Jodi Picoult - Change of heart

ALSO BY JODl PICOU LT

Nineteen Minutes

The Tenth Circle

Vanishing Acts

My Sister's Keeper

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2008 by Jodi Picoult

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First Atria Books hardcover edition March 2008

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Picoult, Jodi, 1966-

Change of heart: a novel / by Jodi Picoult.-1st Atria Books hardcover ed. p. cm.

1. Murderers-Fiction. 2. Transplantation of organs, tissues, etc.-Fiction. 3.

Repentance-Fiction. I. Title.

With love, and too much admiration to fit on these pages

To my grandfather, Hal Friend, who has always been brave enough to question what we believe...

And to my grandmother, Bess Friend, who has never stopped believing in me.

Writing this book was its own form of miracle; it's very hard to write about religion responsibly, and that means taking the time to find the right people to answer your questions. For their time and their knowledge, I must thank Lori Thompson, Rabbi Lina Zerbarini,

Father Peter Duganscik, Jon Saltzman, Katie Desmond, Claire

Demarais, and Pastor Ted Brayman. Marjorie Rose and Joan Collison were willing to theorize about religion whenever I brought it up. Elaine Pagels is a brilliant author herself and one of the smartest women I've ever spoken with-I chased her down and begged her for a private tutorial on the Gnostic Gospels, one of her academic specialties, and would hang up the phone after each conversation with my mind buzzing and a thousand more questions to explore-surely something the Gnostics would have heartily endorsed.

Jennifer Sternick is still the attorney I'd want fighting for me, no matter what, Chris Keating provides legal information for me at blistering speed, and Chris Johnson's expertise on the appeals process for death penalty cases was invaluable.

Thanks to the medical team that didn't mind when I asked how to kill someone, instead of how to save them-among other things: Dr. Paul Kispert, Dr. Elizabeth Martin, Dr. David Axelrod,

Dr. Vijay Thadani, Dr. Jeffrey Parsonnet, Dr. Mary Kay Wolfson,

Barb Danson, James Belanger. Jacquelyn Mitchard isn't a doc, but a wonderful writer who gave me the nuts and bolts of LD kids.

And a special thank-you to Dr. Jenna Hirsch, who was so generous with her knowledge of cardiac surgery.

Thanks to Sindy Buzzell, and Kurt Feuer, for their individual expertise. Getting to death row was a significant challenge. My

New Hampshire law enforcement contacts included Police Chief

Nick Giaccone, Captain Frank Moran, Kim Lacasse, Unit Manager

Tim Moquin, Lieutenant Chris Shaw, and Jeff Lyons, PIO of the

New Hampshire State Prison. For finessing my trip to the Arizona

State Prison Florence, thanks to Sergeant Janice Mallaburn, Deputy

Warden Steve Gal, CO II Dwight Gaines, and Judy Frigo (former warden). Thanks also to Rachel Gross and Dale Baich. However, this book would not be what it was without the prisoners who opened up to me both in person and via mail: Robert Purtell, a former death row inmate; Samuel Randolph, currently on death row in Pennsylvania; and Robert Towery, currently on death row in Arizona.

Thanks to my dream team at Atria: Carolyn Reidy, Judith Curr,

David Brown, Danielle Lynn, Mellony Torres, Kathleen Schmidt,

Sarah Branham, Laura Stern, Gary Urda, Lisa Keim, Christine

Duplessis, and everyone else who has worked so hard on my behalf. Thanks to Camille McDuffie-who was so determined to make people stop asking "Jodi Who?" and who exceeded my expectations beyond my wildest dreams. To my favorite first reader,

Jane Picoult, who I was fortunate enough to get as a mom. To

Laura Gross, without whom I'd be completely adrift. To Emily

Bestler, who is just so damn good at making me look brilliant.

And of course, thanks to Kyle, Jake, Sammy-who keep me asking the questions that might make the world a better place- and Tim, who makes it possible for me to do that. It just doesn't get better than all of you, all of this.

Alice laughed. "There's no use trying," she said. "One can't believe impossible things."

"I dare say you haven't had as much practice," said the

Queen. "When I was your age I did it for half an hour a day.

Why sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

- Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass

June

In the beginning, I believed in second chances. How else could I account for the fact that years ago, right after the accident-when the smoke cleared and the car had stopped tumbling end over end to rest upside down in a ditch-I was still alive; I could hear Elizabeth, my little girl, crying? The police officer who had pulled me out of the car rode with me to the hospital to have my broken leg set, with Elizabeth-completely unhurt, a miracle-sitting on his lap the whole time. He'd held my hand when I was taken to identify my husband Jack's body. He came to the funeral. He showed up at my door to personally inform me when the drunk driver who ran us off the road was arrested.

The policeman's name was Kurt Nealon. Long after the trial and the conviction, he kept coming around just to make sure that

Elizabeth and I were all right. He brought toys for her birthday and Christmas. He fixed the clogged drain in the upstairs bathroom.

He came over after he was off duty to mow the savannah that had once been our lawn.

I had married Jack because he was the love of my life; I had planned to be with him forever. But that was before the definition of forever was changed by a man with a blood alcohol level of.22.

I was surprised that Kurt seemed to understand that you might never love someone as hard as you had the first time you'd fallen;

I was even more surprised to learn that maybe you could.

Five years later, when Kurt and I found out we were going to have a baby, I almost regretted it-the same way you stand beneath a perfect blue sky on the most glorious day of the summer and admit to yourself that all moments from here on in couldn't possibly measure up. Elizabeth had been two when Jack died; Kurt was the only father she'd ever known. They had a connection so special it sometimes made me feel I should turn away, that I was intruding.