The Promise of Stardust (29 page)

Adam's bulk did what few could do; at six eight, he dwarfed me, and I was happy he looked uncomfortable with his long legs stuffed behind the witness box. Evidently Klein thought Adam had a lot to say because they were almost an hour into the endless drone of his testimony.

“Did she ever discuss having an advanced health care plan?” Klein asked.

“Yes, she did.”

“Can you tell us a little about the circumstances?”

I had discovered that courtrooms were
not
very exciting places. The questions and answers followed the formula of a long math proof. Enter A. Enter B. Add. Take the sum. Divide by the product. Despite the tedium, I could discern patterns and understand complicated conceptual facts. Medicine also requires logic. For doctors, we prove things with research, and I was damned shrewd about what made a study valid or not. In the case of Adam's testimony, it was missing out on key variables: one baby and one mother's love.

Adam shifted in his seat again. “Elle was the mission specialist assigned to the Hubble Telescope repair team. After the
Columbia
disaster, we weren't even certain if the shuttle program would resume, but when NASA issued the green light, Elle decided she had to get her affairs in order. In case. She went to an attorney and prepared a will. That night she came home with the advanced directive. She told me she'd named me as her decision-making agent if anything should happen to her.”

The testimony went back and forth. Adam read the document aloud. Much as she'd done in the living will my mother produced, Elle dictated certain specifications. If there was no hope of a meaningful recovery, she wanted nutrition and hydration withheld. She did not want a ventilator to make her breathe. She didn't want much of anything except a peaceful death. Adam scanned down the page. “In essence, Elle told me to pull the plug. She told me that the way her mother died was morally reprehensible.”

“Dr. Cunningham, when was this dated?”

“On May nineteenth, 2003.”

I leaned over and whispered in Jake's ear. “They split up a month or so after that—June or July of 2003.”

Jake's thin lips lifted into a snakelike smile.

Klein took back the document and passed it to Judge Wheeler. “I'd like to submit P-2 into evidence.”

“Does the respondent have any objections?” Judge Wheeler asked.

As Jake stood to speak, I took a swig of water. Without realizing how hard I was squeezing the water bottle, I crushed it and water erupted like a volcano and came down all over Jake's papers.

He glared at me, pulled out his handkerchief, and passed it to me as if he were prepared for any occasion.

I blotted while he spoke. In the gallery the blond reporter from this morning was snickering. Bitch, I thought. She probably considered herself a feminist. Elle was a feminist. Hell, I believed a woman could do anything, pretty much anything, a man could do. Elle could do things I couldn't—walk in space for example. And more importantly Elle could carry this baby. I couldn't.

“Your Honor,” Jake said. “There's no way to tell if this photocopy has been altered or if the original has been destroyed. Although Adam Cunningham and Elle were involved in May of 2003, they severed their relationship within a few months. Odds are she destroyed the original. I move to exclude.”

Klein had been watching me mop up the mess I'd made, but he stood. “Your Honor, I am attempting to contact the attorney who prepared the advanced directive to find out if she has the original.”

“If you can produce the original, Counsel, I will enter it.” The judge spoke to the clerk briefly, then told Klein to continue his direct.

“When did you last speak to Elle?” Klein asked Adam.

“A few months ago. She called when my mother passed away. My mother had Alzheimer's and was sick for a long time—even when Elle and I were together.”

“Did you discuss Elle's advanced directive during this call a few months ago?” Klein asked.

“Not specifically, but we talked about our mothers and how difficult their deaths were. Elle said something to the effect that my mother was at peace now, and that's all any of us could ever want in the end. We discussed dying with dignity. Her views hadn't changed.”

“Why would you travel all the way here from Houston to bring this document to the attention of the court when you are no longer an active part of Elle Beaulieu's life and haven't been for such a long time?”

Adam looked at his hands, feigning humility like the Pharisees postured righteousness. “I didn't want to get involved in this mess, but I respected Elle, and I want to make certain her wishes are upheld. Matt isn't doing that, so my conscience compelled me to step in. She wouldn't want to be kept alive on a respirator. She would hate this. Her greatest fear was dying a protracted death the way her mother did.”

When I entered Elle's room, Hank looked up from reading the newspaper aloud to her. “How did Adam's testimony go?” he asked.

I leaned over and kissed Elle's forehead while I thought about how much truth Hank could handle without heading off to the nearest bar. I summarized the newly produced advanced directive, then I looked for an angle that would put him at ease. “It was almost entertaining watching Jake go after Adam on cross-examination.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jake got Adam to admit he was
irrelevant
.”

Hank's eyes widened. “How?”

“Jake and Adam were talking about why Elle prepared a will and an advanced directive before her
Atlantis
mission. The
Columbia
disaster wasn't long before. Astronauts get their affairs in order, blah, blah, blah. Jake asked if she didn't think she would survive a
Columbia
-type disaster, and neither
Columbia
nor
Challenger
had survivors, then why did she need to prepare an advanced directive? She probably wouldn't survive at all if something went wrong. Adam replied that she didn't necessarily think the advanced directive was relevant at the time. To which Jake said, ‘So she designated you to do an irrelevant job?' ”

Hank belly-laughed. “I'm starting to like your opinionated friend.”

“Jake has a few virtues,” I said, “but don't tell him I said so.”

After Hank left, I replayed how Adam really reacted to Jake's cross. “I misspoke,” Adam said. “I
don't
mean she thought it was irrelevant in general to have an advanced directive, but she thought she would die fast if something happened on her mission. For her, that made facing the danger easier because she was afraid of dying the way her mother did, the way she is, in fact, now dying.”

I looked at Elle now. What the hell was I putting her through?

   29   

Watching myself stoop to name-calling with the local newswoman over and over on CNN wasn't making me feel any better. I shut off the TV just as Mike entered Elle's hospital room, carrying a grocery bag filled with what looked like envelopes. He dropped it on the wide windowsill. “I guess you've seen your appearance on the news by now.”

“A couple dozen times. From now on I'm planning to tattoo ‘no comment' across my forehead. If I'd kept my mouth shut, they wouldn't be playing her piece over and over.”

“She said ‘rape.' How could you keep your mouth shut?”

I looked up at my brother and shook my head. “Let's not talk about it.” I started picking through the bag of mail.

“You know Dave Hopper, right?”

Of course I did. He was one of Mike's crowd in high school, and now he worked for the post office. My brother didn't actually expect me to answer him; he never did once he started talking, so I didn't even look up.

“Anyway,” Mike said, “he called and said your mailbox is overflowing.”

One good thing about living in the same small town where you grew up is everyone knows you, knows your family, and chances are that when a disaster strikes, someone calls your big brother so your mail doesn't collect on the ground.

“Thanks,” I said, taking the bag.

“There's more—at your house.”

“More than this?”

“More mail than Santa gets in December.” Mike's voice grew grim with irony. He swiped a couple of tears away when he looked in Elle's direction. “Some of them are from people Elle knows, folks in town, others look like NASA logos, MIT, Houston addresses. Some are from weird places like South Africa. I didn't bring those in. By the way, there's something from Carol.”

“Wentworth?”

“You know any other Carols?”

I shrugged. None as well as I'd known Carol Wentworth. Before Elle and I got back together, Carol and I were temporarily engaged.

Mike and I spent a few minutes chatting about his boys and how they were asking if they could keep our dog, Hubble. About his job. About what had happened to Mom the day before in Lincoln Park. Even though I knew he believed Mom was right, I didn't want to fight about the situation, and evidently, neither did he because, after a couple of minutes, he said he'd stop by tomorrow. Did I want the rest of the mail?

Not now. I thumbed through the letters and immediately spotted Carol's distinctive handwriting.

Dear Matt,

I was so sorry to hear about Elle's accident. I suppose, given the reports, saying “I hope she gets well soon” would be a little trite.

Nevertheless, if there's anything I can do, any strings I can pull, let me know. You may recall my father has connections. One call, and he could get you the ear of the attorney general.

I read you hired Jake. You can give him my number, and I'll put him into contact with my father.

Best,
Carol

How much influence Carol's father had, I didn't know. I set aside her letter to dig out a batch of Elle's letters from that period and found the one she wrote after I told her I was engaged.

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