroken Child Star Still in Hiding Mourning Mom.” It went on to talk about the accident, Paige’s death, and the fact that Emma had left the show to recover from her own injuries. They said she’d been in a wheelchair for the last nine months and was learning to walk again, which wasn’t true, but that never bothered them if it made for a good story.
“Why didn’t they just say I have a brain injury and I’m stupid now?” Emma said, upset by the story when she saw it.
“You’re not stupid!” Whitney corrected her. “You’re one of the smartest people I know, and you’re recovering.”
“Yes, I am stupid,” she said bursting into tears, “I can’t remember anything, I can’t even play chess anymore, and I read like a five-year-old and I’m never going to get into a normal school. And they probably won’t let me in if the paparazzi are chasing me.” It was a possibility but Whitney hoped that wouldn’t be the case. It reminded her of what Emma’s life had been like when Paige was alive. She had cultivated that kind of tabloid interest, which was exactly what Whitney had hated about it for Emma, particularly now, when she was trying to get away from all that.
Emma went up to her room to watch a movie on her iPad, and Whitney was having a cup of coffee in the kitchen with Brett when Belinda called her. She had seen the story too.
“Is she okay?” she asked Whitney, who told her what had happened at the supermarket.
“It was very unpleasant. I always forget how much I hate that.”
“They haven’t seen her face in a long time, so it’s not surprising they’re gunning for her,” Belinda said sensibly. She was used to tabloids and paparazzi from her work on the show.
“I’ll have to be more careful when we go out,” Whitney said with a sigh, and after Belinda hung up, Whitney threw the paper in the trash where it belonged. At least they didn’t know where Whitney lived, and they hadn’t followed them home.
Emma came downstairs a little while later, and looked at Whitney sadly. “Can I ask you a question, Aunt Whit?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Can I live with you forever?” Whitney’s eyes filled with tears as she put her arms around her.
“For sure. Forever. Where did you think you were going to live?”
“I don’t know. Mom always said you didn’t want kids, and I just thought you might get tired of me someday.” Her voice trailed off as Whitney reassured her.
&n
bsp; “You can live with me for as long as you want. I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t.” She meant every word she said and it showed.
“Even if the paparazzi follow me around and you hate that?”
“Even then. It used to happen to my mom when I was a little kid, and I didn’t like it then either. It’s so intrusive.” Emma nodded, although she was used to it from when she was on the show.
Brett went out that night and Emma and Whitney cooked dinner together, and afterward Bailey called her, and she told him about the tabloid fiasco.
“They’re such bottom-feeders,” he said, sounding disgusted. “Is she okay now?” Whitney said she was, but Emma had nightmares that night and screamed for her mother, and then lay in Whitney’s arms and cried until she went back to sleep. The paparazzi attack had unsettled her, but the next day Brett surprised her with some new movies and projects, and Emma was calm and happy when Whitney left for work. Amy called her as soon as she got there. She had a patient she wanted Whitney to see, another young girl with encephalitis, a brain infection, who was exhibiting psychotic behaviors. Amy wanted Whitney’s opinion about whether it was entirely due to her illness, or if she really was psychotic or had borderline personality disorder, unrelated to the disease.
“The whole family seems nuts to me,” Amy commented, “and I think the encephalitis may be coincidental.”
“Where is she?” Whitney asked. She was always intrigued by the cases Amy referred to her, and loved working with her.
“At Cedars.”
“I’ll go over and take a look at lunchtime, and call you back after I see her.”
“I hear the paparazzi were after you and Emma this weekend. How is she?”
“She’s okay. It rattled us both. I’m not used to that stuff anymore. She’s more of a trouper than I am. I’m out of practice.”
“I hate those guys,” Amy said. Whitney met with her first patient of the day after she hung up, and at lunchtime she went to Cedars-Sinai to evaluate Amy’s patient. The day flew by after that, and Emma was in good spirits and happy with Brett when Whitney got home. It had been a long day, but not a bad one. Amy’s case had been interesting. Whitney agreed with her that the whole family sounded dysfunctional, and had a lot more going on than their daughter’s encephalitis.
“What am I looking at there?” Amy asked when Whitney called her. Amy knew something was wrong but hadn’t been able to figure out what when she saw them. She had a strong feeling that the right diagnosis was psychiatric more than neurological.
“I think the child’s mother has Munchausen’s by proxy,” Whitney said seriously.
“Remind me again what that is.”
“The mom finds ways to make her kids sick, or seem sick, so that she gets all the attention and everyone feels sorry for her. I had a case like that last year and it took me about a month to figure it out. She looked like she was the mother of the year, and then I realized she was making her kids sick so she would look like a hero taking care of them. I think that’s what you’re dealing with here. I’m going to write you a report tonight.”
“What do I do to stop it?”
“It’s not easy to stop or cure. You really need to get the child away from her. What kind of father do you have on the case at Cedars?”
“Mr. Milquetoast. He doesn’t challenge anything his wife says. I think he’s afraid of her. Are you telling me the kid’s not sick? She’s faking it?”
“No, she is genuinely sick, but probably not as sick as she seems, and the mother will interfere with everything you’re doing so the kid stays sick, and Mom can pull off her Super Mom act. That’s why your specialty is a lot cleaner than mine. You’re dealing with genuinely sick people, and all you have to do is cure them. I’m dealing with crazies all day long, and I hate crazies who hurt their own children. They should be watching her closely. I’ll keep an eye on her if you like. How’s the child doing medically?”
“Not well, it’s why I wanted you to consult.”
“Your mom over there has the nurses snowed, but I don’t buy it.”
“Neither did I. I sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe I’ll put the girl in some kind of quarantine, so I can keep the mother away for a few days and see if she improves.”
“That’s a great idea,” Whitney encouraged her. And then they chatted for a few minutes about how Emma was doing. “She’s discouraged about the areas of her memory that haven’t come back yet. She keeps saying she’s stupid.”
“She’s the brightest child I’ve ever seen,” Amy said confidently.
“She wants to go to a normal school in September,” Whitney told Amy, “and she’s afraid they won’t let her in.”
“I’m sure they will. And her memory should be better by then,” Amy said warmly. “Is she remembering anything else about the accident?”
“Not yet, but I hope she will. I think the rest will open up after that.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way to you, but she’s progressing very quickly. Nine months is nothing in my world, with a brain injury,” Amy said seriously.
“My cases usually take longer than that too. The human mind is unpredictable, and so is the brain. Give me a broken leg any day.” Amy laughed at what Whitney said.
“We’d both be bored to death with that, wouldn’t we? I know I would. I like what I do, even if the healing process takes a long time. At least it’s challenging work.” She had loved working with Emma, and so had Bailey, and the relationship they’d developed with Whitney. Amy could sense that something more was going on between Whitney and Bailey, but she didn’t want to pry. And Bailey was always very private about his personal life, even with her. But she could sense that something was up. He had been happy and upbeat for months.
* * *
—
Whitney was busy for the rest of the day, and spent a quiet evening with Emma after that. Emma had had a nice day with Brett. They’d gone for a long walk in the neighborhood, and Emma’s reading was coming along, but slowly. It was still painful for her to read, it was part of the brain function that she hadn’t recaptured yet. Whitney still believed that anything was possible. She wasn’t ready to give up on Emma reviving her old skills. She was thinking about it that night, lying on her bed, when the phone rang, and Whitney was startled to hear Chad’s voice. She hadn’t heard from him in seven or eight months, and couldn’t imagine why he’d be calling her now. They had left nothing unsaid when they’d last spoken. She wondered if he was in L.A. and wanted to see her, but she didn’t want to see him, and didn’t want to get tangled up with talking to him either. There was nothing left to say.
“I just thought I’d call and check on you,” he said, sounding casual at first, which seemed absurd to her since he hadn’t called to check on her during nine months of Emma’s illness, so why now? “How’s your niece doing?”
“She’s recovering slowly. It’s been a long haul, but she’s speaking again and coming along nicely.”
“I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been worried about you.”
“Really?” Whitney sounded chilly with him. He deserved it.
“You took on an awful lot. It can’t have been easy for you.”
“It hasn’t been,” she said honestly. She had no intention of letting him off the hook, or easing his conscience. After five and a half years with him, she deserved better than she’d got from him in the end. He had basically made it clear to her that if she wasn’t going to institutionalize Emma, it was over between them. He had stuck by that, and never called her again when she refused to abandon Emma.
“I’ve thought about what you said to me when I saw you in L.A., that love is messy. I guess you were right about that. My son’s wife has M.S., and one of my daughters has been in rehab for the last six months. I wasn’t expecting that from either of them. And my ex-wife ha
s breast cancer, and has been on chemo for the last four months. I guess families get complicated sometimes. My kids are upset about their mom.” Whitney knew he couldn’t stand her, so he must not have enjoyed having to help her out either, if he had, or having to be sympathetic to her.
“I’m sorry to hear all that. It sounds like it’s been a tough year for you,” Whitney said politely, still not sure why he had called her.
“It has been. At my kids’ ages you don’t expect all these issues to crop up. What’s the outlook for your niece?”
“Better than it was when I last saw you. I’m hoping for a full recovery, but it may take a while. She’s getting there, though. She’ll be starting school in September. She’s given up her acting career for now, which is a good thing. She needs some normal kid time, which she never had when her mother was alive.”
“And she’s living with you?”
“Yes, she is,” Whitney said peacefully, with no regrets or apology to him. “It was hard at first, but she’s almost back to normal now.”
“It sounds like you’ve had a better year than I have.” No thanks to him. “You must be ready for a break.”
“Not really. I’ve been taking on some neurology cases, and I’m going back to work full-time when Emma starts school in September, so I’ll be busy. I’m working a four-day week now.”
“Any plans for the summer?” he asked, sounding hopeful, and she almost laughed into the phone. He’d had a rough winter and so had she, and now he wanted her to come play with him, so he wouldn’t be bored or alone on his boat. She could see him coming a mile away.
“I’m thinking of renting a house in Lake Tahoe. It’ll do Emma good,” she said casually. Their lives were entirely separate now, which was what he had decided in the fall.
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