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  Four hours later, the jury had still not returned a verdict. Sean had driven to the hospital to check on you and had just called to say he was on his way back, had there been any news? Amelia was writing haikus on the white board in the conference room: Help, I'm clearly trapped

  Behind this very white board.

  Please do not erase.

  The rule for today

  Is that there are no more rules.

  Guess you're out of luck.

  I headed to the bathroom for the third time since court had adjourned. I didn't have to go, but I ran the water in the sink and splashed some on my face. I kept telling myself this was not such a big deal, but that was a lie. You did not drag your family to the verge of dissolution for nothing; to have gone through this with nothing to show would have been disastrous. If I had entered into this lawsuit to assuage my conscience, how could I reconcile an outcome where I left feeling even more guilty?

  I patted my face dry and dabbed at my sweater, where it had gotten wet. I tossed the toweling into the trash just as there was a flush in one of the stalls. The door opened as I stepped away from the sink, and I inadvertently smacked it back against the person who was trying to exit. 'Sorry,' I said, and then I realized that the woman standing in front of me was Piper.

  'You know, Charlotte,' she said softly, 'so am I.'

  I looked at her, silent. Of all the things to notice, I realized that she didn't smell the way she used to. She'd changed her perfume or her shampoo.

  'So you admit it,' I said. 'That you made a mistake.'

  Piper shook her head. 'No, I didn't. Not professionally, anyway. But on a personal level, well . . . I'm sorry that this is how things have turned out between us. And I'm sorry that you didn't get the healthy baby you wanted.'

  'Do you realize,' I replied, 'in all the years after Willow was born, you never said that to me?'

  'You should have told me you were waiting to hear it,' Piper said.

  'I shouldn't have had to.'

  I tried not to remember how Piper and I had huddled together in the bleachers at the skating rink, reading the classified ads and trying to match up personal ads with each other. How we would take walks, pushing you in a stroller, punctuating the cold air with so many star-bursts of conversation that three miles passed in no time at all. I tried not to remember that I had thought of her as the sister I'd never had, that I'd hoped you and Amelia would grow up just as close.

  I tried not to remember, but I would.

  Suddenly the door of the bathroom opened. 'There you are,' Marin sighed. 'The jury's back.'

  She hurried out the door, and Piper quickly rinsed her hands under the faucet. I could feel her a half step behind me as we walked toward the courtroom again, but her legs were longer, and eventually she caught up.

  As we stepped in, side by side, a dozen camera flashes went off, and I could not see where I was headed. Marin pulled me forward by the wrist. I thought, although I could have imagined it, that I heard Piper whisper good-bye.

  The judge entered, and we all sat down. 'Madame Foreman,' he said, turning to the jury, 'have you reached a verdict?'

  The woman was small and birdlike, with glasses that made her eyes seem overly magnified. 'Yes, Your Honor. In the case of O'Keefe versus Reece, we find for the plaintiff.'

  Marin had told me 75 percent of all wrongful birth cases were found in favor of the defendant. I turned to her, and she grabbed my arm. 'That's you, Charlotte.'

  'And,' the foreman said, 'we award damages in the amount of eight million dollars.'

  I remember falling back into my chair, and the gallery erupting. My fingers felt numb, and I had to work to breathe. I remember Sean and Amelia, climbing over the bar to hold me tight. I heard the uproar from a group of parents of special-needs kids who'd taken up residence in the back of the court during the trial, and the names they'd called me. I heard Marin telling a reporter that this was the biggest wrongful birth payout in New Hampshire history, and that justice had been done today. I looked through the crowd, trying to find Piper, but she was already gone.

  Today, when I went to take you home from the hospital, I would tell you that this was finally over. I would tell you that you'd have everything you needed, for the rest of your life - and after mine ended. I'd tell you that I had won, that the verdict had been read out loud . . . although I didn't really believe it.

  After all, if I had won this lawsuit, why was my smile as hollow as a drum, and my chest too tight?

  If I had won this lawsuit, why did it feel like I'd lost?

  Weeping: the release of extra moisture.

  In baking, just as in life, there are tears when something's gone wrong. Meringues are only whipped egg whites and sugar; they are meant to be eaten right away. If you hesitate, water will seep between the filling and the meringue, and weeping - little beads that form on the snowy, white peaks - will occur. There are all sorts of theories on how to prevent this - from using only fresh egg whites to using superfine sugar, from adding cornstarch to precooking the meringue. Ask me, and I'll tell you the only foolproof method: Do not bake while your heart is breaking.

  * * *

  LEMON MERINGUE PIE

  1 pie shell, blind-baked

  FILLING

  11/2 cups granulated sugar 6 tablespoons cornstarch

  Pinch of salt

  11/3 cups cold water

  2 tablespoons unsalted butter

  5 egg yolks

  1/2 cup fresh lemon juice

  1 tablespoon grated lemon zest

  Prepare the pie shell. Meanwhile, combine the sugar, cornstarch, salt, and water in a nonreactive saucepan. Mix until there are no lumps, and whisk as the mixture gradually comes to a boil. Remove from the heat and add the butter.

  In a separate bowl, whisk the egg yolks. Add a small amount of the hot liquid mixture and whisk until smooth. Add the egg mixture to the saucepan and bring to a boil over medium heat, continuing to whisk as it thickens, approximately 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the lemon juice and zest.

  MERINGUE

  6 large egg whites at room temperature

  Pinch of cream of tartar

  Pinch of salt

  3/4 cup sugar

  On low speed, beat the egg whites, cream of tartar, and salt until combined. Increase the speed and whip until they form stiff peaks. Beat in the sugar, 1 tablespoon at a time.

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Add the filling to the pie shell and top it with the meringue. Make sure you spread the meringue all the way to touch the edges of the crust. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes. Let the pie cool for about 2 hours, then refrigerate to prevent weeping.

  Or just think happy thoughts.

  Willow

  March 2009

  I

  n school we have Hundred Day. It falls in late November, and we have to bring in a hundred of something, anything. When Amelia was in first grade, she brought in a hundred chocolate chips, but by the time she made it off the bus, she was down to fifty-three. Me, I brought a list of seventy-five bones I've broken and the names of twenty-five more that I haven't.

  A million is ten thousand hundreds. I can't even think of ten thousand. Maybe there are that many trees in a forest or water molecules in a lake. Eight million is even more than that, and it is the number of dollars written on the big blue check that has been on our refrigerator for almost six months now.

  My parents talk about that check a lot. They say that pretty soon the van will officially wheeze itself to death and we'll have to use the money to buy a new one, but then they find a way to keep the old one running. They talk about how the registration deadline for camps for kids like me is coming up, and how they'll have to send in a deposit. I have the brochures next to my bed. In them, there are kids in every color who have OI, like me. They all look happy.

  Maybe that's what happens to kids who go away somewhere. Amelia did, and when she came home, she had brown hair again and her own easel. She paints all the time - portraits of