Jodi Picoult - Handle with Care: A Novel

Handle with Care BY JODI PICOULT

ISBN-13: 978-1-4391-5630-8 ISBN-10: 1-4391-5630-1 For Marjorie Rose, Who makes flowers bloom onstage, Provides me with goss half a world away, And knows youre never fully dressed without a green bag. BFFAA

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS It may be a clich to say I didnt do this alone, but its also true. First and foremost, I want to thank the parents of kids with OI who invited me into their lives for a little whileand the kids themselves, who made me laugh and reminded me daily that strength is far more than a physical measure of stamina: Laurie Blaisdell and Rachel, Taryn Macliver and Matthew, Tony and Stacey Moss and Hope, Amy Phelps and Jonathan. Thanks to my crackerjack medical team: Mark Brezinski, David Toub, John Femino, E. Rebecca Schirrer, Emily Baker, Michele Lauria, Karen George, Steve Sargent; and my legal eagles: Jen Sternick, Lise Iwon, Chris Keating, Jennifer Sargent. I owe Debbie Bernstein for sharing her story about being adopted (and letting me steal huge parts of it). I am likewise indebted to Donna Branca, for revisiting memories that are painful and for being gracious and honest when I asked questions. Thanks to Jeff Fleury, Nick Giaccone, and Frank Moran for helping me create Seans life as a police officer. For other expertise in their fields, thanks to Michael Goldman (who also let me use his fantastic T-shirt slogan), Steve Alspach, Stefanie Ryan, Kathy Hemenway, Jan Scheiner, Fonsaca Malyan, Kevin Lavigne, Ellen Wilber, Sindy Buzzell, and Fred Clow. It would be a gross oversight not to highlight the involvement that Atria Books has in making my books such successes; I am grateful to Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr, David Brown, Kathleen Schmidt, Mellony Torres, Sarah Branham, Laura Stern, Gary Urda, Lisa Keim, Christine Duplessis, Michael Selleck, the whole of the fabulous sales force, and everyone else who has worked so hard to make my books leap off the shelves into the arms and hearts of readers. A special thanks goes to Camille McDuffie, my secret weapon/publicist extraordinaire. Thanks to Emily Bestler, who always makes me feel like a star (and makes sure everyone else seems to think Im one, too). Thanks to Laura Gross, with whom I celebrated my twentieth anniversary this yearand who is the other half of a partnership I rank right up there with my marriage. And to Jane Picoult, my mom, thanks for believing I could do this long before anyone else did, and for laughing and crying in all the right places. In the interests of accuracy, I should state that although there was an OI convention in Omaha, Ive changed the date. Also, Ive slightly amended the way juries are picked in New Hampshireits not by individual, as Ive written, but its a lot more interesting to read that way! I have two special thank-yous. The first is to Katie Desmond, the sister I never had, who created the recipes Ive attributed here to Charlotte OKeefe. If youre ever lucky enough to be invited to her house for dinner: dont walk, run. The second is to Kara Sheridan, who is one of the most inspirational women Ive ever met: shes a scholar studying body image and self-esteem for disabled teens. Shes an athletea swimmer whos broken records. Shes about to get married to a wonderful, adorable guy. And oh, by the way, she also has Type III osteogenesis imperfecta. Thanks, Kara, for showing the world that barriers were meant to be broken, that no one can be defined by a disability, and that nothings ever impossible. Finally, I have to thank once again Kyle, Jake, and Sammy, for giving me something wonderful to come home to; and Tim, who is my happy ending. And did you get what you wanted from this life, even so? I did. And what did you want? To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth. RAYMOND CARVER, LATE FRAGMENT PROLOGUE Charlotte February 14, 2002 Things break all the time. Glass, and dishes, and fingernails. Cars and contracts and potato chips. You can break a record, a horse, a dollar. You can break the ice. There are coffee breaks and lunch breaks and prison breaks. Day breaks, waves break, voices break. Chains can be broken. So can silence, and fever. For the last two months of my pregnancy, I made lists of these things, in the hopes that it would make your birth easier. Promises break. Hearts break. On the night before you were born, I sat up in bed with something to add to my list. I rummaged in my nightstand for a pencil and paper, but Sean put his warm hand on my leg. Charlotte? he asked. Is everything okay? Before I could answer, he pulled me into his arms, flush against him, and I fell asleep feeling safe, forgetting to write down what I had dreamed. It wasnt until weeks later, when you were here, that I remembered what had awakened me that night: fault lines. These are the places where the earth breaks apart. These are the spots where earthquakes originate, where volcanoes are born. Or in other words: the world is crumbling under us; its the solid ground beneath our feet thats an illusion.

You arrived during a storm that nobody had predicted. A noreaster, the weathermen said later, a blizzard that was supposed to blow north into Canada instead of working its way into a frenzy and battering the coast of New England. The news broadcasts tossed aside their features on high school sweethearts who met up again in a nursing home and got remarried, on the celebrated history behind the candy heart, and instead began to run constant weather bulletins about the strength of the storm and the communities where ice had knocked out the power. Amelia was sitting at the kitchen table, cutting folded paper into valentines as I watched the snow blow in six-foot drifts against the glass slider. The television showed footage of cars sliding off the roads. I squinted at the screen, at the flashing blues of the police cruiser that had pulled in behind the overturned vehicle, trying to see whether the officer in the drivers seat was Sean. A sharp rap on the slider made me jump. Mommy! Amelia cried, startled, too. I turned just in time to see a volley of hail strike a second time, creating a crack in the plate glass no bigger than my fingernail. As we watched, it spread into a web of splintered glass as big as my fist. Daddy will fix it later, I said. That was the moment when my water broke. Amelia glanced down between my feet. You had an accident. I waddled to the phone, and when Sean didnt answer his cell, I called Dispatch. This is Sean OKeefes wife, I said. Im in labor. The dispatcher said that he could send out an ambulance, but that it would probably take a whilethey were maxed out with motor vehicle accidents. Thats okay, I said, remembering the long labor Id had with your sister. Ive probably got a while. Suddenly I doubled over with a contraction so strong that the phone fell out of my hand. I saw Amelia watching, her eyes wide. Im fine, I lied, smiling until my cheeks hurt. The phone slipped. I reached for the receiver, and this time I called Piper, whom I trusted more than anyone in the world to rescue me. You cant be in labor, she said, even though she knew bettershe was not only my best friend but also my initial obstetrician. The C-sections scheduled for Monday. I dont think the baby got the memo, I gasped, and I gritted my teeth against another contraction. She didnt say what we were both thinking: that I could not have you naturally. Wheres Sean? Idontknooh, Piper! Breathe, Piper said automatically, and I started to pant, ha-ha-hee-hee, the way shed taught me. Ill call Gianna and tell her were on our way. Gianna was Dr. Del Sol, the maternal-fetal-medicine OB who had stepped in just eight weeks ago at Pipers request. We? Were you planning on driving yourself? Fifteen minutes later, I had bribed away your sisters questions by settling her on the couch and turning on Blues Clues. I sat next to her, wearing your fathers winter coat, the only one that fit me now. The first time I had gone into labor, Id had a bag packed and waiting at the door. Id had a birthing plan and a mix tape of music to play in the delivery room. I knew it would hurt, but the reward was this incredible prize: the child Id waited months to meet. The first time I had gone into labor, Id been so excited. This time, I was petrified. You were safer inside me than you would be once you were out. Just then the door burst open and Piper filled all the space with her assured voice and her bright pink parka. Her husband, Rob, trailed behind, carrying Emma, who was carrying a snowball. Blues Clues ? he said, settling down next to your sister. You know, thats my absolute favorite showafter Jerry Springer. Amelia. I hadnt even thought about who would watch her while I was at the hospital having you. How far apart? Piper asked. My contractions were coming every seven minutes. As another one rolled over me like a riptide, I grabbed the arm of the couch and counted to twenty. I focused on that crack in the glass door. Trails of frost spiraled outward from its point of origin. It was beautiful and terrifying all at once. Piper sat down beside me and held my hand. Charlotte, its going to be okay, she promised, and because I was a fool, I believed her.