BRIAN FITZGERALD IS MY LOCK. Once the judge realizes that at least one of Anna’s parents agrees with herdecision to stop being a donor for her sister, granting her emancipation won’t be quite as great a leap. If Briandoes what I need him to—namely, tell Judge DeSalvo that he knows Anna has rights, too, and that he’sprepared to support her—then whatever Julia says in her report will be a moot point. And better still, Anna’stestimony would only be a formality.
Brian shows up with Anna early the next morning, wearing his captain’s uniform. I paste a smile on my faceand get up, walking toward them with Judge. “Morning,” I say. “Everyone ready?”
Brian looks at Anna. Then he looks at me. There is a question right there on the verge of his lips, but heseems to be doing everything he can not to ask it.
“Hey,” I say to Anna, brainstorming. “Want to do me a favor? Judge could use a couple of quick runs up anddown the stairs, or he’s going to get restless in court.”
“Yesterday you told me I couldn’t walk him.”
“Well, today you can.”
Anna shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere. The minute I leave you’re just going to talk about me.”
So I turn to Brian again. “Is everything all right?”
At that moment, Sara Fitzgerald comes into the building. She hurries toward the courtroom, and seeing Brianwith me, pauses. Then she turns slowly away from her husband and continues inside.
Brian Fitzgerald’s eyes follow his wife, even after the doors close behind her. “We’re fine,” he says, ananswer not meant for me.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, were there times that you disagreed with your wife about having Anna participate in medicaltreatments for Kate’s benefit?”
“Yes. The doctors said that it was only cord blood we needed for Kate. They’d be taking part of the umbilicusthat usually gets thrown out after giving birth—it wasn’t anything that the baby was ever going to miss, andit certainly wasn’t going to hurt her.” He meets Anna’s eye, gives her a smile. “And it worked for a littlewhile, too. Kate went into remission. But in 1996, she relapsed again. The doctors wanted Anna to donatesome lymphocytes. It wasn’t going to be a cure, but it would hold Kate over for a while.”
I try to draw him along. “You and your wife didn’t see eye to eye over this treatment?”
“I didn’t know if it was such a great idea. This time Anna was going to know what was happening, and shewasn’t going to like it.”
“What did your wife say to make you change your mind?”
“That if we didn’t draw blood from Anna this time, we’d need marrow soon anyway.”
“How did you feel about that?”
Brian shakes his head, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he says quietly, “until yourchild is dying. You find yourself saying things and doing things you don’t want to do or say. And you thinkit’s something you have a choice about, but then you get up a little closer to it, and you see you had it allwrong.” He looks up at Anna, who is so still beside me I think she has forgotten to breathe. “I didn’t want todo that to Anna. But I couldn’t lose Kate.”
“Did you have to use Anna’s bone marrow, eventually?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald, as a certified EMT, would you ever perform a procedure on a patient who didn’t present withany physical problems?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you, as Anna’s father, think this invasive procedure, which carried risk to Anna herself and nopersonal physical benefit, was in her best interests?”
“Because,” Brian says, “I couldn’t let Kate die.”
“Were there other points, Mr. Fitzgerald, when you and your wife disagreed over the use of Anna’s body foryour other daughter’s treatment?”
“A few years ago, Kate was hospitalized and…losing so much blood nobody thought she’d make it through. Ithought maybe it was time to let her go. Sara didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“The doctors gave her arsenic, and it kicked in, putting Kate into remission for a year.”
“Are you saying that there was a treatment which saved Kate, that didn’t involve the use of Anna’s body?”
Brian shakes his head. “I’m saying…I’m saying I was so sure Kate was going to die. But Sara, she didn’tgive up on Kate and she came back fighting.” He looks over at his wife. “And now, Kate’s kidneys are givingout. I don’t want to see her suffering. But at the same time, I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Idon’t want to tell myself it’s over, when it doesn’t have to be.”
Brian has become an emotional avalanche, headed right for the glass house I have been meticulouslycrafting. I need to reel him in. “Mr. Fitzgerald, did you know your daughter was going to file a lawsuitagainst you and your wife?”
“No.”
“When she did, did you speak to Anna about it?”
“Yes.”
“Based on that conversation, Mr. Fitzgerald, what did you do?”
“I moved out of the house with Anna.”
“Why?”
“At the time I believed Anna had the right to think this decision out, which wasn’t something she’d be able todo living in our house.”
“After having moved out with Anna, after having spoken to her at great lengths about why she’s initiated thislawsuit—do you agree with your wife’s request to have Anna continue to be a donor for Kate?”
The answer we have rehearsed is no; this is the crux of my case. Brian leans forward to reply. “Yes, I do,” hesays.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, in your opinion…” I begin, and then I realize what he’s just done. “Excuse me?”
“I still wish Anna would donate a kidney,” Brian admits.
Staring at this witness who has just completely fucked me over, I scramble for footing. If Brian won’t supportAnna’s decision to stop being a donor, then the judge will find it far harder to rule in favor of emancipation.
At the same time, I’m patently aware of the smallest sound that has escaped from Anna, the quiet break ofsoul that comes when you realize that what looked like a rainbow was actually only a trick of the light. “Mr.
Fitzgerald, you’re willing to have Anna undergo major surgery and the loss of an organ to benefit Kate?”
It is a curious thing, watching a strong man fall to pieces. “Can you tell me what the right answer is here?”
Brian asks, his voice raw. “Because I don’t know where to look for it. I know what’s right. I know what’s fair.
But neither of those apply here. I can sit, and I can think about it, and I can tell you what should be and whatought to be. I can even tell you there’s got to be a better solution. But it’s been thirteen years, Mr. Alexander,and I still haven’t found it.”
He slowly sinks forward, too big in that tiny space, until his forehead rests on the cool bar of wood thatborders the witness stand.
Judge DeSalvo calls for a ten-minute recess before Sara Fitzgerald will begin her cross-examination, so thatthe witness can have a few moments to himself. Anna and I go downstairs to the vending machines, whereyou can spend a dollar on weak tea and weaker soup. She sits with her heels caught on the rungs of a stool,and when I hand her her cup of hot chocolate she sets it down on the table without drinking.
“I’ve never seen my dad cry,” she says. “My mom, she would lose it all the time over Kate. But Dad—well,if he fell apart, he made sure to do it where we weren’t watching.”
“Anna—”
“Do you think I did that to him?” she asks, turning to me. “Do you think I shouldn’t have asked him to comehere today?”
“The judge would have asked him to testify even if you didn’t.” I shake my head. “Anna, you’re going tohave to do it yourself.”
She looks up at me, wary. “Do what?”
“Testify.”
Anna blinks at me. “Are you kidding?”
“I thought that the judge would clearly rule in your favor if he saw that your father was willing to supportyour choices. But unfortunately, that’s not what just happened. And I have no idea what Julia’s going to say—but even if she comes down on your side, Judge DeSalvo will still need to be convinced that you’re matureenough to make these choices on your own, independent of your parents.”
“You mean I have to get up there? Like a witness?”
I have always known that at some point, Anna would have to take the stand. In a case about emancipation ofa minor, it stands to reason that a judge would want to hear from the minor herself. Anna might be actingskittish about testifying, but I believe that subconsciously, it’s what she really wants to do. Why else go to thetrouble of instigating a lawsuit, if not to make sure that you finally get to speak your mind?
“You told me yesterday I wouldn’t have to testify,” Anna says, getting agitated.
“I was wrong.”
“I hired you so that you could tell everyone what I want.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say. “You started this lawsuit. You wanted to be someone other than the personyour family’s made you for the past thirteen years. And that means you have to pull back the curtain andshow us who she is.”
“Half the grown-ups on this planet have no idea who they are, but they get to make decisions for themselvesevery day,” Anna argues.
“They aren’t thirteen. Listen,” I say, getting to what I imagine is the crux of the matter. “I know, in the past,standing up and speaking your mind hasn’t gotten you anywhere. But I promise you, this time, when youtalk, everyone will listen.”
If anything, this has the reverse effect of what I’ve intended. Anna crosses her arms. “There is no way I’mgetting up there,” she says.
“Anna, being a witness isn’t really that big a deal—”
“It is a big deal, Campbell. It’s the hugest deal. And I’m not doing it.”
“If you don’t testify, we lose,” I explain.
“Then find another way to win. You’re the lawyer.”
I’m not going to rise to that bait. I drum my fingers on the table for patience. “Do you want to tell me whyyou’re so dead set against this?”
She glances up. “No.”
“No, you’re not doing it? Or no, you won’t tell me?”
“There are just some things I don’t like talking about.” Her face hardens. “I thought you, of all people, wouldbe able to understand that.”
She knows exactly what buttons to push. “Sleep on it,” I suggest tightly.
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
I stand up and dump my full cup of coffee into the trash. “Well then,” I tell her. “Don’t expect me to be ableto change your life.
Brian shows up with Anna early the next morning, wearing his captain’s uniform. I paste a smile on my faceand get up, walking toward them with Judge. “Morning,” I say. “Everyone ready?”
Brian looks at Anna. Then he looks at me. There is a question right there on the verge of his lips, but heseems to be doing everything he can not to ask it.
“Hey,” I say to Anna, brainstorming. “Want to do me a favor? Judge could use a couple of quick runs up anddown the stairs, or he’s going to get restless in court.”
“Yesterday you told me I couldn’t walk him.”
“Well, today you can.”
Anna shakes her head. “I’m not going anywhere. The minute I leave you’re just going to talk about me.”
So I turn to Brian again. “Is everything all right?”
At that moment, Sara Fitzgerald comes into the building. She hurries toward the courtroom, and seeing Brianwith me, pauses. Then she turns slowly away from her husband and continues inside.
Brian Fitzgerald’s eyes follow his wife, even after the doors close behind her. “We’re fine,” he says, ananswer not meant for me.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, were there times that you disagreed with your wife about having Anna participate in medicaltreatments for Kate’s benefit?”
“Yes. The doctors said that it was only cord blood we needed for Kate. They’d be taking part of the umbilicusthat usually gets thrown out after giving birth—it wasn’t anything that the baby was ever going to miss, andit certainly wasn’t going to hurt her.” He meets Anna’s eye, gives her a smile. “And it worked for a littlewhile, too. Kate went into remission. But in 1996, she relapsed again. The doctors wanted Anna to donatesome lymphocytes. It wasn’t going to be a cure, but it would hold Kate over for a while.”
I try to draw him along. “You and your wife didn’t see eye to eye over this treatment?”
“I didn’t know if it was such a great idea. This time Anna was going to know what was happening, and shewasn’t going to like it.”
“What did your wife say to make you change your mind?”
“That if we didn’t draw blood from Anna this time, we’d need marrow soon anyway.”
“How did you feel about that?”
Brian shakes his head, clearly uncomfortable. “You don’t know what it’s like,” he says quietly, “until yourchild is dying. You find yourself saying things and doing things you don’t want to do or say. And you thinkit’s something you have a choice about, but then you get up a little closer to it, and you see you had it allwrong.” He looks up at Anna, who is so still beside me I think she has forgotten to breathe. “I didn’t want todo that to Anna. But I couldn’t lose Kate.”
“Did you have to use Anna’s bone marrow, eventually?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Fitzgerald, as a certified EMT, would you ever perform a procedure on a patient who didn’t present withany physical problems?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you, as Anna’s father, think this invasive procedure, which carried risk to Anna herself and nopersonal physical benefit, was in her best interests?”
“Because,” Brian says, “I couldn’t let Kate die.”
“Were there other points, Mr. Fitzgerald, when you and your wife disagreed over the use of Anna’s body foryour other daughter’s treatment?”
“A few years ago, Kate was hospitalized and…losing so much blood nobody thought she’d make it through. Ithought maybe it was time to let her go. Sara didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“The doctors gave her arsenic, and it kicked in, putting Kate into remission for a year.”
“Are you saying that there was a treatment which saved Kate, that didn’t involve the use of Anna’s body?”
Brian shakes his head. “I’m saying…I’m saying I was so sure Kate was going to die. But Sara, she didn’tgive up on Kate and she came back fighting.” He looks over at his wife. “And now, Kate’s kidneys are givingout. I don’t want to see her suffering. But at the same time, I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. Idon’t want to tell myself it’s over, when it doesn’t have to be.”
Brian has become an emotional avalanche, headed right for the glass house I have been meticulouslycrafting. I need to reel him in. “Mr. Fitzgerald, did you know your daughter was going to file a lawsuitagainst you and your wife?”
“No.”
“When she did, did you speak to Anna about it?”
“Yes.”
“Based on that conversation, Mr. Fitzgerald, what did you do?”
“I moved out of the house with Anna.”
“Why?”
“At the time I believed Anna had the right to think this decision out, which wasn’t something she’d be able todo living in our house.”
“After having moved out with Anna, after having spoken to her at great lengths about why she’s initiated thislawsuit—do you agree with your wife’s request to have Anna continue to be a donor for Kate?”
The answer we have rehearsed is no; this is the crux of my case. Brian leans forward to reply. “Yes, I do,” hesays.
“Mr. Fitzgerald, in your opinion…” I begin, and then I realize what he’s just done. “Excuse me?”
“I still wish Anna would donate a kidney,” Brian admits.
Staring at this witness who has just completely fucked me over, I scramble for footing. If Brian won’t supportAnna’s decision to stop being a donor, then the judge will find it far harder to rule in favor of emancipation.
At the same time, I’m patently aware of the smallest sound that has escaped from Anna, the quiet break ofsoul that comes when you realize that what looked like a rainbow was actually only a trick of the light. “Mr.
Fitzgerald, you’re willing to have Anna undergo major surgery and the loss of an organ to benefit Kate?”
It is a curious thing, watching a strong man fall to pieces. “Can you tell me what the right answer is here?”
Brian asks, his voice raw. “Because I don’t know where to look for it. I know what’s right. I know what’s fair.
But neither of those apply here. I can sit, and I can think about it, and I can tell you what should be and whatought to be. I can even tell you there’s got to be a better solution. But it’s been thirteen years, Mr. Alexander,and I still haven’t found it.”
He slowly sinks forward, too big in that tiny space, until his forehead rests on the cool bar of wood thatborders the witness stand.
Judge DeSalvo calls for a ten-minute recess before Sara Fitzgerald will begin her cross-examination, so thatthe witness can have a few moments to himself. Anna and I go downstairs to the vending machines, whereyou can spend a dollar on weak tea and weaker soup. She sits with her heels caught on the rungs of a stool,and when I hand her her cup of hot chocolate she sets it down on the table without drinking.
“I’ve never seen my dad cry,” she says. “My mom, she would lose it all the time over Kate. But Dad—well,if he fell apart, he made sure to do it where we weren’t watching.”
“Anna—”
“Do you think I did that to him?” she asks, turning to me. “Do you think I shouldn’t have asked him to comehere today?”
“The judge would have asked him to testify even if you didn’t.” I shake my head. “Anna, you’re going tohave to do it yourself.”
She looks up at me, wary. “Do what?”
“Testify.”
Anna blinks at me. “Are you kidding?”
“I thought that the judge would clearly rule in your favor if he saw that your father was willing to supportyour choices. But unfortunately, that’s not what just happened. And I have no idea what Julia’s going to say—but even if she comes down on your side, Judge DeSalvo will still need to be convinced that you’re matureenough to make these choices on your own, independent of your parents.”
“You mean I have to get up there? Like a witness?”
I have always known that at some point, Anna would have to take the stand. In a case about emancipation ofa minor, it stands to reason that a judge would want to hear from the minor herself. Anna might be actingskittish about testifying, but I believe that subconsciously, it’s what she really wants to do. Why else go to thetrouble of instigating a lawsuit, if not to make sure that you finally get to speak your mind?
“You told me yesterday I wouldn’t have to testify,” Anna says, getting agitated.
“I was wrong.”
“I hired you so that you could tell everyone what I want.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say. “You started this lawsuit. You wanted to be someone other than the personyour family’s made you for the past thirteen years. And that means you have to pull back the curtain andshow us who she is.”
“Half the grown-ups on this planet have no idea who they are, but they get to make decisions for themselvesevery day,” Anna argues.
“They aren’t thirteen. Listen,” I say, getting to what I imagine is the crux of the matter. “I know, in the past,standing up and speaking your mind hasn’t gotten you anywhere. But I promise you, this time, when youtalk, everyone will listen.”
If anything, this has the reverse effect of what I’ve intended. Anna crosses her arms. “There is no way I’mgetting up there,” she says.
“Anna, being a witness isn’t really that big a deal—”
“It is a big deal, Campbell. It’s the hugest deal. And I’m not doing it.”
“If you don’t testify, we lose,” I explain.
“Then find another way to win. You’re the lawyer.”
I’m not going to rise to that bait. I drum my fingers on the table for patience. “Do you want to tell me whyyou’re so dead set against this?”
She glances up. “No.”
“No, you’re not doing it? Or no, you won’t tell me?”
“There are just some things I don’t like talking about.” Her face hardens. “I thought you, of all people, wouldbe able to understand that.”
She knows exactly what buttons to push. “Sleep on it,” I suggest tightly.
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
I stand up and dump my full cup of coffee into the trash. “Well then,” I tell her. “Don’t expect me to be ableto change your life.