My Sister's Keeper Read online

  Brian shakes his head. "I'm saying . . . I'm saying I was so sure Kate was going to die. But Sara, she didn't give up on Kate and she came back fighting." He looks over at his wife. "And now, Kate's kidneys are giving out. I don't want to see her suffering. But at the same time, I don't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't want to tell myself it's over, when it doesn't have to be."

  Brian has become an emotional avalanche, headed right for the glass house I have been meticulously crafting. I need to reel him in. "Mr. Fitzgerald, did you know your daughter was going to file a lawsuit against you and your wife?"

  "No."

  "When she did, did you speak to Anna about it?"

  "Yes."

  "Based on that conversation, Mr. Fitzgerald, what did you do?"

  "I moved out of the house with Anna."

  "Why?"

  "At the time I believed Anna had the right to think this decision out, which wasn't something she'd be able to do living in our house."

  "After having moved out with Anna, after having spoken to her at great lengths about why she's initiated this lawsuit--do you agree with your wife's request to have Anna continue to be a donor for Kate?"

  The answer we have rehearsed is no; this is the crux of my case. Brian leans forward to reply. "Yes, I do," he says.

  "Mr. Fitzgerald, in your opinion . . . " I begin, and then I realize what he's just done. "Excuse me?"

  "I still wish Anna would donate a kidney," Brian admits.

  Staring at this witness who has just completely fucked me over, I scramble for footing. If Brian won't support Anna's decision to stop being a donor, then the judge will find it far harder to rule in favor of emancipation.

  At the same time, I'm patently aware of the smallest sound that has escaped from Anna, the quiet break of soul that comes when you realize that what looked like a rainbow was actually only a trick of the light. "Mr. Fitzgerald, you're willing to have Anna undergo major surgery and the loss of an organ to benefit Kate?"

  It is a curious thing, watching a strong man fall to pieces. "Can you tell me what the right answer is here?" Brian asks, his voice raw. "Because I don't know where to look for it. I know what's right. I know what's fair. But neither of those apply here. I can sit, and I can think about it, and I can tell you what should be and what ought to be. I can even tell you there's got to be a better solution. But it's been thirteen years, Mr. Alexander, and I still haven't found it."

  He slowly sinks forward, too big in that tiny space, until his forehead rests on the cool bar of wood that borders the witness stand.

  *

  Judge DeSalvo calls for a ten-minute recess before Sara Fitzgerald will begin her cross-examination, so that the witness can have a few moments to himself. Anna and I go downstairs to the vending machines, where you can spend a dollar on weak tea and weaker soup. She sits with her heels caught on the rungs of a stool, and when I hand her her cup of hot chocolate she sets it down on the table without drinking.

  "I've never seen my dad cry," she says. "My mom, she would lose it all the time over Kate. But Dad--well, if he fell apart, he made sure to do it where we weren't watching."

  "Anna--"

  "Do you think I did that to him?" she asks, turning to me. "Do you think I shouldn't have asked him to come here today?"

  "The judge would have asked him to testify even if you didn't." I shake my head. "Anna, you're going to have to do it yourself."

  She looks up at me, wary. "Do what?"

  "Testify."

  Anna blinks at me. "Are you kidding?"

  "I thought that the judge would clearly rule in your favor if he saw that your father was willing to support your choices. But unfortunately, that's not what just happened. And I have no idea what Julia's going to say--but even if she comes down on your side, Judge DeSalvo will still need to be convinced that you're mature enough to make these choices on your own, independent of your parents."

  "You mean I have to get up there? Like a witness?"

  I have always known that at some point, Anna would have to take the stand. In a case about emancipation of a minor, it stands to reason that a judge would want to hear from the minor herself. Anna might be acting skittish about testifying, but I believe that subconsciously, it's what she really wants to do. Why else go to the trouble of instigating a lawsuit, if not to make sure that you finally get to speak your mind?

  "You told me yesterday I wouldn't have to testify," Anna says, getting agitated.

  "I was wrong."

  "I hired you so that you could tell everyone what I want."

  "It doesn't work that way," I say. "You started this lawsuit. You wanted to be someone other than the person your family's made you for the past thirteen years. And that means you have to pull back the curtain and show us who she is."

  "Half the grown-ups on this planet have no idea who they are, but they get to make decisions for themselves every day," Anna argues.

  "They aren't thirteen. Listen," I say, getting to what I imagine is the crux of the matter. "I know, in the past, standing up and speaking your mind hasn't gotten you anywhere. But I promise you, this time, when you talk, everyone will listen."

  If anything, this has the reverse effect of what I've intended. Anna crosses her arms. "There is no way I'm getting up there," she says.

  "Anna, being a witness isn't really that big a deal--"

  "It is a big deal, Campbell. It's the hugest deal. And I'm not doing it."

  "If you don't testify, we lose," I explain.

  "Then find another way to win. You're the lawyer."

  I'm not going to rise to that bait. I drum my fingers on the table for patience. "Do you want to tell me why you're so dead set against this?"

  She glances up. "No."

  "No, you're not doing it? Or no, you won't tell me?"

  "There are just some things I don't like talking about." Her face hardens. "I thought you, of all people, would be able to understand that."

  She knows exactly what buttons to push. "Sleep on it," I suggest tightly.

  "I'm not going to change my mind."

  I stand up and dump my full cup of coffee into the trash. "Well then," I tell her. "Don't expect me to be able to change your life."

  SARA

  Present Day

  THERE IS A CURIOUS THING that happens with the passage of time: a calcification of character. See, if the light hits Brian's face the right way, I can still see the pale blue hue of his eyes that has always made me think of an island ocean I had yet to swim in. Beneath the fine lines of his smile, there is the cleft of his chin--the first feature I looked for in the faces of my newborn children. There is his resolve, his quiet will, and a steady peace with himself that I have always wished would rub off on me. These are the base elements that made me fall in love with my husband; if there are times I do not recognize him now, maybe this isn't a drawback. Change isn't always for the worst; the shell that forms around a piece of sand looks to some people like an irritation, and to others, like a pearl.

  Brian's eyes dart from Anna, who is picking at a scab on her thumb, to me. He watches me like a mouse watches a hawk. There is something about this that makes me ache; is this really what he thinks of me?

  Does everyone?

  I wish there was not a courtroom between us. I wish I could walk up to him. Listen, I would say, this is not how I thought our lives would go; and maybe we cannot find our way out of this alley. But there is no one I'd rather be lost with.

  Listen, I'd say, maybe I was wrong.

  "Mrs. Fitzgerald," Judge DeSalvo asks, "do you have any questions for the witness?"

  It is, I realize, a good term for a spouse. What else does a husband or a wife do, but attest to each other's errors in judgment?

  I get up slowly from my seat. "Hello, Brian," I say, and my voice is not nearly as steady as I would have hoped.

  "Sara," he answers.

  Following that exchange, I have no idea what to say.

  A memory washes over me. We h