The Jodi Picoult Collection #2 Read online

  “Please. Don’t.” I start to come up with one of my ready replies, but why waste it on her? Then I head for the door in the back.

  There I find a small, squat man with a stars-and-stripes bandanna over his graying curls, wearing yoga gear and doing Tai Chi. “Busy,” Bergen grunts.

  “Something we have in common, Doctor. I’m Campbell Alexander, the attorney who asked for the charts on the Fitzgerald girl.”

  Arms extended forward, the psychiatrist exhales. “I sent them over.”

  “You sent Kate Fitzgerald’s records. I need Anna Fitzgerald’s.”

  “You know,” he replies, “now is not a very good time for me . . . ”

  “Don’t let me interrupt your workout.” I sit down, and Judge lies at my feet. “As I was saying—Anna Fitzgerald? Do you have any notes from the ethics committee about her?”

  “The ethics committee has never convened on Anna Fitzgerald’s behalf. It’s her sister who’s the patient.”

  I watch him arch his back, then hunch forward. “Do you have any idea how many times Anna’s been both an outpatient and an inpatient in this hospital?”

  “No,” Bergen says.

  “I’m counting eight.”

  “But those procedures wouldn’t necessarily come before the ethics committee. When the physicians agree with what the patients want, and vice versa, there’s no conflict. No reason for us to even hear about it.” Dr. Bergen lowers the foot he has raised in the air and reaches for a towel to mop under his arms. “We all have full-time jobs, Mr. Alexander. We’re psychiatrists and nurses and doctors and scientists and chaplains. We don’t go looking for problems.”

  • • •

  Julia and I leaned against my locker, having an argument about the Virgin Mary. I had been fingering her miraculous medal—well, actually, it was her collarbone I was after, and the medal had gotten in the way. “What if,” I said, “she was just some kid who got herself in trouble, and came up with an ingenious way out of it?”

  Julia nearly choked. “I think they can even throw you out of the Episcopal Church for that one, Campbell.”

  “Think about it—you’re thirteen, or however old they were back then when they were shacking up—and you have a nice little roll in the hay with Joseph, and before you know it your EPT is coming up positive. You can either face your father’s wrath, or you can spin a good story. Who’s going to contradict you if you say God’s the one who knocked you up? Don’t you think Mary’s dad was thinking, ‘I could ground her . . . but what if that causes a plague?’”

  Just then I jacked open my locker and a hundred condoms spilled out. A bunch of guys from the sailing team morphed out of their hiding spots, laughing like hyenas. “Figured you could use a new supply,” one of them said.

  Well, what was I supposed to do? I smiled.

  Before I knew it Julia had taken off. For a girl, she ran goddamn fast. I didn’t catch up to her until the school was a distant smudge behind us. “Jewel,” I said, although I didn’t know what should come after that. It was not the first time I had made a girl cry, but it was the first time it hurt me to do it. “Should I have decked them all? Is that what you want?”

  She rounded on me. “What do you tell them about us when you’re in the locker room?”

  “I don’t tell them anything.”

  “What do you tell your parents about us?”

  “I don’t,” I admitted.

  “Fuck you,” she said, and she started running again.

  • • •

  The elevator doors open on the third floor, and there’s Julia Romano. We stare at each other for a moment, and then Judge gets up and starts wagging his tail. “Going down?”

  She steps inside and pushes the button for the lobby, already lit. But it makes her lean across me, so that I can smell her hair—vanilla and cinnamon. “What are you doing here?” she asks.

  “Becoming supremely disappointed in the state of American health care. How about you?”

  “Meeting with Kate’s oncologist, Dr. Chance.”

  “I assume that means we still have a lawsuit?”

  Julia shakes her head. “I don’t know. No one in that family’s returning my calls, except for Jesse, and that’s strictly hormonal.”

  “Did you go up to—”

  “Kate’s room? Yeah. They wouldn’t let me in. Something about dialysis.”

  “They said the same thing to me,” I tell her.

  “Well, if you talk to her—”

  “Look,” I interrupt. “I have to assume we still have a hearing in three days until Anna tells me otherwise. If that’s the case, you and I really need to sit down and figure out what the hell is going on in this kid’s life. Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “No,” Julia says, and she starts to leave.

  “Stop.” When I grasp her arm, she freezes. “I know this is uncomfortable for you. It’s uncomfortable for me, too. But just because you and I can’t seem to grow up doesn’t mean Anna shouldn’t have a chance to.” This is accompanied by a particularly hangdog look.

  Julia folds her arms. “Did you want to write that one down, so you can use it again?”

  I burst out laughing. “Jesus, you’re tough—”

  “Oh, stuff it, Campbell. You’re so glib you probably oil your lips every morning.”

  That conjures all sorts of images for me, but they involve her body parts.

  “You’re right,” she says then.

  “Now that I want to write down . . . ” When she starts walking away this time, Judge and I follow.

  She heads out of the hospital and down a side street, an alley, and past a tenement before we break into the sunshine again on Mineral Spring Avenue in North Providence. By that time, I’m grateful that my left hand is wrapped tight to the leash of a dog with an excessive amount of teeth. “Chance told me that there’s nothing left to do for Kate,” Julia tells me.

  “You mean other than the kidney transplant.”

  “No. Here’s the incredible thing.” She stops walking, plants herself in front of me. “Dr. Chance doesn’t think Kate’s strong enough.”

  “And Sara Fitzgerald’s pushing for it,” I say.

  “When you think about it, Campbell, you can’t blame her logic. If Kate’s going to die without the transplant anyway, why not go for it?”

  We step delicately around a homeless man and his collection of bottles. “Because the transplant involves major surgery for her other daughter,” I point out. “And putting Anna’s health at risk for a procedure that’s not necessary for her seems a little cavalier.”

  Suddenly Julia comes to a halt in front of a small shack with a hand-painted sign, Luigi Ravioli. It looks like the sort of place they keep dark, so that you don’t notice the rats. “Isn’t there a Starbucks nearby?” I ask, just as an enormous bald man in a white apron opens the door and nearly knocks Julia over.

  “Isobella!” he cries, kissing her on both cheeks.

  “No, Uncle Luigi, it’s Julia.”

  “Julia?” He pulls back and frowns. “You sure? You ought to cut your hair or something, give us a break.”

  “You used to get on my case about my hair when it was short.”

  “We got on your case about your hair because it was pink.” He looks at me. “You hungry?”

  “We were hoping for some coffee, and a quiet table.”

  He grins. “A quiet table?”

  Julia sighs. “Not that kind of quiet table.”

  “Right, right, everything’s a big secret. Come in, I’ll give you the room in the back.” He glances down at Judge. “Dog stays here.”

  “Dog comes,” I respond.

  “Not in my restaurant,” Luigi insists.

  “He’s a service dog, he can’t stay outside.”

  Luigi leans close, a couple of inches away from my face. “You’re blind?”

  “Color-blind,” I reply. “He tells me when the traffic lights change.”

  Julia’s uncle’s mouth turn