Free Plain Truth by Jodi Picoult Page B

I noticed how heavily she leaned on the banister. She'd just had a baby, after all—most women were still hospitalized, yet here Katie was playing hostess. At the top of the landing, I touched her shoulder. “Are you … feeling okay?”
    She stared at me blankly. “I am fine, thank you.” Turning, she led me to her bedroom. It was clean and neat, but hardly the room of a teenager. No Leonardo posters, no Beanie Babies scattered about, no collection of lip gloss jars littering the dresser. There was nothing, in fact, on the walls; the only individuality in the room came from the rainbow of quilts that covered the two twin beds.
    â€œYou can have that bed,” Katie said, and I went to sit down on it before her words registered. She expected me to stay in this room, her room, while I was living on the farm.
    Hell, no. It was bad enough that I had to be here at all; if I couldn't even have my privacy at night, all bets were off. I took a deep breath, fighting for a polite way to tell Katie that I would not, under any circumstances, be sharing a bedroom with her. But Katie was wandering around the room, touching the tall neck of the ladderback chair and smoothing her quilt, and then getting down on her hands and knees to look underneath the bed. Finally, she sat back on her heels. “They took my things,” she said, her voice small.
    â€œWho did?”
    â€œI don't know. Someone came in here and took my things. My nightgown. My shoes.”
    â€œI'm sure that—”
    She turned on me. “You're sure of nothing,” she challenged.
    Suddenly I realized that if I stayed in this room, sleeping beside Katie, I wouldn't be the only one incapable of keeping secrets. “I was going to say that I'm sure the police searched your room. They must have found something to make them feel confident enough to charge you.” Katie sat down on her own bed, her shoulders slumped. “Look. Why don't we start by having you tell me what happened yesterday morning?”
    â€œI didn't kill any baby. I didn't even have a baby.”
    â€œSo you've said.” I sighed. “Okay. You may not like me being here, and I certainly could find a thousand other things I'd rather be doing, but thanks to Judge Gorman, you and I are going to be stuck with each other for some time. I have a deal with my clients: I won't ask you if you committed the crime, not ever. And in return, you tell me the truth whenever I ask you anything else.” Leaning forward, I caught her gaze. “You want to tell me you didn't kill that baby? Go right ahead. I couldn't care less if you did or didn't, because I'll still stand up for you in court no matter what and not make a personal judgment. But lying about having the baby—something that's been proven a fact—well, Katie, that just makes me angry.”
    â€œI'm not lying.”
    â€œI can count at least three medical experts who've already gone on record saying that your body shows signs of recent delivery. I can wave a blood test in your face that proves the same thing. So how can you sit here and tell me you didn't have the baby?”
    As a defense attorney, I already knew the answer—she could sit there and tell me because she believed it, one hundred percent. But before I even contemplated running with an insanity defense, I needed to make sure Katie Fisher wasn't taking me for a ride. Katie didn't act crazy, and she functioned normally. If this kid was insane, then I was Marcia Clark.
    â€œHow can you sit there,” Katie said, “and tell me you're not judging me?”
    Her words slapped me with surprise. I, the suave defense attorney, the one with a winning record and a list of credentials as long as my arm, had made the cardinal mistake of mentally convicting a client before the right to a fair trial. A fair trial in which I was supposed to represent her. She had lied about having the baby, and I couldn't push that aside without