Lies of the Heart (34 page)

“That’s the problem with fairy tales, Sarah,” Katie murmurs, pressing the canister to her chest.

J
erry’s transformation had an almost storybook quality to it, the kind Katie was used to seeing in movies from her childhood. On their visits now, he would buddy around with Nick and tease back and forth with both of them, and he was finally working hard in his speech-therapy sessions. He was starting to make friends in the workshop, too, talking with the clients on either side of him as he worked steadily to wrap pipe cleaners with rubber bands or pack pencils into boxes. In the cafeteria Jerry started helping the workers hand out the midmorning snack, his face beaming with embarrassed pride as he placed a yogurt cup or a banana on a client’s tray. When Katie visited and found Nick at the rec center, shooting hoops between sessions, it was only a matter of time before Jerry burst in.—You play me, Nick
?
he’d say, out of breath as if he’d raced all the way from the work building. And then his eyes would move to Katie, who sat in one of the folding chairs on the sidelines.—Oh! You!

Sometimes Katie had to remind herself that this was the same man who had been so terrified of Nick that he had to cajole his own body to step into the same room with him; the same man who had to be prompted word for word by Patricia to communicate with anyone. Now, Jerry had no problems speaking to Nick, no hesitations when he looked at Katie and said,—It May, Kay-tee. You tell it again? And Katie would smile and think of chance meetings with a small shiver.

She loved visiting the center even more now—so many of the staff members eager to talk to her about Jerry, cornering her in the hallways or in the workshop, or pulling her into the employee kitchen to share their news about his progress.

—I’m so glad you’re here, Katie, listen to this—

—I was hoping you’d stop by! You aren’t going to believe this—

And then Dottie Halverson or Marty or Eddie Rodriguez would grab her hand or wrap an arm around her shoulder, and lead her to a private space usually reserved for the employees.

Sometimes, when Katie was at home alone and reviewing footage of her current documentary in the darkness of her living room, she’d find her attention wandering, dreaming of Jerry—of the way he impulsively grabbed at her hand on their visits, or how he looked at her at times, like she was the most important person in the room. Or she’d recall how happy the employees seemed when she arrived at the center, how eager they were to swap stories with her, and within minutes she was in her car and on her way.

One afternoon Katie and Nick stood at the entrance to the workshop, watching Marty give Jerry a quick hug for a job well done. For just a beat, Jerry rested his head on the elderly man’s shoulder, and then he was squirming out of Marty’s arms and heading back to his place on the bench. Patricia walked up behind them just in time to see Jerry sit down and peek over his shoulder at Marty with a shy smile.

—It’s amazing, Nick, Patricia said quietly.—I never imagined that it would happen so rapidly. All your hard work and effort has really paid off.

Katie waited for Nick to mention something about
her
influence in Jerry’s life, but Nick kept his glance on Jerry.

—He’s working so hard, Nick said modestly, and Patricia rested her hand on his shoulder.

—Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.

Jerry came to their apartment for lunch for the first time, looking around their home with worried, questioning eyes.

—You okay, buddy? Nick asked, and Jerry nodded, suddenly shy.

He waited until they had all finished their tuna melts and chips, until Nick had left to get them a movie, and then he stood from the table where he was drawing quietly. Handed an entire folder of pictures over to Katie. She opened the folder, turned the pages slowly: different scenes of their visits to restaurants, or parks, or out on the boat, but all with one recurring image—three stick people holding stick hands and smiling, the middle stick figure towering over the other two. Connecting them.

—Beautiful, Jerry. I love them all. So will Nick.

—Not for here, Jerry said, his face grave for the first time in weeks. —For dat new one.

—Our new house?

He nodded, wouldn’t meet her eyes.

—We’re moving soon, but you know you’ll get to visit us there all the time, too, right?

He looked right at her then.—
True?

—So true, she told him, laughing at the relief in his face, at the awkward way he grabbed her into a hug. She patted his back.—You aren’t getting rid of us that easy, buddy.

—Love Kay-tee, he whispered inside her arms.—
Love
her.

The first time it happened was at the indoor playland at McDonald’s in Cranston. The rain hadn’t stopped for days, and it pounded the roof and swept across the windows, rattling their tall frames. In the parking lot, young trees bent over in half, their tender, exhausted leaves ripped off by the relentless wind. Mothers who had herded their fidgety children inside sat together in clumps, sipping coffee. Their kids screamed to each other from the bin of bouncing balls up to the twisting, colorful tubes, and slid around the floor in their socks in a whirling blur.

That afternoon Katie’s gaze was fixed on the pile of little shoes and sneakers by the pink entrance tube, thinking how odd it looked to see Jerry’s size-twelve-and-a-half hiking boots in the middle of the mess, when a long branch from one of the trees outside broke loose and slammed into a window. The leaves were fanned out and stuck to the glass, and for a moment they looked like fingers, and the branch like a long, skeletal arm—a huge hand holding the building in place. Katie saw Jerry standing in the middle of the children, staring at the branch. His fingers gripping the black netting on the ladder to the slide.

At first Katie thought he was simply caught up in the netting and was trying to untangle his hands. But then his face turned puffy and red, his fists curled up, and she understood: he was trying to tear it off.

She grabbed Nick’s arm.—Look, she whispered.

Jerry’s socked foot punted out a plastic window on a tube filled with children—their terrified screams echoed inside the room. Mothers were on their feet in seconds, bolting into action. Katie watched Jerry’s arms swinging through the air, his fists full of black netting.

—Someone stop him! a mother cried, and then Nick was by his side, talking in his ear, his hands wrapped around Jerry’s fists. Ignoring the mothers who stood in a mass now, watching, their arms protectively hugging their small children.

—
Kaaaaaaaay!
Jerry howled.

He ripped himself out of Nick’s grasp, came charging at Katie, the tears streaming down his face. She couldn’t move. Nick was right behind him, but Jerry reached her first; he hurled himself into her arms and Katie teetered for a few seconds on her high heels. They crashed to the floor, Jerry’s arms fastening around her so tightly that she had to fight for breath.

For a few seconds, there was only Jerry’s loud sobbing, the pain on the side of her face where it lay on the sticky floor, her thigh throbbing where it had knocked into the corner of the plastic picnic table on her way down. One of her shoes lay beside her head, twinkling in the light.

Nick stood over them, speechless.

—It’s okay, Jerry. You’re okay, she said, untangling an arm to pat his back.

After a few minutes, they guided him to a sitting position, one of his arms still locked around Katie.

—What’s wrong, buddy? she asked, and then his other arm closed around her. She listened to his wails, his incoherent babbling—a string of muddled noises and words that sounded like he was talking in tongues.

—What’s he saying? Katie whispered to Nick, who crouched beside them.

But Nick couldn’t answer, just watched Jerry inside her arms, a helpless look on his face.

They drove a silent Jerry back to the group home, where Patricia and his social worker waited. Patricia ushered Jerry inside, and he followed obediently, meekly, his lips moving in silent conversation with himself.

After they described the incident to the social worker—a young, mousy woman who nodded too much, unable to keep the confusion from her face—they waited in their car for the storm to slow down before heading home. The rain and wind rocked the car right to left, the windshield wipers utterly ineffectual: it looked like someone was pouring bucketfuls of water from the roof of their car.

—It was Scripture, Nick said at last, breaking a long silence.

—What?

—What Jerry was saying, Nick said.—While you were holding him. “The Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm.” It’s Scripture.

—How do you know?

Nick kept his eyes on the windshield.—There are things in his file. I’ve been doing some research.

—This happened before?

—Once. Not the violence, just him babbling Scripture during one of our sessions.

—Why would he do that?

Nick shrugged.—Part of his history catching up, I guess.

—But his social worker just said he’s never been violent.

Nick shrugged again, fiddled with the keys hanging from the ignition.

—Some of the staff mentioned that his mother abused him, Katie prodded.—But I don’t understand the religious part.

—You know I can’t get into that. It’s confidential.

—It’s
me,
Nick.

—Look, Katie, there’s this, Nick said, holding his hand up toward the house.—Picking Jerry up for these visits, and taking him out, helping him socialize and have fun. And then there’s the professional side. My side.

—What just happened was
fun
? she said.—He wanted me back there. He needed
me.

—I know, Nick said, fixing his gaze on her.—I know he did.

Michael and Nick wouldn’t be long—probably only an hour or so to help Katie’s father pick up his new leather recliner and let his son-in-laws haul it into the house.