Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult Read Free Book Online

all Robert's told me about is this mysterious, magical
Paige."
    Paige
took a step back. Robert Prescott was a well-known doctor, but Astrid
Prescott was a legend. Nicholas didn't like to tell acquaintances
he was related to "the Astrid
Prescott," which people said with the same reverent tone they'd
used a hundred years before to murmur "the Mrs.
Astor." Everyone knew her story: the rich society girl had
impetuously given up balls and garden parties to toy with
photography, only to become one of the best in the field. And
everyone knew Astrid Prescott's photography, especially her graphic
black-and-white portraits of endangered species, which—Paige
noticed—were placed haphazardly throughout the hall. They were
haunting photos, shadows and light, of giant sea turtles,
bird-wing butterflies, mountain gorillas. In flight, a spotted owl;
the split of a blue whale's tail. Paige remembered a Newsweek article
she'd read some years ago on Astrid Prescott, who was quoted as
saying that she wished she'd been around when the dinosaurs died,
because that would have been quite a scoop.
    Paige
looked from one photograph to another. Everyone had an Astrid
Prescott calendar, or a small Astrid Prescott day diary, because her
pictures were remarkable. She caught the terror and the pride. Next
to this mythic woman, dwarfed by the monstrous house, Paige felt
herself slipping away.
    But
Nicholas was more affected by his father. When Robert Prescott
entered the room, the atmosphere changed, as if the air had become
ionized. Nicholas stood straighter, put on his most winning smile,
and watched Paige from the corner of his eye, wondering for the first
time ever why he had to put on an act in front of his own parents. He
and his father never touched, unless you counted shaking hands. It
had something to do with showing affection, a forbidden thing among
Prescotts, which left family members wondering at funerals why
there were so many things that hadn't been said to the deceased but
that should have been.
    Over
cold fruit soup and pheasant with new potatoes, Nicholas told his
parents about his rotations, especially the emergency ward,
downplaying the horrors for the dinner table. His mother kept
bringing the conversation back to her trip. "Everest,"
she said. "You can't even take it with a wide-angle." She
had removed her jacket for the dinner, revealing an old tank top and
baggy khaki pants. "But damn if those Sherpas don't know the
mountain like the back of their hand."
    "Mother,"
Nicholas said, "not everyone is interested in Nepal."
    "Well,
not everyone is interested in orthopedic surgery, either, darling,
but we all listened very politely." Astrid turned toward Paige,
who was staring at the head of a tremendous buck poised above the
door leading into the kitchen. "It's awful, isn't it?"
    Paige
swallowed. "It's just that I can't see you—"
    "It's
Dad's," Nicholas interrupted, winking at her. "Dad's a
hunter. Don't get them started," he warned. "They don't
always see eye to eye."
    Astrid
blew a kiss to the opposite end of the table, where Robert Prescott
sat. "That awful thing got me my own darkroom in the house,"
she said.
    "Fair
trade," Robert called, saluting his wife with a fork-speared
potato.
    Paige
turned her head from Nicholas's mother to Nicholas's father and then
back again. She felt lost in the easy volley between them. She
wondered how Nicholas had ever managed to get noticed while growing
up. "Paige, dear," Astrid said, "where did you meet
Nicholas?"
    Paige
toyed with her silverware, seizing her salad fork; something only
Nicholas noticed. "We met at work," Paige said.
    "So
you're a . . ." Astrid left the sentence hanging, waiting for
Paige to fill in medical
student, or registered
nurse, or
even lab
technician.
    "Waitress,"
Paige said flatly.
    "I
see," said Robert.
    Paige
watched Astrid Prescott's warmth curl in around her, retreating
like tentacles; she saw the hooded look Astrid passed to her husband: She's
not what