Jodie Picoult - Plain Truth

Ellie had defended guilty clients, even several who had patently lied to her, but somehow she could not recall ever feeling so betrayed. She fumed up the drive, furious at Katie for her deception, at Leda for leaving them three miles away, at her own sorry physical shape that left her breathless after a short jog.

This is not personal, she reminded herself. This is strictly business.

She found Katie at the pond. “You want to tell me what you meant back there?” Ellie asked, bending down and breathing hard.

“You heard me,” Katie said sullenly.

“Tell me why you killed the baby, Katie.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to make excuses anymore. I just want to tell the jury what I told you, so this can be over.”

“Tell the jury?” Ellie sputtered. “Over my dead body.”

“No,” Katie said, paling. “You have to let me.”

“There is no way in hell that I’m going to let you get up on that stand and tell the court you killed your baby.”

“You were willing to let me testify before!”

“Amazingly enough, your story was different then. You said you wanted to tell the truth, to tell everyone you didn’t commit murder. It’s one thing for me to put you on as a witness if you don’t contradict everything else my strategy has built up; it’s another thing entirely to put you on so that you can commit legal suicide.”

“Ellie,” Katie said desperately. “I have to confess.”

“This is not your church!” Ellie cried. “How many times do you need to hear that? We’re not talking six weeks of suspension, here. We’re talking years. A lifetime, maybe. In prison.” She bit down on her anger and took a deep breath. “It was one thing to let the jury see you, listen to your grief. To hear you say you were innocent. But what you told me just now . . .” Her voice trailed off; she looked away. “To let you take the stand would be professionally irresponsible.”

“They can still see me and hear me and listen to my grief.”

“Yeah, all of which goes down the toilet when I ask you if you killed the baby.”

“Then don’t ask me that question.”

“If I don’t, George will. And once you get on the stand, you can’t lie.” Ellie sighed. “You can’t lie-and you can’t say outright that you killed that baby, either, or you’ve sealed your conviction.”

Katie looked down at her feet. “Jacob told me that if I wanted to talk in court, you couldn’t stop me.”

“I can get you acquitted without your testimony. Please, Katie. Don’t do this to yourself.”

Katie turned to her with absolute calm. “I will be a witness tomorrow. You may not like it, but that’s what I want.”

“Who do you want to forgive you?” Ellie exploded. “A jury? The judge? Because they won’t. They’ll just see you as a monster.”

“You don’t, do you?”

Ellie shook her head, unable to answer.

“What is it?” Katie pressed. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That it’s one thing to lie to your lawyer, but it’s another to lie to your friend.” Ellie got to her feet and dusted off her skirt. “I’ll write up a disclaimer for you to sign, that says I advised you against this course of action,” she said coolly, and walked away.

“I don’t believe it,” Coop said, bringing together the corners of the quilt that he was folding with Ellie. It was a wedding ring pattern, the irony of which had not escaped him. Several other quilts, newly washed, flapped on clotheslines strung between trees, huge kaleidoscopic patterns of color against a darkening sky.

Ellie walked toward him, handing him the opposite ends of the quilt. “Believe it.”

“Katie’s not capable of murder.”

She took the bundle from his arms and vigorously halved it into a bulky square. “Apparently, you’re wrong.”

“I know her, Ellie. She’s my client.”

“Yeah, and my roommate. Go figure.”

Coop reached for the clothespins securing the second quilt. “How did she do it?”

“I didn’t ask.”

This surprised Coop. “You didn’t?”

Ellie’s fingers trailed over her abdomen. “I couldn’t,” she said, then briskly turned away.

In that moment, Coop wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms. “The only explanation is that she’s lying.”

“Haven’t you been listening to me in court?” Ellie’s lips twisted. “The Amish don’t lie.”

Coop ignored her. “She’s lying in order to be punished. For whatever reason, that’s what she needs psychologically.”

“Sure, if you call life in prison therapeutic.” Ellie jerked up the opposite end of the fabric. “She’s not lying, Coop. I’ve probably seen as many liars as you have, in my line of work. Katie looked me in the eye and she told me she killed her baby. She meant it.” With abrupt movements, she yanked the quilt from Coop and folded it again, then slapped it on top of the first one. “Katie Fisher is going down, and she’s taking the rest of us with her.”

“If she’s signed the disclaimer, you can’t be held responsible.”

“Oh, no, of course not. It’s just my name and my accountability being trashed along with her case.”

“No matter what her reasoning, I doubt very much that Katie’s doing this right now in order to spite you.”

“It doesn’t matter why, Coop. She’s going to get up there and make a public confession, and the jury won’t give a damn about the rationale behind it. They’ll convict her quicker than she can say ‘I did it.’”

“Are you angry because she’s ruining your case, or because you didn’t see this coming?”

“I’m not angry. If she wants to throw her life away, it’s no skin off my back.” Ellie grabbed for the quilt that Coop was holding but fumbled, so that it landed in a heap in the dirt. “Dammit! Do you know how long it takes to wash these things? Do you?” She sank to the ground, the quilt a cloud behind her, and buried her face in her hands.

Coop wondered how a woman so willow-thin and delicate could bear the weight of someone else’s salvation on her shoulders. He sat beside Ellie and gathered her close, her fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. “I could have saved her,” she whispered.

“I know, sweetheart. But maybe she wanted to save herself.”

“Hell of a way to go about it.”

“You’re thinking like a lawyer again.” Coop tapped her temple. “If you’re afraid of everyone leaving you, what do you do?”

“Make them stay.”

“And if you can’t do that, or don’t know how to?”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. In fact, you’ve done it. You leave first,” Coop said, “so you don’t have to watch them walk away.”

When Katie was little, she used to love when it rained, when she could skip out to the end of the driveway where the puddles, with their faint sheen of oil, turned into rainbows. The sky looked like that now, a royal purple marbled with orange and red and silver, like the gown of a fairytale queen. It settled over all these Plain folks’ farms; each piece of land butting up against something lush and rich that seemed to go on forever.

She stood on the porch in the twilight, waiting. When the hum of a car’s engine came from the west, she felt her heart creep up her throat, felt every muscle in her body strain forward to see if the vehicle would turn up the driveway. But seconds later, through the trees, the taillights ribboned by.

“He isn’t coming.”

Katie whirled at the sound of the voice, followed by the heavy thumps of boots on the porch steps. “Who?”

Samuel swallowed. “Ach, Katie. Are you gonna make me say his name, too?”

Katie rubbed her hands up and down her arms and faced the road again.