Jodi Picoult - Handle with Care

When I got to Piper’s, and was introduced to Charlotte, she’d held out her hand for me to shake and a spark had caught between our palms, shocking us both. The two little girls had eaten in the living room while the adults sat at the table; Piper had just served me a slice of caramel-pecan torte that Charlotte had made. “What do you think?” Charlotte had asked.

The filling was still warm and sweet; crust dissolved on my tongue like a memory. “I think we should get married,” I said, and everyone laughed, but I was not entirely kidding.

We had been talking about our first kisses. Piper told a story about a boy who’d enticed her into the woods behind the jungle gym on the pretext that there was a unicorn behind an ash tree; Rob talked about being paid five bucks by a seventh-grade girl for a practice run. Charlotte hadn’t been kissed, it turned out, till she was eighteen. “I can’t believe that,” I said.

“What about you, Sean?” Rob asked.

“I can’t remember.” By then, I had lost sense of everything but Charlotte. I could have told you how many inches away from my leg hers was beneath the table. I could have told you how the curls of her hair caught the candlelight and held on to it. I could not remember my first kiss, but I could have told you Charlotte would be my last.

“Remember how we had Amelia and Emma in the living room,” Piper said now. “We were having such a good time no one thought to check on them?”

Suddenly I could see it-all of us crowded into the tiny downstairs bathroom, Rob yelling at his daughter, who had commandeered Amelia into helping her dump dry dog food into the toilet bowl.

Piper started to laugh. “Emma kept saying it was only a cupful.”

But it had soaked up the water and swollen to fill the bowl. It was amazing, in fact, how quickly it had gotten out of control.

Beside me, Piper’s laughter had turned the corner, and in that way emotion has of hopping boundaries, she was suddenly crying. “God, Sean. How did we get here?”

I stood awkwardly, and then after a moment I slipped an arm around her. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Piper sobbed, and she buried her face against my shoulder. “I have never, ever in my life been the bad guy. But every time I walk into that courtroom, that’s exactly what I am.”

I had hugged Piper Reece before. It was what married couples did-you went to someone’s house and you handed over the obligatory bottle of wine and kissed the hostess on the cheek. Maybe distantly I was aware that Piper was taller than Charlotte, that she smelled of an unfamiliar perfume instead of Charlotte’s pear soap and vanilla extract. At any rate, the embrace was triangular: you connected at the cheek, and then your bodies angled away from each other.

But right now Piper was pressed against me, her tears hot against my neck. I could feel the curve and weight of her body. And I could tell the exact moment she became aware of mine.

And then she was kissing me, or maybe I was kissing her, and she tasted of cherries, and my eyes closed, and the moment they did, all I could see was Charlotte.

We both pushed away from each other, our eyes averted. Piper pressed her hands to her cheeks. I have never, ever in my life been the bad guy, she had said.

There is a first time for everything.

“I’m sorry,” I said, at the same time Piper began to speak.

“I shouldn’t have-”

“It didn’t happen,” I interrupted. “Let’s just say it didn’t happen, all right?”

Piper looked up at me sadly. “Just because you don’t want to see something, Sean, doesn’t mean it wasn’t there.”

I didn’t know if we were talking about this moment, or this lawsuit, or both. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to Piper, all of which began and ended with an apology, but what tumbled off my lips instead was this: “I love Charlotte,” I said. “I love my wife.”

“I know,” Piper whispered, “I did, too.”

The movie that had been filmed to show a day in your life was the last bit of evidence that Marin would offer to the jury. It was the emotional counterpart to the cold, hard facts the actuary had given, about what it costs in this country to have a disabled child. It felt like ages since the video crew had followed you around school, and to be honest, I had worried about the outcome. What if the jury looked at our daily routine and didn’t find it remarkably different from anyone else’s?

Marin had told me that it was her job to make sure the presentation came off in our favor, and as soon as the first images projected onto the courtroom screen, I realized I should not have worried. Editing is a marvelous thing.

It began with an image of your face, reflected in the windowpane you were peering through. You weren’t speaking, but you didn’t have to. There was a lifetime of longing in your eyes.

The view panned out the window, then, to watch your sister skating on the pond.

Then came the first few strains of a song as I knelt down to strap on your braces before school, because you could not reach them yourself. After a moment I recognized it: “I Hope You Dance.”

In the pocket of my jacket, my cell phone began to vibrate.

We were not allowed to have cell phones on in court, but I’d told Marin that I had to be reachable, just in case-and we’d compromised with this. I slipped my hand into my pocket and looked at the screen to see who was calling.

HOME, it read.

On the projector screen, you were in class, and kids were funneling around you like a school of fish, doing some kind of spider dance at circle time, while you sat immobile in your wheelchair.

“Marin,” I whispered.

“Not now.”

“Marin, my phone’s ringing-”

She leaned closer to me. “If you pick up that phone right now instead of watching this film, the jury will crucify you for being heartless.”

So I sat on my hands, getting more and more agitated. Maybe the jury thought it was because I couldn’t watch this. The phone would stop vibrating and then start a moment later. On the screen I watched you at physical therapy, walking forward toward the mat biting your lower lip. The phone vibrated again, and I made a small sound in the back of my throat.

What if you’d fallen? What if the nurse didn’t know what to do? What if it was something even worse than a simple break?

I could hear snuffling sounds behind me, purses being opened and rummaged through for Kleenex. I could see the jury riveted by your words, your elfin face.

The phone buzzed again, an electrical shock to my system. This time I slipped it out of my pocket to see the text message icon. I hid the receiver under the table and flipped it open.

WILLOW HURT-HELP

“I have to get out of here,” I whispered to Marin.

“In fifteen minutes…We absolutely cannot recess right now.”

I looked up at the screen again, my heart hammering. Hurt, how? Why wasn’t the nurse doing something?

You were sitting on the mat, your legs frogged. Above you a red ring dangled. You winced as you reached for it. Can we stop now?

Come on, Willow, I know you’re tougher than that…wrap your fingers around and give it a squeeze .

You tried, for Molly. But tears were streaming from your eyes, and the sound that came from you was a sharp, staccato burst. Please, Molly…can I stop?

The phone was vibrating again. I wrapped my hand around it.

And then I was on the mat with you, holding you in my arms, rocking you, and telling you that I would make it better.

If I had been more aware of what was happening in the courtroom, I would have noticed that every woman on the jury was crying, and some of the men. I would have seen the TV cameras in the back of the gallery that were recording for playback on that night’s news. I would have seen Judge Gellar close his eyes and shake his head. But instead, the moment the screen went to black, I bolted.