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Salem Falls
Jodi Picoult
To Tim, with love-
so that the whole world will know how much you mean to me
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
If I could cast a spell, like some of my protagonists in this novel, it would be one to acquire unlimited knowledge. After all, a novelist is only as good as her experts when it comes to learning about fields that are unknown to her. For this reason, I’d like to thank the following people: my doctors and psychiatric perso
March 2000
North Haverhill,
New Hampshire
Several miles into his journey, Jack St. Bride decided to give up his former life.
He made this choice as he walked aimlessly along Route 10, huddling against the cold. He had dressed this morning in a pair of khaki pants, a white shirt with a nick in the collar, stiff dress shoes, a smooth-ski
He wished he had a winter coat, but you wore out of jail the same outfit you’d worn in. What he did have was the forty-three dollars that had been in his wallet on the hot afternoon he was incarcerated, a ring of keys that opened doors to places where Jack no longer was welcome, and a piece of gum.
Other inmates who were released from jail had family to pick them up. Or they arranged for transportation. But Jack had no one waiting for him, and he hadn’t thought about getting a ride. When the door closed behind him, a jaw being snapped shut, he had simply started walking.
The snow seeped into his dress shoes, and passing trucks splattered his trousers with slush and mud. A taxi pulled onto the side of the road and the driver unrolled the window, but Jack kept struggling forward, certain that the cab had stopped for someone else.
“Car trouble?” the driver called out.
Jack looked, but there was no one behind him. “Just walking.”
“Pretty miserable weather for that,” the man replied, and Jack stared. He could count on one hand the number of casual conversations he’d had in the past year. It had been better, easier, to keep to himself. “Where you headed?”
The truth was, he had no idea. There were countless problems he hadn’t considered, most of them practical: What would he do for work? For transportation? Where would he live? He didn’t want to return to Loyal, New Hampshire, not even to pick up his belongings. What good was the evidence of a career he no longer had, of a person he would never be?
The cabdriver frowned. “Look, buddy,” he said, “why don’t you just get in?”
Jack nodded and stood there, waiting. But there was no bright buzz, no click of the latch. And then he remembered that in the outside world, no one had to unlock a door before he entered.
I
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water.
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Jill came tumbling after.
Then up Jack got and home did trot as fast as he could caper,
To old Dame Dob, who patched his nob,
With vinegar and brown paper.
Is there no good penitence but it be public?
-THE CRUCIBLE
March 2000
Salem Falls,
New Hampshire
On the second worst day of Addie Peabody’s life, her refrigerator and dishwasher both died, like long-term lovers who could not conceive of existing without each other. This would have been a trial for anyone, but as she was the owner of the Do-Or-Diner, it blossomed into a catastrophe of enormous proportions. Addie stood with her hands pressed to the stainless steel door of the subzero walk-in, as if she might jump-start its heart by faith healing.
It was hard to decide what was more devastating: the health violations or the loss of potential income. Twenty pounds of dry ice, the most the medical supply store had to offer, wasn’t doing the job. Within hours, Addie would have to throw away the gallon buckets of gravy, stew, and chicken soup made that morning. “I think,” she said after a moment, “I’m going to build a snowman.”
“Now?” asked Delilah, the cook, her crossed arms as thick as a blacksmith’s. She frowned. “You know, Addie, I never believed it when folks around here called you crazy, but-”
“I’ll stick it in the fridge. Maybe it’ll save the food until the repairman gets here.”
“Snowmen melt,” Delilah said, but Addie could tell that she was turning the idea over in her mind.
“Then we’ll mop up and make more.”
“And I suppose you’re just go
“No,” Addie said. “I’m going to get them to help. Will you get Chloe’s boots?”
The diner was not crowded for 10 A.M. Of the six booths, two were occupied: one by a mother and her toddler, the other by a businessman brushing muffin crumbs off his laptop. A couple of elderly regulars, Stuart and Wallace, slouched at the counter drinking coffee while they argued over the local paper’s headlines.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Addie proclaimed. “I’m pleased to a
“It’s freezing out there!” cried Wallace.
“Well, of course it is. Otherwise we’d be having a summer carnival. Wi
Stuart and Wallace shrugged, a good sign. The toddler bounced on the banquette like popcorn in a skillet. Only the businessman seemed unconvinced. As the others shuffled through the door, Addie approached his table. “Look,” the businessman said. “I don’t want to build a snowman, all right? All I came here for was some breakfast.”
“Well, we’re not serving now. We’re sculpting.” She gave him her brightest smile.