Read Online Vanishing Acts by Jodi Picoult - Free Book Online

he'd catch me if that happened,” she says. “And because I was a kid, I actually believed him. But he couldn't be there all the time, no matter what he'd said.” She watches a little girl hide under the long silver tongue of the sliding pond. “You didn't tell me he was in jail.”
“It's going to get worse before it gets better, Dee.” She pushes away from the fence. “Can I go talk to him, now?”
“No,” I say gently. “You can't.”
She is unraveling before me. “Eric, I don't know who I am,” she says through tears. “All I know is that I'm not the person I was yesterday. I don't know if I've got a mother somewhere. I don't know if I was being hurt in some way I don't even want to think about. I don't know why he thought that what he did would hurt me any less. Why would he lie to me, unless he wasn't so sure I'd forgive him?” She shakes her head. “I don't know if I can trust him now. I don't know if I ever will, again. But I also don't... I don't know who else I'm supposed to ask for the answers.”
“Sweetheart-”
“Nobody just steals a child,” she interrupts. “So what godawful thing happened that I can't remember?”
I settle my hands on her shoulders; I can feel everything inside her spinning like a top. “I can't tell you that yet,” I say, “but neither can your father. Legally, I'm the only one who's allowed to talk to him.”
Delia lifts her face, fierce. “Then you go ask him what happened.” Although it's unseasonably warm for March, she's shivering. I take off my jacket and drape it over her. “I can't. I'm his attorney,” I say. 'This is exactly why I think someone else should-"
“Should represent him?” Delia asks. “Someone who only knows my father because he's a name on a manila folder? Someone who could care less whether he gets convicted or acquitted, because it's all just in a day's work?” On the playground, a teacher calls out to the class. She unravels a white rope with little interval loops for each child to grab hold of, a miniature chain gang taking the safest measures back to their school. “He intends to plead guilty,” I say uncomfortably.
“What will that do?”
“Get him sent directly to jail.”
Delia looks up, stunned. “Why would you want that?”
“I wouldn't. I told him to take a chance on a trial, but it's not what he wants.”
“What about what I want?”
If I show up in court in Arizona at Andrew's side, the judge will ask me how we plead, not Andrew. To say “not guilty” means subverting my client's request. It means Andrew could fire me and wind up with a lawyer who'd gladly enter a guilty plea, because it is the path of least resistance.
To say “not guilty” means a big, difficult trial, in which Delia will serve as a material witness.
As the only other person who was with Andrew at the time of the kidnapping, she will be courted by the prosecution as well as the defense. And in spite of the fact that she is my fiancee, I can be sent to jail for telling her any details about her father's case. It is a felony to consciously or unconsciously influence what a witness says in court.
But is it a crime for her to influence what I say?
I smooth my hand over her hair. “Okay,” I promise. “Not guilty.” Andrew
Does it really matter why I did it?
By now you've already formed your own impression. You believe that an act committed a lifetime ago defines a man, or you believe that a person's past has nothing to do with his future. You think I am either a hero, or a monster. Maybe knowing more about the circumstances will make you think differently about me, but it won't change what happened twenty-eight years ago.
There have been nightmares. Sometimes I have picked up the phone and heard Elise's voice in the pause before the telemarketer's brain kicks in. Whenever I pass a police car, I sweat. I was thrown into a panic when one of the seniors submitted my name for election to the Wexton Town Council, until I realized that the easiest place