I Could Write a Book: A Modern Variation of Jane Austen's Emma

by Karen M Cox

  I knew she wouldn’t be so eager to go if it wasn’t George taking us, but I would take her company any way I could find it today.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a warm smile, truly grateful for his kindness.

  He returned my smile, but it wasn’t the indulgent, teasing grin from before. It was full of comfort, an interchange between close, familiar friends.

  “All right, then. Let’s go watch the moon landing. The party should be winding down after that, and we’ll find your father and tell him where we’re going. It will be several hours before the actual moonwalk. We should be back in plenty of time to see it.” He held the swinging door open and with a sweeping gesture, he ushered us back into the living room.

  The lunar module touched down, and everyone’s eyes were glued to the set in anticipation. I had to admit, it was pretty exciting. I barely heard Neil Armstrong’s voice crackling over space and time and through the speakers beside the TV screen.

  The Holloman twins’ father shushed us all. And then I heard it:

  “Houston…um…Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed.”

  The room erupted into cheers and applause. I shot George a reluctant grin. He was standing a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, smiling back at me, and immediately my mood lifted.

  Two

  George sat behind the wheel of his father’s Mercedes convertible, top down at the girls’ request. The day was hot, sunny, and humid. That was one thing he missed about California—the agreeable Mediterranean-like climate.

  “Why didn’t you drive your Corvette?” Emma’s little friend piped up from the back seat.

  “It’s a two-seater. There are three of us,” he replied, making eye-contact through the rear-view mirror.

  “We could have squished together,” she suggested, her eyelashes fluttering in her attempt to look enticing.

  So cute, their little crushes. He wondered, though, if her crush was on him or on his Vette.

  “Too dangerous.” His uncompromising response seemed to make her shrink back against the seat.

  He stole another glance at Emma sitting beside him in the passenger seat. She was solemn but not as glum as she had been at the house. For a minute there, he thought she might cry, a sure sign that she was deeply troubled. He had rarely seen Emma cry, not even when she was little. Of course, he hadn’t been around her as much in the last four years, and teenage girls had a way of softening up. Maybe she was as emotional as the rest of them, now that she was in high school. Pity, if that was the case. He’d always had a grudging respect for the little Woodhouse girl who pouted and frowned when she was hurt or punished but refused to cry in front of anyone.

  Of course, this was an important day for her. One that would make even the toughest person a little emotional. George wondered at the wisdom of Mr. Woodhouse having a get-together on his wife’s birthday. But as Emma said earlier, perhaps he wanted to forget. It was understandable, but he was sorely mistaken if he thought Emma would ever forget. Mistaken and inconsiderate too, especially of Emma’s feelings. And what made Nina run off to Florida this week? She was usually a lot more tuned into Emma’s well-being. She rarely left her niece to deal with these things on her own. Perhaps she too needed to escape the memories.

  The Mercedes clung to a curve in the road, and George slowed as they approached the next hill. Beside the road, he saw a white brick sign with the word “Hillcrest” in black letters adorning the entrance.

  “Turn here,” Emma needlessly reminded him.

  George cornered onto the long, paved, tree-lined road that led up to the place. Flowers were everywhere. It appeared the staff put a lot of effort into making everything look pleasant and welcoming.

  He rolled to a stop at the end of the road, and Emma opened her car door without saying a word. Her friend looked back and forth between them, but George nodded to her. “You’d best go in with her. Do you want me to come around and get the car door for you?”

  “Oh!” she said, “Oh. No, that’s not necessary. I’ll get it.” She giggled again.

  This one is quite the giggler.

  Emma rolled her eyes, opened the back door, and pulled her friend out by the hand.

  After parking the car, he jogged up a short flight of steps covered with green indoor-outdoor carpet and opened the painted wood and etched-glass door. George halted once he was in the foyer, letting his eyes adjust to the low light and absorbing the cool quiet. A chandelier graced the high ceiling, and little groups of soft chintz chairs and sofas were scattered about to welcome visitors. The flowers on the end tables were artificial, so instead of their perfume, he smelled the faint scent of industrial-strength cleaner. The woman at the front desk looked up and beckoned him with a warm smile.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “I’m here with Emma Woodhouse to see Barbara.”

  “She said you’d be along in a minute.” She pointed to her left. “It’s down that hallway, Room 304.”

  As he approached the room, he saw Emma’s friend, whose name he couldn’t remember to save his life, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed. She wrinkled her nose, and he became aware of the smell of urine, and the sickly-sweet odor of glucose IVs and tube feeding. The friend looked up, saw George, and quickly pasted on a bright smile. He braced himself—it was always a shock to see Barbara here at Hillcrest—and gestured Emma’s young friend to stand in the doorway with him.

  Emma was beginning to resemble her mother somewhat in appearance, and fortunately, she also seemed to have Barbara’s brains and outgoing personality.

  George smiled at the comparison and then grew solemn. The Woodhouses were a perfect family for a while, but when Emma was seven, Barbara suffered an aneurysm. She was unconscious for weeks, and the doctors were not sure she would make it, but then miraculously, she began to turn around. Her family was ecstatic at first, but over time, it became apparent that a complete recovery was not to be. Barbara could no longer walk or talk or feed herself. After several months of attempted rehabilitation and around the clock nurses, John made the tough decision to put her at Hillcrest Convalescent Center. He’d told George once that he wanted his daughters to have as normal a life as possible, and perhaps that was his primary motivation. But Barbara living at Hillcrest also allowed John to avoid dealing with his own heartbreak on a daily basis. When considered from that point of view, it wasn’t the most altruistic decision, especially since finances weren’t an issue—but George tried to never judge another man’s decisions unless he had walked a mile in his shoes. He had no idea what John Woodhouse had to endure.

  After Barbara went to stay at Hillcrest, her family came to see her almost every day. But as the girls began to grow up and become more involved in school and other activities, those visits became less frequent. Isabel was gone for the entire summer this year studying art in Italy.

  However, Emma’s devotion to her mother had yet to waver. She insisted her father take her to visit Barbara almost every Sunday and most holidays as well. Thus, mother and daughter had a relationship of sorts, and Barbara’s single sister, Nina, moved into a small house across the road from the Woodhouses to perform the office of mother to the little girls. She really stepped up to the plate, in George’s opinion, and he had a lot of respect and admiration for Nina Taylor.

  Emma’s voice carried him forth to the present, and he stepped just inside the room, not wanting to disturb the mother and daughter’s precious time together.

  Emma sat in the chair next to her mother’s wheelchair, arranging pillows to support Barbara’s flaccid right side and help her sit upright.

  “I’ll talk to them about this, Mama. They should check on you more often so you aren’t all slumped over this way.” She arranged the blanket over her mother’s legs and replaced a slipper that had fallen off. “There, that’s better, isn’t it?”

  A hoarse, unintelligible moan issued from Barbara’s mouth. Emma leaned over and kissed her mother’s pasty cheek. “Did you know it’s y
our birthday today?” She reached over and pulled a card off the nightstand. “See, here’s one of your birthday cards. It’s from Nina. She went to Florida this week with some friends from work.”

  Barbara grunted.

  “Yes, she needed a vacation from me, I’m sure.” Emma laughed. Barbara put her left hand to her daughter’s cheek and made a soft, maternal murmuring sound.

  “And look.” Emma stood and walked over to the table below the window sill. “These are from Daddy and Isabel and me. Don’t they smell nice?”

  Barbara patted her knee with her stronger hand, and Emma chuckled. “I’m too big to sit on your knee now. I’m almost grown. I’d squash you.”

  They sat in comfortable silence for a minute until Emma ventured another topic. “School starts in about a month.” Barbara’s eyes watched her intently, waiting for her to go on.

  “I’m taking geometry, English, world history, biology, chorus, and Latin.” She ticked the subjects off on her fingers. “Daddy said you’d approve of me taking Latin. He said you told him it was the most useful thing you’d ever learned because it helps with so many other subjects.”

  Barbara nodded and her lips spread into an asymmetrical smile. She groaned loudly and made a sound that was almost like a laugh.

  “Oh! What am I thinking? Where’s your little picture board?” Emma hunted around the room and frowned when she opened the nightstand. “This thing doesn’t do you any good sitting in the drawer. I’ll have to talk to them about that, too.” She laid the array of pictures and simple words mounted on a piece of cardboard in her mother’s lap. They proceeded to have a one-sided conversation of questions and comments from Emma and indications of “yes” and “no” from Barbara that lasted almost fifteen minutes. George joined them when Emma beckoned, and he shook Barbara’s good hand. That’s when he realized how much of a burden a one-sided conversation could be, but young Emma made it all look easy, introducing topics and comments in a matter-of-fact way that belied her youthful age. Her friend stood timidly at the door, waiting, but obviously ready to leave the moment Emma was willing to go.

  Finally, after one more check for her mother’s comfort, they made their goodbyes. Emma embraced Barbara, whose eyes shone with unshed tears.

  “I’ll see you on Sunday, okay?”

  Barbara gave a jerky nod that required her head and most of her upper body to execute and pointed with a gnarled hand at the board in her lap.

  “What?” Emma looked down. “Oh. Yes, Mama, I love you too.”

  They were a quiet bunch on the way back to the Woodhouse home. Emma’s friend stared out the window and George felt solemn too.

  Emma let out a long sigh, and he looked over at her, afraid of what miserable look he might see on her face. Instead, she smiled at him. “Thank you for driving me to see her, George. I won’t forget it.”

  “You’re welcome.” He tried to keep pity out of his expression because he knew she wouldn’t want it.

  She turned to address her friend in the back seat. “Hey, Carol Ann.” So that’s the girl’s name!

  “Yes?”

  “You want to call Debbie and Sheila and see if they can go to the movies tonight? Don’t worry, George.” She turned back to face him. “You don’t have to drive us. Debbie’s got her driver’s license and her mother’s Cadillac.”

  “Well now, that’s a relief.”

  She stifled a chuckle. “Yes, yes, you can go back to doing whatever it is you big-time college graduates do.”

  “Filling out law school applications probably,” he grumbled.

  “You know, you really ought to get out more.” She poked his arm as she spoke to emphasize her point. “All work and no play makes George a dull boy.”

  He grinned at her teasing and turned in at the big house on Hartfield Road.

  Three

  October 27, 1973

  Lexington, Kentucky

  I paced the hallway in front of my father’s hospital room, impatient for the doctor. I had arrived from Georgia earlier that afternoon, and after a brief stop at home to check in with Mrs. Davies, our housekeeper, I rushed straight over to Saint Luke’s Hospital. What a whirlwind twenty-four hours it had been! Ever since I got the call from Nina about my father’s stroke, I had been on a mission to get home. After telling the dean of students what had happened, I was granted leave to come home for a week and sort out what I could.

  How am I to bear it if he doesn’t recover? He’s my only surviving parent since Mama passed away. A panicked feeling rose in the back of my throat and tears threatened to spill over. No, mustn’t think like this now. Have to focus. Ask the doctor my questions. Figure out what to do next. Daddy is stable. Intermittently conscious. These are good signs. I shook my head to rid my morbid thoughts.

  The floor nurse said Nina and Isabel had gone out for a quick bite to eat and would be back soon. I chewed my thumb, a bad habit from childhood that still reared its ugly head when I was overly anxious but immediately stopped when I heard the elevator ding. Thank goodness. Nina is back. Now we can start planning what on earth we’re going to do.

  But it wasn’t Nina who stepped out of the elevator. It was George Knightley, followed by a pretty woman with dark hair and eyes whom I didn’t know.

  George was dressed in white shorts, a polo shirt, and sweat bands around his wrists. His Woman of the Month was dressed similarly in a pale pink tennis skort and matching top. Apparently, they had just stepped off the tennis court. Or out of a country club advertisement, I joked to myself, despite my anxiety.

  After a frantic look around, George spied me standing in the hall. He strode over and enfolded me in a fierce embrace before taking me by the shoulders and stepping back so he could look in my eyes.

  “Emma! How is he? How are you?”

  “How did you know?” I was flabbergasted that George, of all people, would be the first familiar person I would see in the neuro wing of the hospital.

  “Mother called the country club looking for me. We were just getting ready to go out on the courts. I would have been here earlier, but I was out of town until late this morning and didn’t know what had happened.”

  I looked over his shoulder, reminding him of his companion. “Oh, um, Emma—this is Jeannette Eaton.” He stepped back, indicating his date with a hurried gesture. “Jeanette, Emma Woodhouse. Her father is Dad’s law partner and my boss.”

  “Oh”—Jeanette shook my hand, hers all limp-wristed and soft—“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “Thank you.”

  “What have you found out?” George interrupted.

  “Nothing much. I’m waiting on the doctor now.”

  “Is John…?”

  “I just arrived about a half hour ago myself, but I had a chance to talk to the nurse and peek in on him. He’s conscious, but he seems confused, and his left side is affected. He’s having trouble moving his arm.”

  “Where’s Isabel?”

  “She and Nina just stepped out for a quick dinner. They’ve been here all day.”

  “What about you? Have you had dinner? Can I get you something? Take you somewhere?”

  Jeannette stiffened and let out an exasperated sigh. Oh, so now I’m ruining her tennis match and dinner date with Mr. Wonderful? I smiled fondly at George and took his arm, leading him toward my father’s room.

  “Now, don’t you worry one iota about me, George Knightley. I’ll be just fine. Would you like to see Daddy? I’m sure you would be a great comfort to him.” I glanced over his shoulder at Jeannette and gave her an affected smile. “We’ll just be a minute, Jenny, and then you two can be on your way.”

  George approached the bedside, his blue eyes serious, brow furrowed in concern. “John?” he ventured in a soft voice, touching Daddy’s arm. “How are you, sir?”

  Daddy roused from his sleep and looked around the room for a second before settling his eyes on George.

  “Who are you?” he asked. His voice was hoarse and uncontrolled. />
  George looked taken aback at Daddy’s lack of recognition. “It’s George, sir, George Knightley.”

  “You’re not George Knightley! George would never look so unkempt. Filthy things, mustaches. So difficult to keep groomed.”

  I stifled a chuckle, and George looked aghast that I would find this funny. I went up and put my hand on his arm.

  “I’m not laughing at him, just at you. You should see your expression.” I cleared my throat and addressed my father. “It really is George, Daddy.” I leaned and whispered in George’s ear, “He doesn’t recognize you with the mustache.”

  “I’ve had it for three months. He’s seen me plenty of times with it.”

  “His short-term memory isn’t very good. At least, that’s what the nurses have told me.”

  “Will he recover his memory?”

  The smile slipped off my face. “They don’t know yet. I’m hoping the doctor can shed some light on the situation when he gets here. It’s only been two days since the stroke, so I’m hopeful, but...”

  “Your father’s going to get well, Emma Kate,” he said, squeezing my hand.

  Tears stung my eyes. “Yes, I know you’re right. I know he will.” Looking at Daddy’s now closed eyes, I whispered, “He just has to.”

  George put his arm around me in a show of support, and I leaned my head against him—to borrow a bit of his strength so I could deal with the days ahead.

  “How’s Wellington this fall?”

  I shrugged. “Same. They were very kind about me taking a week to see to Daddy.”

  “That’s good.” His arm slipped from around my shoulders, and he clasped my hand in his. He looked down and fingered the charms on the bracelet around my wrist. “Is this your mother’s bracelet?”

  “Nina gave it to me after Mama passed away.”

  “And you always wear it?”

  “Not always. I wear it a lot, though. I like to remember her.”

  “I remember her wearing this when I was a boy. It’s beautiful.”