by Jodi Picoult
He looks up at me, piercing. "What are you going to tell DeSalvo?"
"Are you asking because of Anna, or because you're afraid of losing this trial?"
"Thanks, but I gave my conscience up for Lent."
"Aren't you going to ask yourself why a thirteen-year-old girl's gotten under your skin?"
He grimaces. "Why don't you just butt out, Julia, and ruin my case like you were planning to do in the first place?"
"This isn't your case, it's Anna's. Although I can certainly see why you'd think otherwise."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're cowards. You're both hell-bent on running away from yourself," I say. "I know what consequences Anna's afraid of. What about you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"No? Where's the one-liner? Or is it too hard to joke about something that hits so close to the bone? You back away every time someone gets close to you. It's okay if Anna's just a client, but the minute she becomes someone you care about, you're in trouble. Me, well, a quick fuck's just fine, but making an emotional attachment, that's out of the question. The only relationship you have is with your dog, and even that's some enormous State secret."
"You are way out of line, Julia--"
"No, actually, I'm probably the only person who's qualified to let you know exactly what a jerk you are. But that's okay, right? Because if everyone thinks you're a jerk, no one will bother getting too close." I stare at him a beat longer. "It's disappointing to know that someone can see right through you, isn't it, Campbell."
He gets up, stone-faced. "I have a case to try."
"You do that," I say. "Just make sure you separate justice from the client who needs it. Otherwise, God forbid, you may actually find out that you have a working heart."
I walk off before I can embarrass myself any further, and hear Campbell's voice reach out to me. "Julia. It's not true."
I close my eyes, and against my better judgment, turn around.
He hesitates. "The dog. I--"
But whatever he is about to admit is interrupted by Vern's appearance in the doorway. "Judge DeSalvo's on the warpath," he interrupts. "You're late, and the mini-mart was sold out of coffee milk."
I meet Campbell's gaze. I wait for him to finish his sentence. "You're my next witness," he says evenly, and the moment is gone before I can even remember it existed.
CAMPBELL
IT'S GETTING HARDER AND HARDER to be a bastard.
By the time I get into the courtroom, my hands are trembling. Part of it, of course, is the same old same old. But part of it involves the fact that my client is about as responsive as a boulder beside me; and the woman I'm crazy about is the one I am about to put on the witness stand. I glance once at Julia as the judge enters; she makes a point of looking away.
My pen rolls off the table. "Anna, can you get that for me?"
"I don't know. I'd be wasting time and manpower, wouldn't I?" she says, and the goddamn pen stays on the floor.
"Are you ready to call your next witness, Mr. Alexander?" Judge DeSalvo asks, but before I can even say Julia's name Sara Fitzgerald asks to approach the bench.
I gear up for yet another complication, and sure enough, opposing counsel doesn't disappoint. "The psychiatrist that I've asked to call as a witness has an appointment at the hospital this afternoon. Would it be all right with the Court if we took her testimony out of order?"
"Mr. Alexander?"
I shrug. It's just a stay of execution for me, when you get right down to it. So I sit down beside Anna and watch a small, dark woman with a bun twisted ten degrees too tight for her face take the stand. "Please state your name and address for the record," Sara begins.
"Dr. Beata Neaux," the psychiatrist says. "1250 Orrick Way, Woonsocket."
Dr. No. I look around the courtroom, but apparently I'm the only James Bond fan. I take out a legal pad and write a note to Anna: If she married Dr. Chance, she'd be Dr. Neaux-Chance.
A smile twitches at the corner of Anna's mouth. She picks up the pen that dropped and writes back: If she got a divorce and then married Mr. Buster, she'd be Dr. Neaux-Chance-Buster.
We both start to laugh, and Judge DeSalvo clears his throat and looks at us. "Sorry, Your Honor," I say.
Anna passes me another note: I'm still mad at you.
Sara walks toward her witness. "Can you tell us, Doctor, the nature of your practice?"
"I'm a child psychiatrist."
"How did you first meet my children?"
Dr. Neaux glances at Anna. "About seven years ago, you brought in your son, Jesse, because of some behavioral problems. Since then I've met with all the children, over various occasions, to talk about different issues that have come up."
"Doctor, I called you last week and asked you to prepare a report giving your expert opinion about psychological harm Anna might suffer if her sister dies."
"Yes. In fact, I did a little research. There was a similar case in Maryland in which a girl was asked to be a donor for her twin. The psychiatrist who examined the twins found they had such a strong identification with each other that if the expected successful results were achieved, it would be of immense benefit to the donor." She looks at Anna. "In my opinion, you're looking at a very similar set of circumstances here. Anna and Kate are very close, and not just genetically. They live together. They hang out together. They have literally spent their entire lives together. If Anna donates a kidney that saves her sister's life, it's a tremendous gift--and not just to Kate. Because Anna herself will continue to be part of the intact family by which she defines herself, rather than a family that's lost one of its members."
This is such a load of psychobabble bullshit I can barely see to swim through it, but to my shock, the judge seems to be taking this with great sincerity. Julia, too, has her head tilted and a tiny frown line between her brows. Am I the only person in the room with a functioning brain?
"Moreover," Dr. Neaux continues, "there are several studies that indicate children who serve as donors have higher self-esteem, and feel more important within the family structure. They consider themselves superheroes, because they can do the one thing no one else can."
That's the most off-the-mark description of Anna Fitzgerald I have ever heard.
"Do you think that Anna is capable of making her own medical decisions?" Sara asks.
"Absolutely not."
Big surprise.
"Whatever decision she makes is going to have overtones for this entire family," Dr. Neaux says. "She's going to be thinking of that while making her decision, and therefore, it will never truly be independent. Plus, she's only thirteen years old. Develop-mentally her brain isn't wired yet to look that far ahead, so any decision will be made based on her immediate future, rather than the long term."
"Dr. Neaux," the judge interrupts, "what would you recommend, in this case?"
"Anna needs the guidance of someone with more life experience . . . someone who has her best interests in mind. I'm happy to work with the family, but the parents need to be the parents, here--because the children can't be."
When Sara turns the witness over to me, I go in for the kill. "You're asking us to believe that donating a kidney will net Anna all these fabulous psychological perks."
"That's correct," Dr. Neaux says.
"Doesn't it stand to reason, then, that if she donates that same kidney--and her sister dies as a result of the operation--then Anna will suffer significant psychological trauma?"
"I believe her parents will help her reason through that."
"What about the fact that Anna's saying she doesn't want to be a donor anymore," I point out. "Isn't that important?"
"Absolutely. But like I said, Anna's current state of mind is driven by the short-term consequences. She doesn't understand how this decision is really going to play out."
"Who does?" I ask. "Mrs. Fitzgerald may not be thirteen, but she lives each day waiting for the other shoe to drop in terms of Kate's health, do
n't you think?"
Grudgingly, the psychiatrist nods.
"You might say she defines her own ability to be a good mother by keeping Kate healthy. In fact, if her actions keep Kate alive, she herself benefits psychologically."
"Of course."
"Mrs. Fitzgerald would be much better off in a family that included Kate. Why, I'd even go as far as to say that the choices she makes in her life are not at all independent, but rather colored by issues concerning Kate's health care."
"Probably."
"Then by your own reasoning," I finish, "isn't it true that Sara Fitzgerald looks, feels, and acts like a donor for Kate?"
"Well--"
"Except she's not offering her own bone marrow and blood. Just Anna's."
"Mr. Alexander," the judge warns.
"And if Sara fits the psychological profile of a closely related donor personality who can't make independent decisions, then why is she any more capable of making this choice than Anna?"
From the corner of my eye, I can see Sara's stunned face. I can hear the judge banging his gavel. "You're right, Dr. Neaux--parents need to be parents," I say. "But sometimes that isn't good enough."
JULIA
JUDGE DESALVO CALLS for a ten-minute break. I put down my knapsack, a Guatemalan weave, and start washing my hands when the door to one of the bathroom stalls opens. Anna comes out, hesitating for just a moment. Then she turns on the tap beside me.
"Hey," I say.
Anna goes to dry her hands under the blower. The air doesn't feed out, not reading the sensor of her palm for some reason. She waves her fingers beneath the machine again, then stares at them, as if trying to make sure that she's not invisible. She bangs on the metal.
When I lean over and wave a hand beneath it, hot air breathes into my palm. We share this small warmth, hobos around a kettle-bellied fire. "Campbell tells me you don't want to testify."
"I don't really want to talk about it," Anna says.
"Well, sometimes to get what you want the most, you have to do what you want the least."
She leans against the bathroom wall and crosses her arms. "Who died and made you Confucius?" Anna turns away, then reaches down to pick up my knapsack for me. "I like this. All the colors."
I take it and slip it over my shoulder. "I saw old women weaving them, when I was in South America. It takes twenty spools of thread to make this pattern."
"Truth's like that," Anna says, or it's what I think she says, but by then she has left the room.
*
I am watching Campbell's hands. They move around a lot while he is talking; he almost seems to use them to punctuate whatever he's saying. But they're trembling a little, too, and I attribute this to the fact that he doesn't know what I'm going to say. "As the guardian ad litem," he asks, "what are your recommendations in this case?"
I take a deep breath and look at Anna. "What I see here is a young woman who has spent her life feeling an enormous responsibility for her sister's well-being. In fact, she knows she was brought into this world to carry that responsibility." I glance at Sara, sitting at her table. "I think that this family, when they conceived Anna, had the best of intentions. They wanted to save their older daughter; they believed Anna would be a welcome addition to the family--not just because of what she would provide genetically, but also because they wanted to love her and watch her grow up well."
Then I turn to Campbell. "I also understand completely how, in this family, it became critical to do anything that was humanly possible to save Kate. When you love someone, you'll do anything you can to keep them with you."
As a little girl, I used to wake up in the middle of the night remembering my wildest dreams--I was flying; I was locked in a chocolate factory; I was queen of a Caribbean isle. I would wake with the smell of frangipani in my hair or clouds caught in the hem of my nightgown until I realized that I was somewhere different. And no matter how hard I tried, I might fall asleep again but I could not will myself back into the fabric of that dream I'd been having.
Once, during the night Campbell and I spent together, I woke up in his arms to find him still sleeping. I traced the geography of his face: from the cliff of his cheekbone to the whirlpool of his ear to the laugh lines ravined beside his mouth. Then I closed my eyes and for the first time in my life fell right back into the dream, in the very spot where I'd left it.
"Unfortunately," I say to the Court, "there is also a point when you have to step back and say that it's time to let go."
*
For a month after Campbell dumped me, I did not get out of bed except when forced to go to Mass or to sit at the dinner table. I stopped washing my hair. Under my eyes were dark circles. Izzy and I, at very first glance, looked completely different.
On the day that I mustered the courage to get out of bed of my own volition, I went to Wheeler and trolled around the boathouse, carefully staying hidden until I found a boy on the sailing team--a summer session student--who was taking out one of the school's skiffs. He had blond hair, instead of Campbell's black. He was stocky, not tall and lean. I pretended I needed a ride home.
Within an hour I had fucked him in the backseat of his Honda.
I did it because if there was someone else, then I wouldn't smell Campbell on my skin and taste him on the inside of my lips. I did it because I had been feeling so hollow inside that I feared floating away, like a helium balloon that rose so high you couldn't even see the faintest splash of color.
I felt this boy whose name I couldn't be bothered to remember grunting and heaving inside me; I was that empty and that far away. And suddenly I knew what became of all those lost balloons: they were the loves that slipped out of our fists; the blank eyes that rose in every night sky.
*
"When I first was given this assignment two weeks ago," I tell the judge, "and I started to look at the dynamics of this family, it seemed to me that medical emancipation was in Anna's best interests. But then I realized I was guilty of making judgments the way everyone else in this family does--based solely on physiological effects, instead of psychological ones. The easy part of this decision is to figure out what's medically right for Anna. Bottom line: it is not in her best interests to donate organs and blood that has no medical benefit for Anna herself but prolongs her sister's life."
I see Campbell's eyes spark; this endorsement has surprised him. "It's harder to come up with a solution, though--because although it may not be in Anna's best interests to be a donor for her sister, her own family is incapable of making informed decisions about that. If Kate's illness is a runaway train, then everyone reacts from crisis to crisis without figuring out the best way to bring this into the station. And using the same analogy, her parents' pressure is a switch on the track--Anna isn't mentally or physically strong enough to guide her own decisions, knowing what their wishes are."
Campbell's dog gets up and begins to whine. Distracted, I turn to the noise. Campbell pushes away Judge's snout, never taking his eyes off me.
"I see no one in the Fitzgerald family who can make unbiased decisions about Anna's health care," I admit. "Not her parents, and not Anna herself."
Judge DeSalvo frowns down at me. "Then Ms. Romano," he asks, "what's your recommendation to the court?"
CAMPBELL
SHE'S NOT GOING TO VETO the petition.
That's my first incredible thought--that my case isn't going down in flames yet, even after Julia's testimony. My second thought is that Julia is as ripped up about this case and what it's done to Anna as I am, except she's put it out there on display for everyone to see.
Judge has chosen this moment to become a colossal pain in the ass. He sinks his teeth into my coat and starts tugging, but I'll be damned if I'm going to break before I hear Julia finish.
"Ms. Romano," DeSalvo asks, "what's your recommendation to the court?"
"I don't know," she says softly. "I'm sorry. This is the first time I've ever served as a guardian ad litem and been unable to reach a recommenda
tion, and I know that's not acceptable. But on one hand I have Brian and Sara Fitzgerald, who have done nothing but make choices throughout the course of both their daughters' lives out of love. Put that way, they certainly don't seem like the wrong decisions--even if they aren't the right decisions for both of those daughters anymore."
She turns to Anna, and beside me I can feel her sit a little straighter, prouder. "On the other hand, I have Anna, who after thirteen years is standing up for herself--even though it may mean losing the sister she loves." Julia shakes her head. "It's a Solomon's choice, Your Honor. But you're not asking me to split a baby in half. You're asking me to split a family."
When I feel a tug on my other arm I start to slap the dog away again, but then realize that this time, it's Anna. "Okay," she whispers.
Judge DeSalvo excuses Julia from the stand. "Okay what?" I whisper back.
"Okay I'll talk," Anna says.
I stare at her in disbelief. Judge is whining now, and batting his nose against my thigh, but I can't risk a recess. All it will take for Anna to change her mind is a split second. "You sure?"
But she doesn't answer me. She stands up, drawing all attention in the courtroom to herself. "Judge DeSalvo?" Anna takes a deep breath. "I have something to say."
ANNA
LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT the first time I had to give an oral report in class: it was third grade, and I was in charge of talking about the kangaroo. They're pretty interesting, you know. I mean, not only are they found on Australia alone, like some kind of mutant evolutionary strain--they have the eyes of deer and the useless paws of a T. Rex. But the most fascinating thing about them is the pouch, of course. This baby, when it gets born, is like the size of a germ and manages to crawl under the flap and tuck itself inside, all while its clueless mother is bouncing around the Outback. And that pouch isn't like they make it out on Saturday morning cartoons--it's pink and wrinkled like inside your lip, and full of important motherish plumbing. I'll bet you didn't know kangaroos don't just carry one joey at a time. Every now and then there will be a miniature sibling, tiny and jellied and stuck in the bottom while her older sister scrapes around with enormous feet and makes herself comfortable.
