Handle With Care Read online

  Parents aren't the people you come from. They're the people you want to be, when you grow up.

  I sat between my mother and my father, watching strangers on TV carry in Shaker rockers and dusty paintings and ancient beer tankards and cranberry glass dishes; people and their hidden treasures, who had to be told by experts that they'd taken something incredibly precious for granted.

  Amelia

  I

  tried looking it up on the Internet, but there's nothing that tells you what you're supposed to wear to court if you're a witness. I figured, though, that I definitely wanted the jury to remember me. I mean, they'd had a parade of really boring doctors for the most part; compared to them, I planned to stand out.

  So I spiked my hair, which made it look even darker blue. I wore a bright red sweater and my purple high-top Converses, and my lucky jeans, the ones with the hole in the knee, because I wasn't leaving anything to chance.

  It was pretty ironic, but even last night, my parents hadn't slept in the same bed. Mom was overnight with you at the hospital; Dad and I were back home. Although Guy Booker had said he'd pick me up to go to court, I figured I could hitch a ride with my father and still make it look like I was unhappy to be dragged there. Guy and I had both decided that the longer we could keep my testimony a secret, the better.

  My father, who had already testified, was now allowed to be in the courtroom gallery, which left me alone in the lobby, which was perfect. Shaking, I stood next to a bailiff. 'You okay?' she asked.

  I nodded. 'Butterflies,' I said, and then I heard Guy Booker's voice: 'The defense calls Amelia O'Keefe.'

  I was led inside, but all hell had broken loose. Marin and Guy were up at the bench, arguing; my mother was in tears; my father was standing up, craning his neck around to locate me.

  'You can't call Amelia,' Marin argued.

  Booker shrugged. 'Why not? You're the one who put her on the witness list.'

  'Is there a reason for calling this witness,' Judge Gellar asked, 'beyond simply rubbing the opposing counsel's face in the fact that you can?'

  'Yes, Your Honor,' Booker said. 'Miss O'Keefe has information that this court needs to hear, given the implications of a wrongful birth lawsuit.'

  'All right,' the judge said. 'Bring her in.'

  As I walked toward the front of the courtroom, I could feel everyone's eyes on me. It felt like they were poking holes, and all my confidence was quickly leaking out. As I passed by my mother, I heard her whispering to Marin. 'You promised,' she said. 'You told me it was just a precaution . . .'

  'I had no idea he'd do this,' Marin whispered back. 'Do you have any clue what she's going to say?'

  Then I was in the little wooden cage, like I was a specimen for the jury to scrutinize under a microscope. They brought a Bible over to me and made me swear on it. Guy Booker smiled at me. 'Can you tell us who you are, for the record?'

  'Amelia,' I said, and I had to lick my lips because they were so dry. 'Amelia O'Keefe.'

  'Amelia, where do you live?'

  'Forty-six Stryker Lane in Bankton, New Hampshire.' Could he hear my heart? Because, God, it was like a bongo drum in my chest.

  'How old are you?'

  'Thirteen.'

  'And who are your parents, Amelia?'

  'Charlotte and Sean O'Keefe,' I said. 'Willow's my sister.'

  'Amelia, in your own words, can you explain to the court what this lawsuit is about?'

  I couldn't look at my mother. I pulled my sleeves down, because my scars were burning. 'My mom thinks that Piper should have known earlier that there was going to be a problem with Willow, and should have told her. Because then, she would have had an abortion.'

  'Do you think your mother's telling the truth?'

  'Objection!' Marin shot up so fast it made me jump in the chair.

  'No, I'll allow this,' the judge said. 'You can give your answer, Amelia.'

  I shook my head. 'I know she's not.'

  'How do you know?'

  'Because,' I said, making the words as neat and small as I could, 'I heard her say so.'

  I shouldn't have eavesdropped, but sometimes, that's the only way to find out the truth. And - although I certainly wouldn't admit this out loud - I was feeling sort of protective toward you. You had seemed so down after this latest break and surgery, and when you said Mom wants to get rid of me, it pretty much made me feel like my insides had gone to jelly. We all protected you, in our own ways. Dad blustered around, angry at anything that made life harder for you. Mom, well, she was apparently stupid enough to gamble everything in order to get more for you in the long run. And me, I guess I just lacquered a shell around myself, so that when you got hurt, it was easier to pretend I didn't feel it, too.

  No one's throwing you away, my mother had said, but you were already crying.

  I'm sorry about my leg. I thought if I didn't break anything for a long time, you'd think I was just like any other kid -

  Accidents happen, Willow. Nobody is blaming you.

  You do. You wish you'd never had me. I heard you say it.

  I had held my breath. My mother could tell herself whatever she wanted to help herself get to sleep at night, but she wasn't fooling anyone - especially you.

  Willow, my mother had replied, you listen to me. Everyone makes mistakes . . . including me. We say and we do things we wish we hadn't. But you, you were never a mistake. I would not, in a thousand years - in a million years - have missed out on having you.

  I felt as if I'd been nailed to the wall. If that was true, then everything that had happened in the past year - this lawsuit, losing my friends, watching my parents split - was all for nothing.

  If this was true, then my mother had been lying all along.

  Charlotte

  T

  here's a cost for everything. You might have a beautiful baby girl, but you learn she'll be disabled. You move heaven and earth to make that child happier, but you leave your husband and your other daughter miserable. There is no cosmic scale on which you can weigh your actions; you learn too late what choices ruin the fragile balance.

  As soon as Amelia finished talking, the judge turned to Marin. 'Ms. Gates, your cross-examination?'

  'I don't have any questions for this witness,' she said, 'but I'd like to recall Charlotte O'Keefe to the stand.'

  I stared at her. She hadn't said anything to me via whisper or note, so I stood up cautiously, unsure. Amelia was escorted past me by a bailiff. She was crying. 'I'm sorry,' she mouthed.

  Stiffly, I sat down on the wooden chair. Stick to the message, Marin had said, over and over. But it had gotten harder and harder to remember what that message was.

  'Do you remember that conversation your daughter was just talking about?' Marin asked. Her voice struck like a bullet.

  'Yes.'

  'What were the circumstances?'

  'We'd just brought Willow home from the hospital, after the first day of testimony here. She broke her femur so badly it needed surgery.'

  'Were you upset?'

  'Yes,' I said.

  'Was Willow?'

  'Very.'

  She walked toward me, waiting until I met her eye. And I saw in her the same veiled worry that I'd seen in Amelia when she stepped off that witness stand; in Sean, moments after the courtroom emptied the day before; in you, the night we'd had that very talk - the hidden fear that you might not be good enough for someone you loved. Maybe I felt that, too, and maybe that's why I had started this lawsuit all those months ago - so that when you looked back on your childhood, you didn't blame me for bringing you into a world full of hurt. But love wasn't about sacrifice, and it wasn't about falling short of someone's expectations. By definition, love made you better than good enough; it redefined perfection to include your traits, instead of excluding them.

  All any of us wanted, really, was to know that we counted. That someone else's life would not have been as rich without us here.

  'When you had that conversation with your daughte