* * *
IT WAS STRANGE, sitting in court and listening to Matt recount those same events from the morning of the explosion. Teresa hadn’t expected an exact match between his memories and hers—she watched Law & Order; she wasn’t that naïve—but still, the extent of the difference was unnerving. Matt reduced the encounter with the protesters to one phrase—“a debate about the efficacy and safety of experimental autism treatments”—with no mention of Teresa’s points about other diseases, the substance of the argument lost on him, or maybe just irrelevant. The hierarchy of disabilities—to Teresa, that was central, something she agonized over, and to Matt, it was nothing. If he had a disabled child, it’d be different, of course. Having a special-needs child didn’t just change you; it transmuted you, transported you to a parallel world with an altered gravitational axis.
“During all this,” Abe was saying, “what was the defendant doing?”
“Elizabeth didn’t get involved at all,” Matt said, “which struck me as odd, because she’s usually very vocal about autism treatments. She just kept staring at the flyer. There was text on the bottom, and she kept squinting, like she was trying to make out what it said.”
Abe handed Matt a document. “Is this the flyer?”
“Yes.”
“Please read the bottom text.”
“‘Avoiding sparks in the chamber is not enough. In one case, a fire started outside the chamber under the oxygen tubing led to an explosion with fatalities.’”
“‘Fire started outside the chamber under the oxygen tubing,’” Abe repeated. “Isn’t that exactly what happened to Miracle Submarine later that very day?”
Matt looked over to Elizabeth, his jaws tensing as if gritting his molars. “Yes,” he said, “and I know she was focused on that because she went straight up to Pak afterward and told him about their flyer. Pak said that couldn’t happen to us, he wouldn’t let any of them near the barn, but Elizabeth kept saying how dangerous they were, and she made him promise to call the police and report that they’re threatening us, to get that on the record.”
“What about during the dive? Did she say any of this then?”
“No, she was silent. She seemed distracted. Like she was thinking intensely about something.”
“Like she was planning something, perhaps?” Abe said.
“Objection,” Elizabeth’s attorney said.
“Sustained. The jury will disregard the question,” the judge said, but in a lazy tone. A judicial version of “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Not that it mattered. Everyone was already thinking it—the flyer had given Elizabeth the idea to set the fire and blame the protesters for it.
“Dr. Thompson, after Miracle Submarine exploded in precisely the same way as highlighted by the defendant, did she try to lay suspicion on the protesters again?”
“Yes,” Matt said. “That night. I heard her tell the detective she was sure the protesters did it, they must’ve started the fire under the oxygen tubes outside.” Teresa had heard that, too. She’d been convinced, as had everyone, at first—the protesters had been the primary suspects for almost a week—and even after Elizabeth’s arrest, she’d still been suspicious. Just this morning, when Elizabeth’s lawyer reserved her opening statement until after the prosecution’s case, she’d been disappointed, sure that the defense would’ve painted the protesters as the real killers.
“Dr. Thompson,” Abe said, “what else happened that morning, after the protesters?”
“After the dive, Elizabeth and Kitt left first, and I helped Teresa get Rosa’s wheelchair through the woods. When we got to the pull-off area, Henry and TJ were already in their cars, and Elizabeth and Kitt were by the woods, on the other side from us. They were fighting.” Teresa remembered—they’d been yelling, but in the whispered shouts of people carrying on a private argument in public.
“What were they saying?”
“It was hard to hear, but I heard Elizabeth calling Kitt a ‘jealous bitch’ and something like, ‘I’d love to lie around and eat bonbons all day instead of taking care of Henry.’” Teresa had heard “bonbons,” but not the rest. Matt had been closer, though; as soon as they got there, he’d noticed something on his windshield and run to get it.
“I’m sorry,” Abe said. “The defendant called Kitt a ‘jealous bitch’ and said she’d love to eat bonbons instead of taking care of her son, Henry—this just hours before Kitt and Henry were killed in the explosion. Do I have that right?”
“Yes.”
Abe looked over to the pictures of Kitt and Henry and shook his head. He closed his eyes briefly, as if to compose himself, then said, “Did the defendant have other fights with Kitt that you know of?”
“Yes,” Matt said, looking straight at Elizabeth. “Once, she yelled at Kitt in front of us and pushed her.”
“Pushed? Physically?” Abe let his mouth hang in an open O. “Tell us about that.”
Teresa knew which story Matt was going to tell. Elizabeth and Kitt were friends, but there was an undercurrent of tension that occasionally burst into tiffs. Just bickering, nothing major, except once. It happened after a dive. As everyone was leaving, Kitt handed TJ what looked like a toothpaste tube decorated with Barney.
“Oh my God, is that that new yogurt?” Elizabeth said.
Kitt sighed. “Yes, it’s YoFun. And yes, I know it’s not GFCF.” Kitt said to Teresa and Matt, “GFCF is gluten-free, casein-free. It’s an autism diet.”
Elizabeth said, “Is TJ off it?”
“No. He’s GFCF for everything else. But this is his favorite, and it’s the only way he’ll take supplements. It’s only once a day.”
“Once a day? But it’s made with milk,” Elizabeth said, making “milk” sound like “feces.” “The primary ingredient is casein. How can you claim to be casein-free if he’s eating casein every day? Not to mention, there’s food coloring in that. And it’s not even organic.”
Kitt looked like she might cry. “What am I supposed to do? He spits out his pills unless he swallows with YoFun. This makes him happy. Besides, I don’t think the diet really works. It never made a difference for TJ.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips tightly together. “Maybe the diet didn’t work because you never did it properly. Free means none. I use different plates for Henry’s food; I even have a different sponge for cleaning his dishes.”
Kitt stood up. “Well, I can’t do that. I have four other kids I have to cook and clean for. It’s hard enough just trying. Everyone says, do the best you can, and cutting out most of it’s better than nothing. I’m sorry I can’t be a hundred percent perfect like you.”
Elizabeth shrugged her eyebrows. “It’s not me you should say sorry to. It’s TJ. Gluten and casein are neurotoxins for our kids. Even a tiny bit interferes with brain function. It’s no wonder TJ’s still not talking.” She stood up, said, “Come on, Henry,” and started to walk out.