The Jodi Picoult Collection #4
Page 92
Q: With the multiple narrators you’ve created, is there a character that you connect with most, or that you feel represents your own voice?
A: I had great sympathy for all of the characters in this book—each of them has a valid point to make, in my opinion. So I’d have to say that at different times, I sided with each one!
Q: Your narrators share their stories as though they are telling them to Willow. Why did you decide to construct the novel this way?
A: I have always wanted to write a book in the second-person narrative voice, but it’s tricky and calls for the right kind of story. Because the whole book revolves around Willow, I wanted her to feel present and accounted for—hence the structure. Plus, given the behavior of these characters, they deserved to explain themselves directly to Willow. But I also wanted the reader to feel viscerally what it’s like to be at the center of this kind of controversy—and the second person narration helped foster the sense that the characters are talking to you.
Q: As the author, do you ever feel as though you’re taking on the role of the jury? How did you decide what the ruling of the wrongful birth suit would be?
A: I like to think of my reader in the role of the jury, actually. It’s my job as writer to present all sides of the story and then, based on the evidence, leave you to decide what was wrong and what was right. As for a ruling here, it wasn’t as important to me as the final twist of the book—but in order to have that final twist, I had to first have the jury rule a certain way . . . and that’s all I’m going to say before I give it away!
Q: Why did you decide not to share Willow’s perspective until the end?
A: Because the reader serves as Willow’s “stand-in” in the book—since the characters are explaining themselves to “you,” it makes you part of the action, and therefore part of the judgment of their behavior. And yet I felt the reader, after hearing everyone’s explanation about the wrongful birth issue, also deserved to hear directly from Willow to see how everything had affected her.
Q: You’ve said before that you know how a book will end before you write the first word. Was this also true for Handle with Care? Do you ever change your mind about an ending as you get deeper into the story?
A: I do know the ending before I write a single word, and I did here, too. I will tell you that I think Handle with Care is the saddest book I’ve written—and coming from me, that’s pretty dire! I never wavered on the ending, however, because there’s a bit of a morality lesson in there as well—it’s a real “Be careful what you wish for” moment.
Q: What’s your next project?
A: My 2010 book is about a teenage boy with Asperger’s syndrome. He’s hopeless at reading social cues or expressing himself well to others, and like many kids with AS, Jacob has a special focus on one subject—in his case, forensic analysis. He’s always showing up at crime scenes, thanks to the police scanner he keeps in his room, and telling the cops what they need to do . . . and he’s usually right. But then one day his tutor is found dead, and the police come to question him. All of the hallmark behaviors of Asperger’s—not looking someone in the eye, stimulatory tics and twitches, inappropriate affect—can look a heck of a lot like guilt to law enforcement personnel, and suddenly, Jacob finds himself accused of murder. I wanted to write a book about how our legal system works well for people who communicate a certain way—but lousy for those who don’t.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As the mother of a child who had ten surgeries in three years, I would like to thank first the doctors and nurses who routinely take the hardest moments a family can experience and soften the edges: to Dr. Roland Eavey and the pediatric nursing staff at Mass. Eye and Ear—thank you for the real-life happy ending. In the course of writing My Sister’s Keeper, as always, I was reminded of how very little I know, and how much I rely on the experience and the intellect of others. For allowing me to borrow from their lives personally and professionally, or for suggestions of pure writing genius: thank you, Jennifer Sternick, Sherry Fritzsche, Giancarlo Cicchetti, Greg Kachejian, Dr. Vincent Guarerra, Dr. Richard Stone, Dr. Farid Boulad, Dr. Eric Terman, Dr. James Umlas, Wyatt Fox, Andrea Greene and Dr. Michael Goldman, Lori Thompson, Synthia Follensbee, Robin Kall, Mary Ann McKenney, Harriet St. Laurent, April Murdoch, Aidan Curran, Jane Picoult, and Jo-Ann Mapson. For making me “can man” for the night, and part of a bona fide firefighting team: thanks to Michael Clark, Dave Hautanemi, Richard “Pokey” Low, and Jim Belanger (who also gets a gold star for editing my mistakes). For throwing their considerable support behind me, thanks to Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr, Camille McDuffie, Laura Mullen, Sarah Branham, Karen Mender, Shannon McKenna, Paolo Pepe, Seale Ballenger, Anne Harris, and the indomitable Atria sales force. For believing in me first, my pure gratitude to Laura Gross. For outstanding guidance and the freedom to spread my wings, my sincere appreciation to Emily Bestler. For Scott and Amanda MacLellan, and Dave Cranmer—who offered me insight into the triumphs and tragedies of living daily with a life-threatening disease—thank you for your generosity, and best wishes for a long and healthy future.
And, as always, thanks to Kyle, Jake, Sammy, and especially to Tim, for being what matters most.
* The best way to peel peaches is to cut a small cross at the base of each peach and drop the fruit into a pot of boiling water for 1 minute. Remove it with a slotted spoon and immediately place the peach in ice water. Peel the peach—the skin will come right off—and slice into thin wedges or small pieces for the buckle.
A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2009 by Jodi Picoult
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Atria Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
“Late Fragment” from A New Path to the Waterfall by Raymond Carver. Copyright © 1989 by the Estate of Raymond Carver. Used by permission of Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
From The Spectator Bird by Wallace Stegner, copyright © 1976 by Wallace Stegner. Used by permission of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.
First Washington Square Press trade paperback edition September 2009
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Designed by Jaime Putorti
The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Picoult, Jodi, 1966–
Handle with care : a novel / by Jodi Picoult.
p. cm.
1. Osteogenesis imperfecta—Fiction. 2. Wrongful life—Fiction. 3. Medical care, Cost of—Fiction. 4. Parents of children with disabilities—Fiction. 5. Mothers—Psychology—Fiction. 6. Physician and patient—Moral and ethical aspects—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3566.I372H36 2009
813'.54—dc22
2008038339
ISBN 978-0-7432-9641-0
ISBN 978-0-7432-9642-7 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4391-5630-8 (eBook)
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Case 1: Sleep Tight
Chapter 1
Emma
Theo
Jacob
Rich
Jacob
Case 2: Irony 101
Chapter 2
Emma
Theo
Oliver
Jacob
Emma
Theo
Jacob
<
br /> Emma
Case 3: Bragged, Taunted, “Kaught”
Chapter 3
Rich
Emma
Jacob
Theo
Rich
Jacob
Emma
Theo
Rich
Emma
Jacob
Theo
Emma
Rich
Jacob
Case 4: Something’s Fishy
Chapter 4
Rich
Theo
Emma
Jacob
Rich
Emma
Rich
Oliver
Jacob
Case 5: The Not-so-good Doctor
Chapter 5
Rich
Oliver
Theo
Jacob
Emma
Jacob
Oliver
Jacob
Case 6: Bite Me
Chapter 6
Rich
Jacob
Oliver
Rich
Emma
Theo
Jacob
Rich
Oliver
Emma
Case 7: Blood is Thicker than Water
Chapter 7
Theo
Oliver
Emma
Oliver
Emma
Jacob
Rich
Jacob
Rich
Theo
Jacob
Case 8: One in Six Billion
Chapter 8
Oliver
Theo
Jacob
Oliver
Emma
Oliver
Theo
Jacob
Oliver
Case 9: Pajama Game
Chapter 9
Theo
Jacob
Oliver
Emma
Oliver
Jacob
Theo
Oliver
Jacob
Rich
Oliver
Theo
Jacob
Emma
Case 10: Woodn’t you like to get away with Murder?
Chapter 10
Emma
Jacob
Oliver
Theo
Jacob
Emma
Oliver
Emma
Oliver
Emma
Oliver
Jacob
Rich
Oliver
Jacob
Oliver
Emma
Theo
Jacob
Case 11: My Brother’s Keeper
A Readers Club Guide
Introduction
Questions and Topics for Discussion
Enhance Your Book Club
A Conversation with Jodi Picoult
Reader’s Companion
About the Author
About Emily Bestler Books
About Atria Books
Ask Atria
For Nancy Friend Stuart (1949–2008) and David Stuart
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have so many people to thank, as always:
My brilliant legal team: Jennifer Sternick and Lise Iwon; as well as Jennifer Sargent, Rory Malone, and Seth Lipschutz.
The CSIs who let me tag along: Cpl. Claire Demarais, Betty Martin, Beth Anne Zielinski, Jim Knoll, Lt. Dennis Pincince, Lt. Arthur Kershaw, Sgt. Richard Altimari, Lt. John Blessing, Detective John Grassel, Ms. Robin Smith, Dr. Thomas Gilson, Dr. Peter Gillespie, Detective Patricia Cornell—Providence Police, Ret. Trooper Robert Hathaway—Connecticut State Police, Ret. Lt. Ed Downing—Providence Police, Amy Duhaime, and Kim Freeland.
Katherine Yanis and her son Jacob, whose generous donation to Autism Speaks UK inspired the name of my fictional Jacob.
Jim Taylor, who provided the computer lingo for Henry, and who keeps my website the best one I’ve ever seen for an author.
Chief Nick Giaccone, for police procedure.
Julia Cooper, for her banking expertise.
My publishing team: Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr, Kathleen Schmidt, Mellony Torres, Sarah Branham, Laura Stern, Gary Urda, Lisa Keim, Christine Duplessis, Michael Selleck, the sales force, and everyone else who somehow keeps finding readers who haven’t heard of me and bullying them into getting on the bandwagon.
My editor, Emily Bestler, who actually makes me forget that this is supposed to be work, and not fun.
My publicist, Camille McDuffie, who still gets just as excited as I do over the good press.
My agent, Laura Gross, who may lose belts and BlackBerries (and provides excellent comic relief during stressful tours) but who has never lost sight of the fact that we make a phenomenal team.
My mom. We don’t get to pick our parents, but if we did, I still would have chosen her.
My dad. Because I’ve never thanked him formally for being so proud of me.
I spoke with numerous people who have personal experience with Asperger’s syndrome: Linda Zicko and her son Rich, Laura Bagnall and her son Alex Linden, Jan McAdams and her son Matthew, Deb Smith and her son Dylan, Mike Norbury and his son Chris, Kathleen Kirby and her son David, Kelly Meeder and her sons Brett and Derek, Catherine McMaster, Charlotte Scott and her son James, Dr. Boyd Haley, Lesley Dexter and her son Ethan, Sue Gerber and her daughter Liza, Nancy Albinini and her son Alec, Stella Chin and her son Scott Leung, Michelle Destefano, Katie Lescarbeau, Stephanie Loo, Gina Crane and Bill Kolar and their son Anthony, Becky Pekar, Suzanne Harlow and her son Brad.
A special thanks to Ronna Hochbein, a mighty fine author in her own right, who works with autistic kids and not only was a font of information for me regarding vaccines and autism but also arranged for multiple face-to-face interviews with children and their parents.
Thanks aren’t really enough for Jess Watsky. She needs something much larger—gratitude, humility, slavish devotion. As a teen with Asperger’s, she not only allowed me to pick through her life and her mind and steal specific memories and incidents for fiction; but she also read every word of this book with lightning speed, told me what made her laugh and what needed to be fixed. She’s the heart of this novel; I could not have created a character like Jacob without her.
And last (but never least): to Tim, Kyle, Jake, and Sammy. If you four were all I had to call my own, I’d be the richest woman on the planet.
CASE 1: SLEEP TIGHT
At first glance, she looked like a saint: Dorothea Puente rented out rooms to the elderly and disabled in Sacramento, California, in the 1980s. But then, her boarders started to vanish. Seven bodies were found buried in the garden, and traces of prescription sleeping pills were found in the remains, through forensic toxicology analysis. Puente was charged with killing her boarders so that she could take their pension checks and get herself plastic surgery and expensive clothing, in order to maintain her image as a doyenne of Sacramento society. She was charged with nine murders and convicted of three.
In 1998, while serving two consecutive life sentences, Puente began corresponding with a writer named Shane Bugbee and sending him recipes, which were subsequently published in a book called Cooking with a Serial Killer.
Call me crazy, but I wouldn’t touch that food with a ten-foot pole.
1
Emma
Everywhere I look, there are signs of a struggle. The mail has been scattered all over the kitchen floor; the stools are overturned. The phone has been knocked off its pedestal, its battery pack hanging loose from an umbilicus of wires. There’s one single faint footprint at the threshold of the living room, pointing toward the dead body of my son, Jacob.
He is sprawled like a starfish in front of the fireplace. Blood covers his temple and his hands. For a moment, I can’t move, can’t breathe.
Suddenly, he sits up. “Mom,” Jacob says, “you’re not even trying.”
This is not real, I remind myself, and
I watch him lie back down in the exact same position—on his back, his legs twisted to the left.
“Um, there was a fight,” I say.
Jacob’s mouth barely moves. “And . . . ?”
“You were hit in the head.” I get down on my knees, like he’s told me to do a hundred times, and notice the crystal clock that usually sits on the mantel now peeking out from beneath the couch. I gingerly pick it up and see blood on the corner. With my pinkie, I touch the liquid and then taste it. “Oh, Jacob, don’t tell me you used up all my corn syrup again—”
“Mom! Focus!”
I sink down on the couch, cradling the clock in my hands. “Robbers came in, and you fought them off.”
Jacob sits up and sighs. The food dye and corn syrup mixture has matted his dark hair; his eyes are shining, even though they won’t meet mine. “Do you honestly believe I’d execute the same crime scene twice?” He unfolds a fist, and for the first time I see a tuft of corn silk hair. Jacob’s father is a towhead—or at least he was when he walked out on us fifteen years ago, leaving me with Jacob and Theo, his brand-new, blond baby brother.
“Theo killed you?”
“Seriously, Mom, a kindergartner could have solved this case,” Jacob says, jumping to his feet. Fake blood drips down the side of his face, but he doesn’t notice; when he is intensely focused on crime scene analysis, I think a nuclear bomb could detonate beside him and he’d never flinch. He walks toward the footprint at the edge of the carpet and points. Now, at second glance, I notice the waffle tread of the Vans skateboarding sneakers that Theo saved up to buy for months, and the latter half of the company logo—NS—burned into the rubber sole. “There was a confrontation in the kitchen,” Jacob explains. “It ended with the phone being thrown in defense, and me being chased into the living room, where Theo clocked me.”
At that, I have to smile a little. “Where did you hear that term?”
“CrimeBusters, episode forty-three.”
“Well, just so you know—it means to punch someone. Not hit them with an actual clock.”
Jacob blinks at me, expressionless. He lives in a literal world; it’s one of the hallmarks of his diagnosis. Years ago, when we were moving to Vermont, he asked what it was like. Lots of green, I said, and rolling hills. At that, he burst into tears. Won’t they hurt us? he said.