“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 curren
t 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.”
“Did you check the pool?” Whitney asked with her heart in her throat. She lived in constant terror that Emma would fall in and drown, since she no longer remembered how to swim and her balance still wasn’t perfect. Whitney had had an automatic cover installed, but sometimes the pool cleaners forgot to close it.
“It was the first place I looked,” Brett said, choking on a sob. “Should I call the police?” If someone picked her up off a street, or Emma were lost, she wouldn’t be able to tell anyone where she lived or even her name. Whitney had tried leaving little slips of paper in her pockets with her name and address, but Emma threw them away.
“I’ll be home in ten minutes,” Whitney said in a tense voice. “Let’s drive around the neighborhood first.” Whitney glanced at her patient with an apologetic look as she hung up the phone. “Charlie, I’m really sorry. I have an emergency at home.” It was the first time she had ever said anything like it to him and he looked surprised. Whitney’s home life never intruded on her work, and in fact, he knew nothing personal about her, not even if she was married or had kids herself. He smiled as they both stood up. He liked knowing that she was human after all, and he wasn’t the only one with problems. His life was a constant battle with his parents, and he hated the school he went to. He said he had no friends there, but his parents liked its social status. He had done everything he could think of to get kicked out. His parents’ large donations to the school had kept him there so far, but he was working on it.
“It sounds like you have a kid who ran away,” he said, curious about her, and Whitney sighed.
“Not really. She may have wandered off. My niece lives with me. She was in an accident last summer, she has a brain injury, and she can’t be out on her own. She lost her memory and can’t speak.” It was as simply as she could put it, without dragging him through the details.
“That sounds sad,” he said, looking sympathetic. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I hope so. She’s probably walking around the neighborhood. She’s nine. I’ve got to go home and help find her. I’m really sorry. Can we reschedule for tomorrow?” He nodded. “Your mom should be back in a few minutes,” she said, as she put on her jacket, thanked him for his understanding, and hurried toward the door.
“I hope you find her!” he called after her, and stood at the window as he watched Whitney get in her car. He liked her. She was a lot nicer and more reasonable than his parents, whom he hadn’t gotten along with since he turned fourteen. He broke all their rules, and smoked joints in his bedroom when they were out. They went nuts when they found evidence of it later. He watched Whitney’s car drive away as fast as she dared, and sat down to wait for his mother to pick him up, thinking about the injured niece that Whitney had described. It was a surprise to him to realize that his psychiatrist had problems and a life.
The house was ten minutes from Whitney’s office, and she pulled into her driveway a few minutes later. Brett was waiting outside, looking frantic.
“Any sign of her?” Whitney asked, looking worried and fighting panic as Brett shook her head.
“I drove all around the neighborhood before I called you. No one’s seen her.” Whitney’s new station wagon was parked at the curb. It was the car she had Brett drive for errands, or when they had to take Emma to the doctor. She still hated riding in the car, so Whitney knew she wouldn’t get into a stranger’s car easily, but she was a nine-year-old child, and delicate for her age, and it wouldn’t be difficult to pick her up and abduct her. She was a beautiful little girl.
“I’ll head north, you go south,” Whitney instructed her. “Call me if you see anything. We can call the police as soon as we get back. I’ll meet you back here in twenty minutes, if we don’t find her first.”
“What if we don’t?” Brett said with tears brimming in her eyes.
“Then the police will find her,” Whitney said with a look of iron determination. “You checked every place in the house?” Brett nodded, and Whitney made a quick run-through before she got back in her car. She noticed that one of the photographs of Paige was missing from next to Emma’s bed, and Whitney wondered if Emma had gone looking for her somewhere, and then she sped off. She had an idea. Brett had shown Whitney the iPad she’d been playing with before she left. There was a picture of a house on the screen, which looked a little like Paige’s home, except that the one on the iPad had roses in front of it, a family with two children and a dog, and the word under it in bold letters said “Home.” But Whitney knew that Emma wouldn’t be able to find her way back to her old house. It was about two miles away, across several big streets.
Paige’s house had sold almost immediately. They’d had an offer on it a week after Whitney had listed it, because of the reasonable asking price. It was in escrow now, and the sale was due to close in two weeks. Whitney just wanted to get rid of it, and the stager had already removed the rented furniture since the deal had been made. The buyers were thrilled with their new home, and had already gone through it with an architect planning some changes. Whitney wondered now if the image of the iPad had reminded Emma of it, unlocked another door in her brain, and she was trying to find her old home. Whitney looked carefully down every street she drove through. She saw mothers pushing babies in strollers, deliveries being made to houses, a two-year-old on a little plastic tricycle with his mother, and then she saw Emma, sitting on someone’s front lawn with her arms around a black Lab, looking forlorn and lost. Whitney slowed down, and pulled over to the curb. Her heart was pounding, but Emma looked unharmed and the dog wagged its tail as Whitney approached and sat down next to Emma on the lawn. She could see that she was holding the framed photograph of her mother in her hand. Whitney gently leaned over and kissed her, and Emma looked away, and seemed disappointed to have been found. Whitney signed to her then.
“Where are you going?” Emma didn’t answer her for a long time, and struggled with a word instead of signing. She had to push out the word like she was giving birth to it, but finally made a sound that tore at Whitney’s heart.
“Home…” she said clearly, and then added one of the other words she had mastered. “Mommmm…Home…Mom…” she repeated several times. How could Whitney explain to her that both were gone now, her old house and her mother? Emma knew that Paige was gone, but there was no way to explain to her about the house, and Whitney didn’t want to. It was too complicated to tell her the house had been sold, and all the reasons why. Instead, she sat there with her arm around her, and nodded, and then slowly she stood up, and Emma did too. They walked to Whitney’s car, and the black Lab tried to follow. Whitney opened the back door of her car, and Emma slipped onto the backseat. She didn’t try to resist this time, and Whitney knew what she had to do now. Emma was still clutching the photograph of her mother as Whitney fastened her seatbelt, and then got into the car and turned on the ignition. She texted Brett that she had found Emma before putting the car in gear. She didn’t have the keys to Emma’s house with her, but even if they couldn’t go inside, at least Emma could see it. Maybe it would release some memo
ries that would open other doors for her and remind her of all she had forgotten and was trying to remember. All her old memories were still out of reach.
Whitney drove the remaining distance, and the familiar house came into view a few minutes later. The for sale sign had been removed since it was in escrow, and Whitney noticed, as the buyers had, that it was in need of paint, but it was a sweet house, and Emma nearly jumped out of her seat when she saw it, nodded frantically at Whitney, and pounded her on the shoulder. Her guess had been right. Emma had been trying to find her old house.
“Home!” she shouted. “Home! Mom!” The words didn’t come easily as Whitney pulled into the driveway and stopped the car. She wondered if Emma thought she would find Paige then.
“I know, baby…I know….” Whitney said softly, and how could she explain to her that they didn’t live there anymore, or even own it, or not for much longer?
Emma ran to the front door, and tried to open it, and looked at Whitney expectantly as she walked up to it, and shook her head, and gestured that she couldn’t open it. Emma nodded frantically, pounded on the door then, and rang the doorbell, and no one answered. Whitney shook her head and then signed to her. “Mommy isn’t here anymore” was the best explanation she could think of, as Emma continued to nod and then started to cry, and then sank down on the front steps, looking defeated. Whitney sat down next to her, and signed, “I’m sorry.”
Silent Night Page 11