Jodi Picoult - House Rules

“Thanks,” I say. “I couldn’t have gone to sleep tonight without knowing that.”

Jacob looks at me. “Really?”

“No, I’m kidding.”

He folds his arms. “Haven’t you been listening to yourself in court? I don’t ‘get’ sarcasm. I’m totally self-centered. Oh, and at any moment I might just go totally crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” I tell him. “I’m just trying to get the jury to see you as legally insane.”

Jacob slumps in his seat. “I’m not a big fan of labels.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first got my diagnosis, my mother was relieved, because she saw it as something that would be helpful. I mean, teachers don’t look at kids who are reading eight grade levels above where they should be and doing complex mathematical proofs in third grade and think they need special help, even if they are being teased all the time. The diagnosis helped me get an IEP, which was great, but it also changed things in a bad way.” Jacob shrugs. “I guess I expected it to be like this other girl in my grade who has a port-wine stain on half her face. People go right up to her and ask about it, and she says it’s a birthmark and that it doesn’t hurt. End of story. No one ever asks if they can catch it like a virus, or doesn’t want to play with her because of it. But you tell someone you’re autistic, and half the time they talk louder to you, like you might be deaf. And the few things that I used to get credit for-like being smart, or having a really excellent memory-were all of a sudden just things that made me even more weird.” He is quiet for a moment, and then he turns to me. “I’m not autistic; I have autism. I also have brown hair and flat feet. So I don’t understand why I’m always ‘the kid with Asperger’s,’” Jacob says.

I keep my eyes on the road. “Because it’s better than being the kid who killed Jess Ogilvy,” I reply, and after that, we don’t talk at all.

It figures; Henry’s showed up on a day when the food is not noticeably Aspergian. Emma’s made steak and baked potatoes and gravy and gluten-free brownies. If Henry notices the lack of a green vegetable-or anything on the plate that isn’t brown, for that matter-he doesn’t mention it.

“So, Henry,” I say. “You do programming?”

He nods. “Right now I’m parsing XML for a point-and-click web app for the iPhone that’ll spice up four hundred contemporary American ethnic dishes with Chinese herbs and sauces.” He launches into a fifteen-minute discussion of esoteric computer programming that none of us can follow.

“Guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I say.

“Actually, I work for Adobe,” Henry says.

Theo and I are the only ones who find that funny. I wonder if Henry’s ever been diagnosed. “And you’re remarried, right?” I look at Emma when I say this.

“Yes. I’ve got two girls,” he says, and then hurries to add, “in addition to the two boys, of course.”

“Of course,” I answer, and I break a brownie in half. “So when are you leaving?”

“Oliver!” Emma says.

Henry laughs. “Well, I guess that depends on how long the trial goes on.” He leans back in his chair. “Emma, that was a great dinner.”

Just wait till Blue Friday, I muse.

“I’d better go find myself a hotel, since I’ve been up for about thirty-six straight hours and I’m bound to crash and burn soon,” Henry says.

“You’ll stay here,” Emma announces, and both Henry and I look at her, surprised. “Well, it’s silly to have you stay a half hour away when we’re all going to the same place tomorrow morning, isn’t it? Theo, your father can sleep in your room and you can have the couch.”

“What?” Theo yelps. “Why do I have to give up my room? What about Jacob?”

“Let me put it to you this way,” Emma answers. “Do you want to sleep on the couch or do you want to help me when Jacob has a meltdown?”

He shoves away from the table, angry. “Where are the extra freaking pillows?”

“I don’t want to put anyone out-” Henry says.

“Emma,” I interrupt, “can I have a few minutes?”

“Oh, right. You wanted to go over testimony?” She turns to Jacob. “Honey, can you clear the table and load the dishwasher?”

He stands up and starts clearing as I drag Emma upstairs. “We need to go somewhere quiet,” I say, and I lead her into her own bedroom.

I’ve never been in here. It’s peaceful-all cool greens and sea blues. There’s a Zen garden on the dresser with a rake and three black stones. In the sand, someone has written H-E-L-P.

“The only part I’m still nervous about is the cross-exam,” Emma says, all she can manage to get out before I grab her and kiss her. It’s not gentle, either. It’s the physical equivalent of pouring into her all the feelings I can’t put into words.

When she breaks away from me, her mouth is rosy and swollen, and that makes me take a step toward her again, but she puts her hand on my chest to hold me off. “Oh my God,” she says, with a slow smile. “You’re jealous.”

“Well, what the hell was that all about? ‘It’s silly to have you stay a half hour away…’”

“It is. He’s the boys’ father, not some stranger who just came in off the street.”

“So he’s going to be sleeping right on the other side of this wall?”

“Sleeping would be the operative word in that sentence,” Emma says. “He’s here for Jacob. Believe me, there’s no ulterior motive for Henry.”

“But you used to love him.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Do you think I’ve been sitting here for fifteen years pining for him? Waiting for the moment he would walk through that door again so I could hide him in a bedroom upstairs and seduce him?”

“No,” I tell her. “But I wouldn’t put it past him. ”

She stares at me for a moment, and then she bursts out laughing. “You haven’t seen his perfect little wife and his perfect little girls. Believe me, Oliver, I’m not the great love of his life, the one he’ll never forget.”

“You are to me,” I say.

The smile fades from her face, and then she rises up on her toes and kisses me back.

“Don’t you need this?”

At the sound of Jacob’s voice we jump apart, putting a few feet of space between us. He stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob and the other one holding my legal briefcase.

“Were you just…” He stumbles over his words. “Are you two…” Without saying anything else, he throws my briefcase hard at me, so forcefully that I grunt when I catch it. He runs down the hallway into his room and slams the door.

“What did he see?” Emma asks frantically. “When did he walk in?”

Suddenly Henry is standing in the doorway, looking quizzically down the hall where Jacob’s gone and then at Emma. “Everything all right up here?”

Emma faces me. “I think maybe you ought to go home,” she says.

When I walk into Jacob’s room, he is hunched over his desk, humming Marley and writing furiously across his green blotter:

1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233

I take the pencil out of his hand, and he turns in his swivel chair. “Do I make you horny, baby?” he says, bitter.

“No movie quotes,” I tell Jacob. “Especially not Austin Powers. I know you’re upset.”

“Let me think about that. My mother is supposed to be practicing her testimony with my lawyer and instead she has her tongue halfway down his throat? Yeah, that might make me a little upset.”

I tamp down the flash of anger that rises inside me. “First of all, I’m completely ready to testify. And second of all, I didn’t expect to kiss him. It just happened.”