“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.
“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.