“Everyone misses her on the show,” Belinda said sadly. They hadn’t replaced her when they wrote her out. Fans were still mourning her, and begging the producers to bring her back, which they couldn’t now. It wasn’t possible in the plot of the show, nor in the condition Emma was still in. And they had paid handsomely to release her.
“Belinda, I’ve had an idea and I need your help,” Whitney said and Belinda was intrigued. She explained to her about wanting to teach Emma sign language so she could communicate with them.
“She can’t speak at all?” Belinda was shocked. She hadn’t heard that before, but it explained why Emma had to leave the show. The producers had been very closemouthed about it, according to the confidentiality agreement they’d signed, to avoid gossip about Emma in the press.
“She’s forgotten all language. She speaks in some kind of talk that makes sense to her and no one else. Sign language might bridge that gap. We have a teacher, but I don’t think Emma likes him. She loves you, and if she remembers you, she might be willing to work with you. Her reading skills are sketchy now too, but I was wondering if you could try to get her to use an iPad? She has an app with pictures, but for now she’s trapped in a silent world until she learns to speak again, and that could take a long time. They don’t want us pushing speech therapy on her too soon. So what do you think?” Belinda was stunned by the offer, but also very touched.
“I learned some sign language in college. My best friend was hearing challenged. I’ve forgotten most of it, but I can learn again. Why don’t we give it a try?” Whitney told her when the next lesson was, and Belinda said she’d be there. She wanted to do everything she could to help, and promised not to discuss it on the set. She was eager to get started, now that she knew the limitations Emma was facing.
When Belinda rang the doorbell the next time Sam Bond was due to arrive, Emma was standing behind Whitney when she opened the door, and she couldn’t see who it was at first. As soon as she saw Belinda, she stood very still, as though digging through her memory, and unable to find what she was looking for. And then suddenly she let out a scream and flew into Belinda’s arms. Belinda stood there hugging her and fighting back tears.
“She remembers you,” Whitney said gently, watching Emma hug Belinda and beam up at her. Sam Bond arrived minutes later and their lesson went much better this time. Belinda remembered most of the signs, and showed Emma how to make them with her hands, as Sam watched them. He was vastly impressed with the young teacher, and in awe of her elegant Ethiopian grace and beauty, and he praised her for being so patient with Emma. The lesson went smoothly, and afterward, Belinda let Emma play on the iPad she’d brought with her. She had an application with big letters to teach toddlers to read, and Emma was studying it carefully. They were opening doors for Emma that night. Before Belinda left, she talked to Whitney with tears in her eyes.
“I had no idea she was this impacted by the accident. I should have known when she left the show. I didn’t want to intrude on you and call. Is she going to be okay?”
“I hope so,” Whitney said quietly. “I really appreciate your help.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to make communication easier for her, and get her reading again.” The difference between what Emma was capable of now and what she’d been able to do before had shocked Belinda profoundly. She had regressed to the stage of a five-year-old, which was an improvement from where she’d been right after the accident, when she first came out of the coma.
Sam offered Belinda a ride when she left, and in the car she explained to him what Emma had been like on the show, how bright and alert and precocious she was. It was heartbreaking to see how much ground she’d lost, and they both hoped that learning to sign would help her communicate, even though she was doing surprisingly well with no words at all, and a language all her own.
“Her aunt is an amazing woman,” Sam said as he drove Belinda to her apartment in West Hollywood, and he thought the same about her. He’d been impressed by what he’d seen Belinda do during the lesson. And he couldn’t help but notice that she was a beautiful woman. “I think Whitney is going to do everything she can to get that little girl talking again. If anyone can do it, I think she can. And maybe so can we,” he said hopefully. He dropped Belinda off a little while later, and said he’d see her at the next lesson. She waved as he drove away, and walked up the stairs to her apartment, thinking of Emma, and how happy she’d been to see her again, and how heartbreaking the effects of the accident were. She had enjoyed meeting Sam too. He was a very appealing man, and he thought exactly the same thing about her.
Emma looked exhausted when she sat down at dinner that night. The lesson had worn her out, and she was angry at Whitney for pushing her. She didn’t want to learn their stupid language, even if it meant she could see Belinda again, and she was having trouble working the iPad. It all felt like too much, and as Whitney bent over her to set her dinner down in front of her, Emma looked at her with an evil glint in her eye, and with no warning, she hauled off and punched Whitney, hitting her squarely on the chin. It sent Whitney reeling backward for a minute, as Brett reached out to steady her. Then she ran to get a plastic bag filled with ice for her. Whitney put it on her chin and sat down. Her knees were shaking. She hadn’t seen it coming. It was the second time Emma had hit her recently. Her eyes were smarting from the pain in her chin, and she looked at Emma ruefully.
“You’ve got a mean right hook for a nine-year-old,” she said to Emma, as she got up from the table without touching her dinner, and slunk upstairs to her room, looking embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to hurt her aunt again, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself and she did it anyway. She lay on her bed with tears in her eyes, and Whitney came up a few minutes later, and took her in her arms and held her, as tears slid down Emma’s cheeks.
“It’s okay, baby, don’t cry,” she whispered to her. “It’s going to be all right,” she said, kissing the top of her head and stroking her hair. She just hoped it was true. Until then, it would be like The Miracle Worker. Her new role model in life was Annie Sullivan. If she could do it, so could they. And one day, the doors would open, and Emma would be back again. They were doing all they could. As Whitney sat holding her, Emma reached up and kissed her on the chin where she’d hit her, and Whitney smiled at her. This time, Whitney didn’t let herself think about how angry she was at Paige, or wonder why the accident had happened. There was no point looking back. All they could do now was go forward until they reached better days. Emma sat clinging to her like the baby she had become, and whatever Whitney had wanted or hadn’t, or planned for her life, like it or not, she was a mother now, and she smiled as she rubbed the growing bruise on her chin. The price of motherhood was higher than she’d expected, but hopefully worth it in the end.
Chapter 8
Within a few weeks, they settled into a routine, with Brett’s help. Whitney went to her office to see patients every weekday, while Brett kept Emma busy with projects around the house. They baked cookies and made things. Brett showed her how to make a little cloth doll with button eyes and an embroidered mouth. She helped her on the iPad, and Brett practiced signing with her. Emma still made mistakes but it was the only way she could communicate other than pointing at what she wanted or pushing it away. She still lashed out occasionally, and Brett and Whitney had the bruises to show for it. Brett was a good sport about it, and on one occasion Emma had given her a black eye. They were learning to dodge her flailing fists whenever necessary. Bailey and Amy assured them that Emma would calm down eventually, as the damage to her brain began to heal, if it ever did. If not, they would have to live with the way she was now.
Emma continued speaking in her own unintelligible language, and got angry and frustrated when they couldn’t understand her. It was obvious that the sounds meant something to her, but to no one else. And she had added no new words to her vocabulary, except those she learned to sign, which were simple and basic, like food, lunch, dinner, dress, shoes, bath, time for bed, which was a message she never liked. It was November, three and a half months after the accident, and they were managing as best they could. Bailey and Amy evaluated Emma weekly, and reported to the neurologist at Cedars-Sinai. All three doctors still believed that further improvement was possible, but there were no solid signs of it yet. And if it didn’t happen, Whitney knew she would have to make their current systems work.
There was no way Emma could attend school the way she was now, but she seemed happy and healthy a lot of the time. She still stared longingly at the photographs of her mother, and followed Whitney around the house as soon as she got home from work. Emma’s mental age now was closer to five than nine.
Whitney was still seeing half her normal caseload, and had taken on no new patients since September. She had enough on her plate as it was, but she was grateful things weren’t worse. Brett was a godsend for her. She had grown attached to Emma, and was deeply committed to helping her try to relearn all the things she had lost.
Whitney was seeing a patient when a red light flashed on the desk in her office near Melrose Place. It meant that there was an emergency of some kind and she had to interrupt the session. She was seeing a seventeen-year-old boy who had suicidal tendencies and had just left the hospital after a month’s stay. He was doing better, and they were focusing on his current plans, when Whitney apologized and picked up the phone to speak to her secretary at the desk outside.
“Yes, Rosie?” Whitney asked in a calm voice. She assumed there was another patient in distress holding on an outside line, which happened from time to time. Her secretary sounded breathless when she answered.
“It’s Brett, at the house. You’d better talk to her right away.” Whitney asked no other questions, pressed a button, and picked up the line. Brett was crying when she answered.
“It’s Emma, I can’t find her. I went upstairs to get her a sweater so we could go outside, and I couldn’t find her when I got back. She wasn’t upset or angry or anything. She was playing with the iPad. It was on the floor and the back door was open when I got back. I couldn’t find her anywhere. She’s gone. I’m so sorry. I ran up and down the block and asked everyone. No one has seen her.”