Free Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult Page B

he’d been to the manner born, he believed he rightfully belonged there, and that was just as good.
    There had been a bitter argument once, when his father insisted Nicholas do something he had no inclination to do—the actual circumstances now forgotten: probably escorting someone’s sister to a debutante ball or giving up a Saturday game of neighborhood baseball for formal dancing lessons. Nicholas had stood his ground, certain his father would strike him, but in the end Robert had sunk into a wing chair, defeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You would play the game, Nicholas,” he had said, sighing, “if you knew there was something to lose.”
    Now that he was older, Nicholas understood. Truth be told, as much as he fantasized about living the simple life of a lobster fisherman in Maine, he enjoyed the perks of his station too much to turn his back and walk away. He liked being on a first-name basis with the governor, having debutantes leave their lace bras on the back seat of his car, getting admitted to college and medical school without even a half second of self-doubt or worry about his chances. Paige might not have grown up the same way, but still, she’d left something behind. She was a study in contrasts: as fragile as she seemed on the outside, she still had the kind of confidence it took to make a clean break. Nicholas realized that he had less courage in his whole body than Paige had in her little finger.
    Paige looked up from the anatomy book. “If I quizzed you, would you know every little thing?”
    Nicholas laughed. “No. Yes. Well, it depends on what you ask me.” He leaned forward. “But don’t tell anyone, or I’ll never get my degree.”
    Paige sat up, cross-legged. “Take my medical history,” she said. “Isn’t that good practice? Wouldn’t that help you?”
    Nicholas groaned. “I do it about a hundred times a day,” he said. “I could do it in my sleep.” He rolled onto his back. “Name? Age? Date of birth? Place of birth? Do you smoke? Exercise? Do you or does anyone in your family have a history of heart disease... diabetes ... breast cancer. Do you or does anyone in your family ...” He let his words trail off, and then he slid off the couch to sit next to Paige. She was looking into her lap. “I’d have a little problem with a medical history, I guess,” she said. “If it’s my medical history, why do you focus on everyone else in my family?”
    Nicholas reached for her hand. “Tell me about your mother,” he said.
    Paige jumped to her feet and picked up her purse. “I’ve got to go,” she said, but Nicholas grabbed her wrist before she could move away.
    â€œHow come every time I mention your mother you run away?”
    â€œHow come every time I’m with you you bring it up?” Paige stared down at him and then tugged her wrist free. Her fingers slipped over Nicholas’s until their hands rested tip to tip. “It’s no big mystery, Nicholas,” she said. “Did it ever occur to you that I have nothing to tell?”
    The dim light of Nicholas’s green-shaded banker’s lamp cast shadows of him and of Paige on the opposite wall, images that were nothing more than black and white and were magnified, ten feet tall. In the shadow, where you couldn’t see the faces, it almost looked as if Paige had reached out her hand to help Nicholas up. It almost looked as if she were the one supporting him.
    He pulled her down to sit next to him, and she didn’t really resist. Then he cupped his hands together and fashioned a shadow alligator, which began to eat its way across the wall. “Nicholas!” Paige whispered, a smile running across her face. “Show me how you do it!” Nicholas folded his hands over hers, twisting her fingers gently and cupping her palms just so until a rabbit was silhouetted