Harvesting the Heart by Jodi Picoult Read Free Book Online Page B

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.”
    â€œMother,” Nicholas said, “not everyone is interested in Nepal.”
    â€œWell, 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—”
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œFair 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.
    â€œSo you’re a ...” Astrid left the sentence hanging, waiting for Paige to fill in medical student, or registered nurse, or even lab technician.
    â€œWaitress,” Paige said flatly.
    â€œI 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 we expected. “Actually,” Paige said, “I doubt you do.”
    Nicholas, whose stomach had been in knots since they sat down to dinner, did something else forbidden to Prescotts: he laughed out loud. His mother and father looked at him, but he only turned to Paige and gave her a smile. “Paige is a fabulous artist,” he said.
    â€œOh?” Astrid said, leaning forward to offer Paige a second chance. “What an admirable hobby for a young lady. You know, that’s how it all began for me.” She snapped her fingers, and a maid appeared, whisking away her empty plate. Astrid leaned forward, placing her tanned elbows on the fine linen cloth. She smiled smoothly, but the light did not quite reach her eyes. “Where did you go to college, dear?”
    â€œI didn’t,” Paige said evenly. “I was going to go to RISD, but something came up.” She pronounced the name of the school as an