Jodi Picoult - House Rules

A laugh barks out of me. “Goddammit, kid. You’re really good.”

Jacob pivots so that he is facing me. “I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Probably not.”

I stare at him. “Why did you leave the quilt? You know better than that.”

He hesitates. “Of course I left the quilt. How else would anyone know that I was the one who set this all up? You still missed the tea bag.”

Immediately I know he is talking about the evidence at Jess Ogilvy’s house. “It was in the sink. We didn’t get any prints off the mug.”

“Jess was allergic to mango,” Jacob says. “And me, I hate the taste.”

He had been too thorough. Rather than forgetting to erase this evidence, he’d left it on purpose, as a test. I stare at Jacob, wondering what he is trying to tell me.

“But other than that,” he says, smiling, “you got it right.”

Helen and I stand in front of Judge Cuttings like recalcitrant schoolchildren. “I don’t ever want to see that happen again, Mr. Bond,” he says. “I don’t care if you have to medicate him. Either you keep your client under control for the remainder of this trial or I’m going to have him handcuffed.”

“Your Honor,” Helen says. “How is the State supposed to have a fair trial when we have a circus sideshow going on every fifteen minutes?”

“You know she’s right, Counselor,” the judge replies.

“I’m going to ask for a mistrial, Your Honor,” I say.

“You can’t when it’s your client causing the problems, Mr. Bond. Surely you know that.”

“Right,” I mutter.

“If there are any motions you two want to make, think hard before you make them. Mr. Bond, I will hear you with warning before we start.”

I hurry out of chambers before Helen can say anything that infuriates me even more. And then, just when I think things can’t get any worse, I find Rich Matson chatting up my client. “I was just keeping him company until you got here,” Matson explains.

“Yeah, I bet.”

He ignores me, turning to Jacob instead. “Hey,” the detective says. “Good luck.”

I wait until I can’t hear his footsteps anymore. “What the hell was that all about?”

“Nothing. We were talking about cases.”

“Oh great. Because that was such a good idea the last time you two sat down for a chat.” I fold my arms. “Listen, Jacob, you need to straighten out. If you don’t behave, you’re going to jail. Period.”

“If I don’t behave?” he says. “Schwing!”

“You can’t possibly be old enough to remember Wayne’s World. And regardless, I’m not the one who’s the defendant. I’m totally serious, Jacob. If you pull another stunt like that, the prosecution is going to throw your ass in jail or else declare a mistrial, and that means doing this all over again.”

“You promised that we’d adjourn at four o’clock.”

“You’re right. But in a courtroom the judge is God, and God wanted to stay late. So I don’t care if we’re here till four in the morning, or if Judge Cuttings announces that we’re all going to get up and do the hokey pokey. You are going to park your butt in that chair next to me and not say a damn thing.”

“Will you tell the jury why I did it?” Jacob asks.

“Why did you do it?”

I know better than to ask that. But at this point I am not thinking of perjury. I am thinking that Jacob and I need to be on the same page once and for all.

“Because I couldn’t leave her,” he says, as if this should be obvious.

My jaw drops. Before I can ask another question- Did she spurn you? Did you try to kiss her, and did she struggle too much? Did you hold her too close, and suffocate her accidentally? -a bailiff comes into the holding cell area. “They’re ready for you.”

I motion to the bailiff to open the cell. We are the last ones into the courtroom, with the exception of the judge and jury. Emma’s eyes go straight to her son. “Is everything okay?”

But before I can fill her in, the jury files in and the judge returns. “Counsel,” he says, settling himself on the bench. “Approach.” Helen and I move closer. “Mr. Bond, have you spoken with your client?”

“Yes, Your Honor, and there will be no further outbursts.”

“I can hardly contain myself,” Judge Cuttings says. “You may continue, then.”

Knowing what I know now, that insanity defense is looking stronger and stronger. I just hope the jury got that message, loud and clear. “The defense rests,” I announce.

“What?” Jacob explodes behind me. “No it doesn’t !”

I close my eyes and start to count to ten, because I’m pretty sure it’s not a good idea to kill your client in front of an entire jury, and then a paper airplane sails over my shoulder. It’s one of Jacob’s notes, which I unfold:

I WANT TO TALK.

I turn around. “Absolutely not.”

“Is there a problem, Mr. Bond?” the judge asks.

“No, Your Honor,” I reply, at the same moment Jacob says “Yes.”

Scrambling, I face the judge again. “We need a sensory break.”

“We’ve been in session for ten seconds!” Helen argues.

“Do you rest, Mr. Bond?” asks Judge Cuttings. “Or is there more?”

“There’s more,” Jacob says. “It’s my turn to talk. And if I want to take the stand, you have to let me.”

“You’re not taking the stand,” Emma insists.

“You, Ms. Hunt, do not have leave to speak! Am I the only person here who knows we’re in a court of law?” Judge Cuttings roars. “Mr. Bond, put on your final witness.”

“I’d like a brief recess-”

“I bet you would. I’d like to be in Nevis instead of here, but neither one of us is going to get what we want,” the judge snaps.

Shaking my head, I walk Jacob to the witness stand. I am so angry I can barely see straight. Jacob will tell the jury the truth, like he’s told me, and dig his own grave. If not with the substance of what he says then with the style: no matter what’s been said up to this point, no matter what’s been said by the witnesses, all the jury is going to remember is this awkward boy who speaks in bursts of words and fidgets and doesn’t register appropriate emotion and can’t look them in the eye-all traditional expressions of guilt. It doesn’t matter what Jacob says; his demeanor will convict him before he even opens his mouth.

I open the gate for him so that he can step inside. “It’s your funeral,” I murmur.

“No,” Jacob says. “It’s my trial.”

I can tell the moment he realizes that this wasn’t such a great idea. He’s been sworn in, and he swallows hard. His eyes are wide and dart all over the courtroom.

“Tell me what happens when you get nervous, Jacob,” I say.

He licks his lips. “I walk on my toes, or bounce. Sometimes I flap or talk too fast or laugh even though it’s not funny.”

“Are you nervous now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He pulls his lips back in a smile. “Because everyone’s looking at me.”

“Is that all?”

“Also the lights are too bright. And I don’t know what you’re going to say next.”

Whose goddamn fault is that? I think. “Jacob, you told the court that you wanted to talk.”

“Yes.”

“What do you want to tell this jury?”

Jacob hesitates. “The truth,” he says.

There’s blood all over the floor and she is lying in it. She doesn’t answer even though I call her name. I know I need to move her so I lift her up and take her into the hallway and when I do there is even more blood that comes from her nose and her mouth. I try not to think about the fact that I am touching her body and she is naked; it isn’t like in the movies where the girl is beautiful and the boy is backlit; it’s just skin against skin and I am embarrassed for her because she doesn’t even know she isn’t wearing clothes. I don’t want to get blood on the towels so I wipe her face with toilet paper and flush it.