Jodie Picoult - Plain Truth

“Adam,” I said, “the baby didn’t survive.”

He froze. With precision he folded his hands on the table, fingers gripped so tight the tips turned bloodlessly white. “What . . . ” he said softly, his voice breaking in the middle of the word. “What happened?”

“We don’t know. He was born prematurely and died shortly after delivery.”

Adam’s head sagged. “For the past three days, since you called, all I’ve been thinking of is that baby. Whether it’s got her eyes, or my chin. Whether I’d know him in an instant. Jesus. If I’d been here, maybe I could have done something.”

I looked at Coop. “We didn’t think it was right to tell you over the phone.”

“No. No, of course not.” Adam looked up, quickly wiping his eyes. “Katie must be devastated.”

“She is,” Coop said.

“Is that what you meant when you said she’s in trouble? Did you need me to come because she’s depressed?”

“We need you to stand up for her in court,” I said quietly. “Katie’s been charged with murdering the baby.”

He reeled back. “She didn’t.”

“No, I don’t think so either.”

Pushing to his feet, Adam threw down his napkin. “I have to see her. Now.”

“I’d rather you wait.” I stood in front of him, blocking his exit.

Adam loomed over me. “Do you think I give a flying fuck what you want?”

“Katie doesn’t even know you’re here.”

“Then it’s high time she found out.”

I put my hand on his arm. “As Katie’s lawyer, I believe that if the jury is given a front-row seat the first time she sees you again, they’re going to be moved by her emotion. They’re going to think that anyone who wears her heart on her sleeve like that couldn’t be cold enough to kill her own infant.” I stepped away. “If you want to see Katie now, Adam, I’ll take you there. But think hard about that. Because the last time she needed you, you weren’t here to help. This time, you can.”

Adam looked from me to Coop, and slowly sank back into his seat.

The moment Adam went to use the restroom, I told Coop we had to talk.

“I’m all ears.” Coop picked up a french fry from my plate and popped it into his mouth.

“In private.”

“My pleasure,” Coop said, “but what do I do with my baby-sitting charge?”

“Keep him far away from mine.” I sighed, and considered keeping the news to myself until after the trial; this was a moment I should have been concentrating on Katie, after all, and not myself. But I had only to look as far as Adam Sinclair to see the grief that could come from remaining silent, even with the best of intentions.

Before I could puzzle out a solution, Adam provided me with one. Coming from the restroom with red-rimmed eyes and the smell of soap fresh about him, he stood awkwardly at the edge of the table. “If it’s not too much trouble,” he asked, “could you take me to my son’s grave?”

Coop parked beside the Amish cemetery. “Take as long as you’d like,” he said. Adam stepped out of the back of the car, his shoulders hunched against the wind, as I got out of my own seat and led him through the small gate.

We kicked up small tornadoes of fallen leaves as we crossed to the new grave. The stone, chipped by Katie’s hands, was the color of winter. Adam shoved his hands into his pockets and spoke without turning to me. “The funeral . . . were you here?”

“Yes. It was lovely.”

“Was there a service? Flowers?”

I thought of the brief, uncomfortable prayer said by the bishop, of the Plain customs that did not allow for any adornment of the grave, neither flowers nor fancy headstones. “It was lovely,” I repeated.

Adam nodded, then sat down on the ground beside the grave. He held out his hand, gently running one finger over the rounded edge of the headstone, the way a new father might reverently touch the soft curve of a newborn’s cheek. Eyes stinging, I turned abruptly and walked back to Coop’s car.

As I slid into the passenger seat, Coop watched Adam through the window. “Poor guy. I can’t even imagine.”

“Coop,” I said. “I’m pregnant.”

He turned. “You’re what?”

I folded my hands over my abdomen. “You heard right.”

The fact of this baby had tangled my thoughts. I had once left Coop for all the wrong reasons; I didn’t want to stay with him for all the wrong reasons, either. I stared at his face, waiting; telling myself that his reaction wouldn’t affect my decision about the future in the least; wondering why, then, I wanted to hear his response so badly. For the first time I could remember, I was unsure about Coop’s commitment to me. Sure, he had asked me to move in with him, but this wasn’t the same thing at all. Maybe he wanted to spend a lifetime together, but he might not have expected that lifetime to begin quite so suddenly or with such lasting consequences. He had never mentioned marriage. He had never mentioned children.

I’d provided Coop with the perfect reason to walk out of my life and leave me the breathing room I’d always craved-but now I realized I didn’t want him to go.

When he did not smile, or touch me, or do anything but sit frozen across from me, I began to panic. Maybe Katie had it right; maybe the best thing would have been to wait a few days, if not more. “So,” I said, my voice shaking. “What are you thinking?”

He reached across the seat and tugged my hand away from the place where it covered my stomach. He edged up the hem of my sweatshirt and leaned forward, and then I felt his kiss low against my belly.

The breath I did not realize I’d been holding rushed out in a great flood of relief. After a moment I cradled his head in my hands, sifting strands of his hair through my fingers, as Coop wrapped his arms around my hips and held tight to the two of us.

He insisted on walking me to the door of the Fishers’ house. “I’m not handicapped, Coop,” I argued. “Just pregnant.” But the feminist in me rolled over, secretly thrilled to be treated like spun sugar.

At the porch, he took my hands and turned me to face him. “I know this part is supposed to come before you actually make the baby, but I want you to know I love you. I’ve loved you so long I can’t remember when it started.”

“I can. It was after the Kappa Alpha Theta San Juan Night party, somewhere between you diving into the grain alcohol and the naked blow pong tournament.”

Coop groaned. “Let’s not tell him how we met, okay?”

“What makes you so sure it’s a he?”

Suddenly Coop stilled and held his hand up to his ear. “Do you hear that?”

I strained, then shook my head. “No. What?”

“Us,” he said, kissing me lightly. “Sounding like parents.”

“Scary thought.”

He smiled, then cocked his head and stared at me. “What?” I asked, self-conscious. “Do I have spinach between my teeth?”

“No. It’s just that I’m only going to get this moment once, and I want to remember it.”

“I think we can arrange for you to walk me into the house a few more times, if it’s that important to you.”

“God, can’t a guy get a break? Do all women talk this much, or is it just because you’re an attorney?”

“Well, if I were you I’d say whatever it is you’re going to say, because Adam’s liable to get sick of waiting in the car and drive back to Philly without you.”

Coop cupped my face in his palms. “You’re a pain in the ass, El, but you’re my pain in the ass.” His thumbs smoothed over my cheeks. “Marry me,” he whispered.

I brought my hands up to grasp his wrists. Over his shoulder, the moon was rising, a ghost in the sky. I realized that Coop was right: I would remember this moment with the same level of detail and clarity that came to mind when I thought back to the last time Coop had asked me to share his life; the last time I’d told him no.