Lies of the Heart (35 page)

—I can’t see paying eighty-five dollars for delivery when I have two strong son-in-laws! he had yelled over the phone to Dana. Loud enough so they all heard, even though they were spread out in Dana and Michael’s huge kitchen.

It was the first time they’d brought Jerry to Dana and Michael’s house, and it was clear that Michael was hesitant to leave his wife alone with him. But Nick was already grabbing the keys of Michael’s Jeep and turning to check on Jerry, who sat at the table drawing, his tongue poking out in concentration.

—Go help Dad, honey, Katie told him.—I can handle Jerry. Nick still barely talked to her father, was awkward around him in small ways that were probably obvious only to Katie, but the second her father needed anything Nick would spring into action like this.

—We’ll be right back, Nick said quietly to Katie.

—Jerry’ll be fine with me, Katie assured him.

She didn’t miss the passing look of annoyance on Nick’s face as he nodded and turned to the back door.—Ready, Michael?

At least an hour, plenty of time. As soon as Michael pulled out of the driveway, Katie turned to Dana.

—Do you have a pair of shoes I can wear home? she whispered.

—What’s wrong with the shoes you have on? Dana asked, eyeing Katie’s black pumps.

—
Shhhhh.
Nothing. Do you?

—Yeah, but why?

—You’ll see. And to Jerry:—We’ll be right back, Jer. I have to change my shoes.

Jerry’s head jerked up, and he looked at Katie. Stole a quick look at Dana.

—Two seconds, okay, pal?

—Oh. Okay.

Jerry’s pencil stayed suspended over the paper.

Dana and Katie crouched by the back door of Dana’s house, peering through the window and onto the porch where Jerry sat on a bench with Katie’s shoes: one by his side, the other held up at eye level so he could inspect it from every angle. His mouth hung open and he squinted fiercely, turning the shoe from side to side.

—It’s a fetish, right? Katie whispered.

—Definitely, Dana said, mesmerized.

Her sister lit a cigarette, her first since they’d brought Jerry over. Nick still wouldn’t divulge Jerry’s specific history to her, but there were rules that hinted at his past abuse: no smoking around him, no loud noises or crowds during thunderstorms, no ironing with Jerry in the same room, and—after a disastrous thirty-eighth-birthday party for Jerry two weeks earlier at their apartment—no lit candles.

—How long? Dana asked. She blew out a stream of smoke, and they both ducked as Jerry snuck a look at the house. He turned back, head lowered.

—A couple of weeks, about an hour after the birthday-party episode. Nick was writing up an incident report on the computer in the bedroom, and Jerry asked me if I was done with an old pair by the door. Katie shrugged.—I just gave them to him. He took them into the bathroom.

They couldn’t see the floor of the porch, but they both understood by Jerry’s movements and lowered head: he was trying on Katie’s shoes now. His mouth formed silent words, as if he were struggling to coax his large feet into the shoes.

—Did he talk to you about it? Dana said.

—No. He was really awkward and embarrassed when he asked, but afterward he was relaxed, and it was like it never happened.

—Any more violent episodes?

—No, just those two. Otherwise he’s following Nick around like a puppy, and he’s working really hard in their sessions. And he’s so sweet to me, Dana, he’s like a little kid sometimes.

Dana kept her eyes trained on the window.—Makes sense. He feels safe with you and Nick. You’ve become parental figures, probably the first positive ones in his life. His past is finally coming out, because he knows he’s safe.

—That’s what Patricia said to Dottie. Dottie told me a few days ago that Patricia thinks the incidents were actually good.

Out on the porch, Jerry’s lips moved slowly, his plump face deathly serious. He held one shoe up with both hands now, a black pump with strappy sides and a pointy heel.

—But I haven’t told anyone about this, Katie said.—I don’t know why.

—You have to, Dana said, turning quickly to her.—I mean, it clearly isn’t hurting anyone right now, but his social worker needs to know, given his behavior lately.

—Maybe they’re not related.

—Everything’s related, Katie. Believe me.

—But telling someone might break his trust with me—

—
Wow,
Dana said, her voice soft with shock: Jerry’s hand was wrapped around the side of the shoe. He pulled hard, teeth clenched with effort, ripping at the leather. With a low grunt, he finally tore it loose from its backing

—Why does he do it? Katie asked. And then more quietly:—It’s sexual, isn’t it?

—Probably. Yes. Maybe not this part, Dana said, motioning to the window with her chin.—But trying them on? Yes. The sexual part doesn’t have to be directed toward a person, though. It doesn’t mean he has sexual feelings toward
you.
Only that he trusts you.

They watched Jerry’s fist close around the heel. He pulled, forehead scrunched up, and tried to break it off.

—He probably doesn’t even know why he wants to do it. It’s probably an unconscious thing that gives him relief.

—You mean he—Katie stopped, embarrassed.

Dana shook her head, blew out a stream of smoke.—No, he doesn’t necessarily ejaculate or anything like that. But he feels the need, has to act it out, and it probably releases tension.

Jerry held the broken heel in his palm now, staring at it, lips mumbling quickly.

—I take it he’s been abused? Dana asked.

Katie shrugged.—His history is confidential. Some of the staff have mentioned bits here and there about his mother abusing him, but I’m not allowed to read his file.

Jerry had the other shoe in his hand, both strappy sides in his fists, pulling in opposite directions. His face turned a deep maroon, both eyes locked on the shoe.

Dana’s eyes narrowed as she watched.—I tell my clients who have fetishes that it’s typically associated with someone they were close to in childhood, even if that person was abusive. Acting it out as an adult is equated with love and being needed.

Over on the bench, Jerry examined one of the broken straps in his hand, talking to himself.

—But this is a little out of my league, Kate. With his past trauma and his handicap, it takes on a very complicated nature. It’s not necessarily “bad,” but if it starts to affect his overall daily functioning . . .

—It hasn’t, Katie said firmly.

—And maybe it never will. But you never know.

—I wonder if a part of destroying them might be that he’s punishing the shoes? Like
they’re
bad and maybe a kind of stand-in for his mother?

—Definitely a possibility. A good one. Dana stubbed out her cigarette. —But I told you, it’s complicated. There’s this element of sexuality and destruction that people who work with him should know about. Including Nick.

—You can’t mention this to him, okay? He gets angry when I try to discuss Jerry’s past.

—Sure . . . oops, I think he’s done.

Jerry rose from the bench, and Dana jumped up, waving the cigarette smoke away. She spritzed the air, scooted to the other side of the kitchen.

Jerry knocked softly on the door, and Katie opened it, smiling.

—Hey, Jerry. All set?

He nodded, avoided her eyes.—You tell Dana? he whispered.

—No, of course not.

—Oh. He gazed at his hands.

—Jerry? It’s okay.

—Oh.

—It’s private, and you aren’t doing anything wrong.

He finally met her eyes.—It bad, Kay-tee? he whispered.—I
bad
?

—No, buddy. Of course not.

—You not tell? You please not tell no one?

She watched the torment playing on his face, hesitated for only a second.—No, she said quietly.—No, I won’t tell anyone.

—
Swear?

—Cross my heart. You can trust me.

—You? he whispered, staring.
Sure?

She didn’t hesitate this time.—One hundred percent sure. I promise, Jerry.

He finally smiled.—You are my good friend, Kay-tee, he said, enunciating carefully. His eyes skipped back to the bench.

—Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them, she said.

Jerry nodded, pushed past Katie into the house.

Katie walked to the bench, picked up her destroyed shoes, and moved quickly to the garbage can out back. Buried them deep at the bottom.

That night they drove Jerry back to their apartment for his first overnight. As soon as they stepped inside, he became quiet, hugging his backpack to his chest and looking around the apartment.

—You’ll sleep on the couch this time, Nick told him.—But we’ll be moving very soon. And you know what? I think there’s a spare bedroom at the new house with your name all over it.

—My name? On walls?
Uh-oh
.

—No—no, it’s just an expression, Nick said, leading Jerry to the living room.

—You’ll sleep right here, okay? And we’ll leave all the lights on.

—Oh.

Katie dropped a pillow and a blanket on the couch.—It means when we move into the new house, you’ll have your own room there, Jer. And you can fill it with all your own stuff.

His eyes opened wide.—Real?

—Yes, Katie said, turning to Nick with a smile. But he was staring at Jerry’s hand, reaching for Katie’s.

—Okay, Jerry, Nick said, pulling his backpack out of the one arm that still held it close.—Let’s get your pj’s out, and then we’ll get you set up on the couch.

In the middle of the night Katie woke with a start. She turned on her side, checked on Nick: snoring loudly, one arm thrown across his face, elbow pointing at the ceiling.

—You’re snoring again, she grumbled, pushing at him.—Roll over.

He mumbled, turned onto his side. She closed her eyes, half asleep, when she heard the sound again. But it wasn’t Nick snoring. And then she remembered—
Jerry.
Jerry was in their living room. And he was moaning. A low, feral sound, like a trapped animal.

Katie sat up to prod Nick awake, then stopped herself. All those meetings about Jerry’s violent behavior, all behind closed doors.
I should know more,
Katie said to Nick more than once.
I’m a part of this, too.
And Nick, looking in that slightly haughty way at her across the table.
I’ve told you already, it’s confidential.

Jerry lay like an ironing board on the couch, arms by his sides, the pillow over his face. The living room was bright from the overhead lights and a lamp right beside him on the end table.

—Jerry? You okay?

He stopped moaning.

—Jerry? It’s Katie. What’s wrong?

—It dark.

—Well, let’s take that off your face.

—Oh.

She sat at the edge of the couch, pulled off the pillow. His light blue eyes were stretched wide.