she didn
't support him or believe in him, and because that hadn't happened in the fi ve years they'd been married, it would cut him to the quick. "It has nothing to do with you, Jamie, or what you did," Allie said slowly, carefully picki ng her way through her own words. "I just don't want to hurt him." A smile stole across Jamie's face, so completely transforming him that Allie would not have recognized him if she'd seen him on the street. "Then you're the one."
Allie blinked at him. "The one what?"
"The one who loves more." He moved closer to the desk, and the handcuffs ta pped against the metal edge as he inadvertently made gestures. "You know it
's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-fo rty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedesta l. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sa ils along for the ride."
Allie opened her mouth to protest, but saw that Jamie wasn't even looking at her anymore. "When I first saw Maggie, she was
Jodi Picoult
standing knee-deep in water at this little duck pond, scrubbing the bottom w ith a long-handled brush. I thought she worked for the town, but she told me later that she did it once a month because nobody else bothered to. She was wearing a yellow slicker and baggy striped shorts and diamond earrings. Tha t's what made me come closer. They kept catching the light of the sun and wi nking at me. I mean, here she was covered in mud and droppings, but she was still wearing diamonds.' He shook his head. "I took the scrub brush from her and helped her onto the grass. I lived right on the other side of that park
; I passed it ten times each day, and suddenly I knew that the next time I p assed it, if she wasn't there, it was going to look all wrong." Allie covered her mouth with her hand and turned away. She pictured Magg ie MacDonald on the embalming table. She tried to remember if Maggie had been wearing earrings.
"I'm the one like you," Jamie said. "The one who fell first. The one who wou ld do anything to keep it the way it was at the beginning." Allie felt the room closing in on her. She forced herself to her feet. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Seventy-thirty," Jamie replied.
"But you killed her."
Jamie shook his head. "I loved her," he said quietly. "I loved her so much I l et her go."
From the corner of her eye, Allie could see the door of the police station swing open and for a horrible moment she thought it would be Cam and she would be well and truly caught. Her stomach flipped as she waited for the newcomer to step into the main area of the station. A young man, someone s he'd seen before but couldn't quite connect with a name.
"Not Cam?"
"No," Allie breathed, before realizing that Jamie had just proven his point. Casey MacRae stuck his head in the door of the booking room. "Allie, I'm go ing to have to ask you to leave. MacDonald's counsel just arrived." Allie nodded, and Casey ducked back out. She turned to Jamie. "I wish you lu ck," she said stiffly.
69
Jamie reached out and took her cold hand between his own. She tried to imag ine him pressing those hands over Maggie's nose and mouth, pressing hard an d not relenting, but she could not really do it. "Allie," he asked softly,
"do you think I'm guilty?"
He had let his guard down; in his eyes she could see the effort it cost him to simply sit upright; the pain caused just by breathing; the shimmering mem ories of a slow, moonlit fox-trot around a duck pond. "That depends," she sa id, allowing herself to smile, "on what you think you're guilty of."
"I Vyithin five minutes of meeting Jamie MacDonald, Graham Vr MacPhee rea lized the man would have gladly welcomed the death penalty, had it been a n option in Massachusetts. He did not want counsel, especially not someon e who was a notch above your average public defender. He simply wanted to be convicted and to spend the rest of his life wasting away in a bigger
't support him or believe in him, and because that hadn't happened in the fi ve years they'd been married, it would cut him to the quick. "It has nothing to do with you, Jamie, or what you did," Allie said slowly, carefully picki ng her way through her own words. "I just don't want to hurt him." A smile stole across Jamie's face, so completely transforming him that Allie would not have recognized him if she'd seen him on the street. "Then you're the one."
Allie blinked at him. "The one what?"
"The one who loves more." He moved closer to the desk, and the handcuffs ta pped against the metal edge as he inadvertently made gestures. "You know it
's never fifty-fifty in a marriage. It's always seventy-thirty, or sixty-fo rty. Someone falls in love first. Someone puts someone else up on a pedesta l. Someone works very hard to keep things rolling smoothly; someone else sa ils along for the ride."
Allie opened her mouth to protest, but saw that Jamie wasn't even looking at her anymore. "When I first saw Maggie, she was
Jodi Picoult
standing knee-deep in water at this little duck pond, scrubbing the bottom w ith a long-handled brush. I thought she worked for the town, but she told me later that she did it once a month because nobody else bothered to. She was wearing a yellow slicker and baggy striped shorts and diamond earrings. Tha t's what made me come closer. They kept catching the light of the sun and wi nking at me. I mean, here she was covered in mud and droppings, but she was still wearing diamonds.' He shook his head. "I took the scrub brush from her and helped her onto the grass. I lived right on the other side of that park
; I passed it ten times each day, and suddenly I knew that the next time I p assed it, if she wasn't there, it was going to look all wrong." Allie covered her mouth with her hand and turned away. She pictured Magg ie MacDonald on the embalming table. She tried to remember if Maggie had been wearing earrings.
"I'm the one like you," Jamie said. "The one who fell first. The one who wou ld do anything to keep it the way it was at the beginning." Allie felt the room closing in on her. She forced herself to her feet. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Seventy-thirty," Jamie replied.
"But you killed her."
Jamie shook his head. "I loved her," he said quietly. "I loved her so much I l et her go."
From the corner of her eye, Allie could see the door of the police station swing open and for a horrible moment she thought it would be Cam and she would be well and truly caught. Her stomach flipped as she waited for the newcomer to step into the main area of the station. A young man, someone s he'd seen before but couldn't quite connect with a name.
"Not Cam?"
"No," Allie breathed, before realizing that Jamie had just proven his point. Casey MacRae stuck his head in the door of the booking room. "Allie, I'm go ing to have to ask you to leave. MacDonald's counsel just arrived." Allie nodded, and Casey ducked back out. She turned to Jamie. "I wish you lu ck," she said stiffly.
69
Jamie reached out and took her cold hand between his own. She tried to imag ine him pressing those hands over Maggie's nose and mouth, pressing hard an d not relenting, but she could not really do it. "Allie," he asked softly,
"do you think I'm guilty?"
He had let his guard down; in his eyes she could see the effort it cost him to simply sit upright; the pain caused just by breathing; the shimmering mem ories of a slow, moonlit fox-trot around a duck pond. "That depends," she sa id, allowing herself to smile, "on what you think you're guilty of."
"I Vyithin five minutes of meeting Jamie MacDonald, Graham Vr MacPhee rea lized the man would have gladly welcomed the death penalty, had it been a n option in Massachusetts. He did not want counsel, especially not someon e who was a notch above your average public defender. He simply wanted to be convicted and to spend the rest of his life wasting away in a bigger
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