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“Today, Tom Cooper’s sister, Fiona Marsh, took the stand in defense of her in-laws’ decision to not vaccinate their son, Jake, and daughter, Clara.
“Ms. Marsh gave a stirring and heartfelt account of her own son’s autism diagnosis and its possible connection to his receipt of the MMR vaccine when he was a mere thirteen months old. Her testimony cut through early beliefs that the Cooper family’s decision was borne of conspiracy theories and governmental cover-ups and for the first time put a very human face on the real-life issues the family has faced.
“I believe, madam, that you have been supporting Kate O’Hara’s cause and following this situation closely? Can you share your thoughts on the trial so far with RTé News viewers?”
“Oh, yes, from day one, I’ve been paying attention. And I’ve been standing here since the trial started. This is a major story and it’s happening right in our backyard. It’s a big deal.”
“Indeed it is. And I’m assuming from your placard that you are in support of Kate O’Hara?”
“Yes. I have supported Kate from the very beginning. I feel so terrible for her and her little girl.”
“And what do you think of today’s information? That the Coopers may have some sound reasoning for not vaccinating their children?”
“Well, I mean, it’s tough. You can’t help but feel bad for them, too. After all, every parent just wants to protect their kids. And if they had firsthand experience with their nephew developing autism because of vaccines...well, I’m a mother—that might give me pause, too.”
“Yet medical professionals have stated, repeatedly, that there is no correlation between vaccinations and the chance of developing autism or any other condition. Are you saying that those medical professionals—doctors and experts all of them—are wrong?”
“I’m not saying they are necessarily wrong, but they might not be right, either. I mean, if I saw my child change from one day to the next, I might start to think that the vaccine caused it, too. I think as parents we have to trust our instincts. And I think there is a lot of stuff that the general public isn’t told, lots of cover-ups. This could be one of them.”
“It sounds as if you might be changing your stance on this? Is that correct?”
“Well, I don’t know if I would say I’m changing it, but everything certainly doesn’t feel so black-and-white. I guess there are two sides to every story.”
“Interesting commentary from a bystander in the crowd here outside High Court buildings. Begging the question: What does this mean for Kate O’Hara’s case? Is the tide of public opinion shifting in favor of the defendants? And most important of all, how is all of this playing to the judge? Hannah Slattery, RTé News.”
* * *
Declan and I watched the evening news reports from my kitchen table, Rosie between us in her wheelchair.
Regardless of public opinion, truth be told, Fiona Marsh’s testimony had made a huge impact on me. I also thought that the judge seemed relieved to finally hear something positive about Madeleine and her family, and for once I was starting to understand why the vaccination issue hadn’t been so clear-cut for them.
Of course, I didn’t say anything like that to Declan. He had optimism in spades and kept telling me that everything was going great.
While I was working very hard to take his advice, I was also trying to envision Rosie’s future and mine once this case was over.
Regardless of what happened, I had started to think about the idea that we would probably have to move. Outside of the obvious discomfort of living in a community where I could possibly run into the family I’d sued, I knew we couldn’t continue living in this house, which being on two floors was wholly inappropriate for Rosie’s incapacitation.
There must have been something distant in my expression, because Declan abruptly stopped talking.
“Hey,” he said gently. “Are you there? You seem a million miles away this evening.”
I offered him a tired smile. “Sorry.” I pulled the bowl of chicken soup I’d been helping Rosie with closer to me and glanced around, trying to organize my thoughts.
Seemingly reading my mind, Declan jumped up. “I’ll get a napkin,” he offered and grabbed the kitchen roll.
He returned to me a moment later and put the napkin in front of Rosie. I was about to mutter an automatic thanks but was startled when she in a somewhat mumbled and garbled way got in before me. “Thank you.”
My mouth dropped open and my heart lifted as I looked from Rosie to Declan in delight. “Good girl, sweetheart, that was amazing!”
Whenever she initiated communication or worked to say something—which she tried really hard to do—I felt hope spring from within me. She was getting there and that meant so much.
“You are so welcome, Rosie,” replied Declan with a grin, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Anytime.”
I would be lying if I said I didn’t like having him around and sharing these little moments of positivity with him. There was something so comforting about his presence—the way he seemed to fill a room. Thankfully, Rosie seemed to feel the same way.
Interrupting my thoughts, he asked, “Are you hungry, Kate? Can I get you anything?”
He seemed to always be aware of what and how often I was eating. I knew I could stand to put on a few pounds—it was just sometimes I didn’t have the time or the appetite to eat three square meals a day. Regardless, I was touched by his concern.
“I will after I put her to bed,” I said quietly. “And...thank you.”
For the next few minutes the three of us sat in companionable silence as Rosie finished her soup. While Hazel was looking after her during the trial, I was determined to use her only when I wasn’t around—not just because I was hoping to achieve a new normal, but also to try to control the scarily expensive medical-care bills appearing on a monthly basis.
I picked up the bowl and stood to take it to the sink at the same moment that Rosie offered up a pretty large yawn. She got tired much earlier these days, another side effect of the trauma her brain had suffered.
“Ready for bed, sweetheart?” I asked.
Declan took the bowl out of my hands without asking and, smiling gratefully, I grasped the handles of her wheelchair and pushed her across the wooden floor to the base of the stairs. Unclipping the strap, I put my arms around her in an effort to lift her up (my daughter wasn’t heavy, but she was no longer as easy to carry as she used to be).
Declan’s touch on my back caused me to pause and I turned around to face him.
“I can carry her up, if you’re OK with that?”
Glancing at his broad shoulders and strong arms, I welcomed the help. “If you’re sure you don’t mind? I hate to...”
“Not in the least.” He got close to Rosie and smiled. “As long as you don’t, either, Rosie?” Her eyes brightened immediately and I knew she was fine with it, too. “I’m going to help you up to your room, OK?”
Seconds later, she was cradled easily in his arms and I was following them up the stairs. I couldn’t deny that it was lovely having someone ready to take on some of the load that had been piling on my shoulders.
Knowing the layout of my house, Declan carried Rosie into the bathroom and placed her in a special chair so I could help her brush her teeth and ready her for bed. He then retreated to the hallway, and I entered the room and stood next to my daughter, going through her usual bedtime ritual. Then when we were ready, Declan reentered the bathroom and picked Rosie up, taking her to her room, where he laid her gently on her bed, among all her dinosaur posters.
He stood in the doorway as I kissed her good-night and sang her favorite nighttime lullaby. I’d stopped doing that shortly after her fifth birthday, when she’d joked that she was “too cool” for that kind of thing, but had resumed last year when she came home from the hospital. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was more soothing for her or me.
Soon her eyelids grew heavy, but she managed to raise a small hand and place it on my cheek. My throat closed over with emotion. “Good night, sweetheart,” I said, trying to fight back tears. “Sleep tight.”
By the time I returned to the hallway, I could already hear Rosie’s quiet snores. She was out for the count.
Declan was waiting at the top of the stairs. “She OK?” he whispered as we headed back down together.
“She’s fine. Whacked. You’re really good with kids,” I commented.
“I’m happy to help, Kate. Rosie’s a great child. She deserves...so much.” He paused then on the step below me and met my gaze. “So do you.”
Suddenly, all of the air seemed to be sucked out of the room, and I felt my breath catch in my throat as Declan looked up at me with gentle eyes.
“Thanks, I...”
Just then, the doorbell rang and I jumped, my mind flooded with confusion and embarrassment. With a bright-red face—I felt like I was on fire—I sputtered out the words, “Someone’s at the door.”
Thanks for that, Captain Obvious...
I stole a glance at his face, trying to determine what I saw. Was that embarrassment? Or concern in the form of worry and confusion...
Not wanting to examine it too closely, I marched down the steps past him and went to the door.
Out front, under the soft glow of the porch light, stood Alison. Stealing a glance at my watch, I realized that it was a bit late for her to be making house calls, or indeed for her brother to be at a client’s house.
“Alison, hi.” I stood back to let her inside and the moment she did so her eyebrows raised at the appearance of Declan, coming slowly down the stairs. His hair looked a little mussed after his efforts in carrying Rosie and a single dark lock spilled over his forehead.
Like Superman.
I worked to arrange my expression and control it, but regardless, I felt Alison’s curious gaze on us both.
“Sorry—we were just putting Rosie to bed. I mean, Declan helped carry her up the stairs.”
His sister smiled, a knowing twinkle in her eye.
“What’s going on, Alison?” Declan asked evenly, all business.
She looked at us both and unfurled a piece of paper. “I just dropped by the office. The defense has issued an addition to the witness roster for tomorrow. Madeleine Cooper is going to testify.”