Jodie Picoult - Plain Truth

He glanced at Katie, then back at the jury. “Ms. Hathaway would also like you to believe one other falsehood-that Katie Fisher was the only eyewitness that morning. But this is not true. An infant was there, too; an infant who isn’t here to speak for himself because he was silenced by his mother.” He let his gaze roam over the twelve men and women watching him. “Speak up for that infant today,” he said.

George Callahan’s father, who had won four consecutive terms as the district attorney in Bucks County a few decades ago, used to tell him that there was always one case in a man’s legal career he could ride all the way into the sunset. It was the case that was always mentioned in conjunction with your name, whenever you did anything else noteworthy in your life. For Wallace Callahan, it had been convicting three white college boys of the rape and murder of a little black girl, right in the middle of the civil rights protests. For George, it would be Katie Fisher.

He could feel it the same way he could feel snow coming a day ahead of its arrival, by a tightening in his muscles. The jury would find her guilty. Hell, she’d found herself guilty. Why, he wouldn’t be surprised if the verdict came back before suppertime.

He shrugged into his trench coat, lifted his briefcase, and pushed out the doors of the courthouse. Immediately reporters and cameramen from local networks and national affiliates engulfed him. He grinned, turned his best side to the majority of the video cameras, and leaned in to the knot of microphones being shoved beneath his chin.

“Any comments about the case?”

“Do you have a sense of how the jury will find?”

George smiled and let the practiced sound bite roll off his tongue. “Clearly, this will be a victory for the prosecution.”

“There’s no question in my mind that this will be a victory for the defense,” Ellie said to the small group of media reps huddled in the parking lot of the superior court.

“Don’t you think that Katie’s confession might make it hard for the jury to acquit?” one reporter yelled out.

“Not at all.” Ellie smiled. “Katie’s confession had less to do with the legal ramifications of this case than the moral obligations of her religion.” She politely pushed forward, scattering the reporters like marbles.

Coop, who had been waiting for her impromptu press conference to finish, joined her as she made her way to Leda’s blue sedan. “I ought to just stick around,” she said. “Chances are the jury will be back by the time we finish grabbing a bite.”

“If you stick around, Katie’s going to be bombarded with people. You can’t keep her locked in a conference room.”

Ellie nodded and unlocked the door of the car. By now, Leda and Katie and Samuel would be waiting for her at the service entrance of the court.

“Well,” Coop said. “Congratulations.”

She snorted. “Don’t congratulate me yet.”

“But you just said you’re going to win.”

Ellie shook her head. “I said it,” she admitted. “But the truth is, Coop, I don’t know that at all.”

A full day later, the jury still had not returned a verdict.

Because of my lack of proximity to a working phone, Judge Ledbetter ordered George to let me borrow his beeper. When the verdict came in, she would page me. In the meantime, we could all return home and go about our business.

I had been in situations before with a hung jury. It was unpleasant, not only because it automatically guaranteed that we’d have to go through the rigmarole of a second trial, but also because until the verdict came back, I became obsessed with second-guessing my defense. In the past, when it took some time for a jury to return, I’d try to distract myself with the other cases I was working on. I would go to the gym and pound on a Stairmaster until I could barely move, much less think. I’d sit down with Stephen, who would walk me through the case to see what I might have done differently.

Now, I was surrounded by the Fishers-all of whom had a vested interest in the verdict, and none of whom seemed to notice that it hadn’t been returned yet. Katie continued doing her chores. I was expected to help Sarah in the kitchen, to make myself useful in the barn if Aaron needed me, to carry on with life even though we were anticipating a momentous decision.

Twenty-eight hours after we’d left the courthouse, Katie and I were washing windows for Annie King, an Amish woman who’d fallen and broken her hip. I watched Katie for a moment, tirelessly dipping her cloth in alcohol solution and scrubbing it over the glass, wondering how she could find the strength to help someone else when her own emotions had to be overwhelming right now. “Isn’t this bothering you?” I said finally.

“My back?” Katie asked. “Ja, a little. If it hurts you too much, you can rest a bit.”

“Not your back. The fact that you don’t know the outcome of the trial.”

Katie let the cloth slip into the bucket and sank back on her heels. “Worrying isn’t going to make it happen any quicker.”

“Well, I can’t stop thinking about it,” I admitted. “If I was facing a murder conviction, I don’t think I’d be washing someone else’s windows.”

Katie turned to me, her eyes clear and filled with a peace that made it nearly impossible to turn away from her. “Today Annie needs help.”

“Tomorrow, you might need it.”

She looked out the sparkling window, where women were busy hauling cleaning supplies from their buggies. “Then tomorrow, all these people, they will be with me.”

I swallowed my doubts, hoping for her sake she was right. Then I stood up, leaving my rag draped over the bucket. “I’ll be right back.”

Katie hid her smile; the incredible number of times I went to the bathroom these days had become a running joke. But it wasn’t funny moments later, when I sat on the toilet, when I looked down and realized that I was bleeding.

Sarah drove her buggy to the community hospital, the same one Katie had been brought to by ambulance the day she’d given birth. In the back, being jostled, I tried to tell myself that this was normal; that this happened all the time to pregnant women. I pressed my fist against the cramps that had started up in my abdomen while Katie and Sarah sat on the bench in the front, whispering in Dietsch.

I was taken into the ER, questions hammering at me from every direction. Was I pregnant? Did I know how far along I was? A nurse turned to Katie and Sarah, hovering uncomfortably at the edge of the curtain. “Are you relatives?”

“No. Friends,” Katie answered.

“Then I’ll have to ask you to wait outside.”

Sarah caught my eye before she turned away. “You’ll be all right.”

“Please,” I whispered. “Get Coop.”

The doctor had pianist’s hands, long white fingers so delicate that they seemed like flowers trailing over my skin. “We’re going to do some blood tests to confirm your pregnancy,” he said. “Then we’ll get you in for an ultrasound, to see what’s going on.”

I hiked myself up on my elbows. “What is going on?” I demanded, with more force than I thought I’d have. “You have to have some idea.”

“Well, the bleeding is fairly heavy. Based on the date of your last period, you’re most likely about ten weeks along. It’s possible that this is an ectopic pregnancy, which is very dangerous. If it’s not, your body may just have started to spontaneously abort.” He looked up at me. “Miscarry.”

“You have to stop it,” I said evenly.

“We can’t. If the bleeding slows or stops on its own, that’s a good sign. If not . . . well.” He shrugged and looped his stethoscope around his neck. “We’ll know more in a little while. Just try to rest.”