- Home
- Jodi Picoult
Mercy Page 36
Mercy Read online
The worst part was being with her in the same house and not knowing what the hell was running through her mind. She'd go about doing things like always--emptying the dishwasher, watching the "Today" show--but she had this knack of looking right through him. She said she didn't want to get rid of him, but he was beginning to feel that the only reason she wanted him around was to punish him.
He told himself that he was the one who had been the asshole, and she had a right to her distance. He told himself that if he wanted to put Mia into a beautiful, frozen memory and not let the past months disturb anything else about his life, he had to show some signs of humility. He just wasn't very good at walking around with his tail between his legs.
Allie had said she loved him. She'd come around.
He was bent over the water fountain when he felt a hand on the collar of his shirt which pulled him up and slammed him hard against the wall. "If I didn't think I'd be booked on assault and battery," Jamie said through clenched teeth, "I'd break your nose."
He released Cam as suddenly as he'd grabbed him, leaving the bystanders and the security guards to wonder if they had imagined the confrontation. "I guess Allie told you," Cam said, embarrassed that this man would know so much about him.
"You're an idiot. You don't know what you've lost."
Cam stared at Jamie, thinking of what he had not mentioned during his testimony--Jamie's story about his wife's illness, the trip to Quebec, the gentleness with which he had touched the corpse after he'd pushed Zandy out of the way. And he realized that strangely enough, this man might be the one person to understand. "You don't know what I had," Cam said quietly.
At his cousin's tone, Jamie took a step back. "Temporary insanity?"
"I guess that's what some people would call it."
Jamie stared at him. He did not speak, but his message was clear: Or were you only doing something that you knew had to be done? Even if it broke all the rules?
Cam nodded down the hall, to a spot that was less crowded, and they walked there in silence. Then Cam leaned against the brick surface, one leg bent at the knee with his foot against the wall, and tilted his head back. "How did you do it?" he asked, his voice thick. "How did you make yourself let her go?"
Jamie wouldn't meet his eye. "I just sort of accepted the fact that it would kill me a little bit every day for the rest of my life."
Cam considered Mia, her hair bouncing over the collar of her oversized coat, and wondered if she was feeling that, wherever she'd gone.
"I don't think I've given you enough credit," Cam said. Jamie looked at his cousin, at the pristine cuffs and corners of his regulation shirt and the brass and buttons that winked from it. He thought of what Cam had just admitted, and then of Allie; and he knew that even if it all worked out in the end, her heart was still the one that would be broken.
Jamie turned away. "I think I gave you too much."
Ellen and Allie sat across from each other in an empty room upstairs from the court. They were sipping cups of coffee bought from a noisy vending machine.
"I think the jury likes Jamie," Allie said, hoping to keep the conversation away from Cam.
"I think the woman with the beads in her hair does," Ellen agreed. "The art teacher, right?"
"Nursery school aide," Allie corrected. "But she was on our side to begin with."
Ellen looked intrigued. "How can you tell?" "Hang around Graham and it becomes an instinct," she said. She had her face turned toward the window. It was raining, and between yesterday's thaw and today's downpour practically all the snow was gone. The world looked completely different than it had just days before.
Ellen wrung her napkin in her lap. She had heard about Allies garage sale; who hadn't? In fact, along with Hannah at the station, she'd been responsible for finding who had what of Cam's. Hannah had used the phone; Ellen had dowsed. "Cam did well today," she said, and she saw Allie visibly flinch.
The rain reflected on Allies cheeks in hideous boils and spots that ran together. When she turned, Ellen was taken aback by the distortion. "Allie," she confessed softly, "I knew." "You knew," Allie repeated, "or you know?" "Does it make a difference?" Allie turned away again. "I'm not sure."
There was so much negative energy burrowed into the girl that
Ellen thought she could dig and dig and maybe never unearth its core. And she had to try; people had burned up from the inside because of this kind of thing.
"I don't want to talk about it," Allie said tightly, but then she looked at her mother-in-law and sighed. "You can't blame yourself. He's your son."
Ellen did not hesitate. "Every bit as much as you're my daughter. And I wouldn't have taken well to a substitute."
Allie tried to smile, but instead she turned back to the rain and tried to count the drops that were chasing each other to the edges of the windowpane, as if there were some kind of censure in standing alone.
Ellen dropped her coffee all over her own lap. "Oh, Lord. I can't believe I did that." She began to mop ineffectually at the runny brown puddle with her single, drenched napkin.
Allie jumped up. "Did you hurt yourself? I'll get some more napkins." As she ran out of the room toward the ladies' lounge, Ellen quickly opened her purse and drew out a small vial of ground ignatia. This cure she had made without Allie, but she hoped that her teaching had rubbed off. It was the remedy for grief, for anger, and for disappointment that your own soul could not shake.
By the time Allie came back, the ignatia had been stirred into her coffee. She helped Ellen pat the mess on the front of her dress and clucked over the damage. "I'll be fine," Ellen said. "What's a little dry cleaning?" She spread her legs a few inches and waved the filmy material in the air, hoping to dry off before court went back into session.
She watched her daughter-in-law take a sip of her coffee. "Finish it," she urged when Allie pushed it aside. "God knows you need to replenish your energy."
Finally, Allie turned the cup upside down. One tiny drip rolled onto the conference table. Ellen smiled at her. She wondered how long it would be before the herb took effect. "How much did you get for Ian's old fly rod?"
Allies mouth dropped open in disbelief. "Sixty bucks."
Her mother-in-law nodded. "All in all," she said, "I couldn't have done better myself."
*
The prosecution rested. Court was adjourned until the following morning. Ellen told Angus she would not take him home until he buttoned his entire coat, and Jamie and Graham left the courtroom with their heads bent together, discussing the strategy of the day.
"Want a cup of coffee?" Cam said to Allie. "I just had one with your mother."
She started to walk out of the courtroom but Cam was only a step behind. "Dinner," he pressed. "You've got to eat sometime."
"But not at four-thirty." She flipped her hair over the collar of her coat; Cam watched it spill over her shoulders. "Begging doesn't suit you."
"I'm negotiating."
Allie ignored him. "I'll catch up with you later at home."
She started to walk toward her car, but was stopped by Cam's carrying voice. "No, you won't. You'll be there, and I'll be there, but we most certainly will not be together."
He had yelled across the parking lot, and although she thought that the people they knew were all gone by now, she could not be entirely sure. She walked toward him again quickly, stopping just a foot away, her face turned up to his in anger. "It has been two days," she hissed. "Two lousy days. How dare you."
A raindrop caught her in the eye, making her vision blur without the heat of a tear. Until then, she hadn't noticed it was still raining.
It had rained every single day of their honeymoon. In Aruba, where it never rained.
"I know what you're thinking of," Cam said, a smile spreading across his face, a big shit-eating grin that she wanted to slap fight off him. "I always think about it, too, when it rains this hard."
"I don't remember."
Cam caught her upper arm. "You remember. You ma