Lies of the Heart (36 page)

—Do you want me to stay for a while?

He nodded.

—Here, sit up.

He obeyed, and Katie placed the pillow behind his head. She pushed him back against it gently.

—Were you afraid?

—I am.

—Nothing will hurt you here. And Nick and I are just in the next room.

He nodded doubtfully.

—Do you want to read? She leaned over to the side of the couch, grabbed a book out of his backpack. Held up his “best”:
If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.

Jerry shook his head.

—How about some water?

—I not dirsty.

Jerry stared at her, his lips starting to move in that familiar way, talking without sound.

—What is it, Jer? You can tell me.

—Kay?

—Ka-tie, she corrected without thinking.

—Kay-
tee
?

—What is it, buddy?

He practiced the words first again, but this time it was a little different: eyes moving back and forth, as if he could actually see the words, but had no idea what they meant. As if the words were in a language he didn’t understand.

—You . . . you like to look at me? he said at last.

—Of course, you handsome guy, she teased lightly, and pulled the covers up to his chin.—And that was a great sentence, by the way.

He didn’t smile.—My mom don’t. She say I sin before me.

—Sin before you?

His face turned urgent, eyes suddenly round with fear.—Dat
me,
Kay-tee.
Sin.

—No, no, you’re not sin, honey. You’re—you’re a gift, Jerry. Absolutely the opposite of sin.

—Uh-huh. My mom
say.

—Then she was wrong. I know it.

Jerry turned away, faced the back of the couch. He curled his huge body up into a ball, knees touching his chest.

—Jerry?

—
My fadder come,
he said in a low whisper, a voice that reminded Katie of campfires and ghost stories.—He come and see Mom. God got
mad.
Sin is
me.
His body started shaking, and he curled his fists and mashed them into his face.

Shit.
But no—she could handle this.

—Your father and mother made you, and God got mad?

He nodded at the back of the couch.—
Sex,
came his terrified whisper.

—Do you know what that is, Jerry? Sex?

—Someding too bad.

Katie thought about the shoes then, about her role now in the entire hazy mess that was Jerry’s past.

—Jerry, am I your good friend?

—You?

—Yeah, me.

He turned his face toward her.—You, Kay-tee?

—Yeah.

He turned over.—You, he finally said, face crumpling with a sad-happiness she had never seen.—You da
bestest
in da world.

Katie’s heart swelled, and it came to her, quickly: like a son—this troubled, enormous man was like a
son
to her. She put her hand on his shoulder.

—Then listen to me, okay? I will never,
ever
be mean to you. Ever, she said.—Not like your mom. This last sentence tentative, more like a question.

He nodded, started gulping air.—She hurt.

Katie rubbed his shoulder gently.—I thought so, and that makes me so sad. You didn’t deserve to hurt.

He shook his head, sat up suddenly, his fists pushed into his chest. His face was too close to Katie’s, and she forced herself to stay seated, to keep her hand on him.

—Yes, Kay, I
do.
Tears springing in his eyes.—God tell her. He
want
it.

—No, Jerry, you did not deserve it. God couldn’t want that. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

—He
mad
for me. At night He
come.

Jerry raised a fist, and Katie held her breath—but he only wiped his knuckles against his wet face.

—God is not going to come, and He isn’t mad at you.

—
Is
. He make my fadder go to hell because of
me.

—No, Jerry, you haven’t done anything wrong—

—Me, Kay! he said, and threw his body into hers, almost knocking her off the couch.—
I
wrong! Sobbing now, clutching Katie, his body racked with tremors.

She wrapped her arms around him, held him tight. Forever, it seemed, she held on tight.

After he finally fell asleep, she tiptoed into the bedroom, checked on Nick: on his back, again, both arms slung over his face now. She walked into the kitchen, to the small table by the door where Nick kept his briefcase. One quick look confirmed that Jerry was still asleep, too, his arms hugging the extra pillow Katie had slipped there to replace her body.

She clicked the briefcase open. The sound, amplified in the quiet apartment, made her freeze for a full ten seconds.

She looked off toward the bedroom door. Nothing, just soft snoring. Katie slid her hand inside.

—
Ow.

She popped her finger into her mouth—a paper cut from a piece of paper sticking out of a book. She eased it from the briefcase with her other hand. Not a thick textbook on speech-language therapy as she expected, but the Bible; not a piece of paper either, but one of a dozen yellow Post-its poking out.

She sucked at the thin line of blood on her index finger, flipped to one. In the Old Testament, from Nahum, chapter 1, Nick had underlined parts of Scripture in verses 2, 3, and 6.
The Lord is furious . . . will take vengeance . . . will not at all acquit the wicked: the Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm, and the clouds are the dust of his feet . . . his fury is poured out like fire . . .

She flipped to another one, also from the Old Testament, Psalm 68. underlined in verses 2 and 5:
As wax melteth before the fire, so let the wicked perish at the presence of God . . . A father of the fatherless.
Katie read it again, thinking of birthday cake and candles.

And another, Psalm 51:5.
I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive me.

And still another, Psalm 51:3.
For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me.

She heard Jerry’s words again:
Sin before me.

—Holy shit.

She slept in the next morning, found Nick’s note taped to the door.
Taking Jerry to breakfast. Call you later.

She tried Nick’s cell phone, left a quick message, jumped in the shower. Checked the answering machine and her cell after she was dressed and done drying her hair, but there was only one message, a return call from an old classmate who worked at PBS in Boston. Katie had called him over a month ago, and she listened to his apology now, his sudden awkwardness.—Um, so, sure, I guess so, Katie. I might be able to take a look at your work at some point, but I’m pretty busy over here. He paused. —Do you think . . . could you just remind me who you are again?

She looked around the apartment, hands on hips. She folded Jerry’s blanket and plumped the pillows, stored them back in the linen closet. She vacuumed all the rooms, dusted every surface in the apartment, used a sponge to clean out the glass shelves and the rounded egg cups in the refrigerator. In the bathroom she scrubbed the sink and the tub with Clorox, then got down on her hands and knees to clean around the toilet with a Brillo pad. She washed their bedding, organized their CDs and DVDs alphabetically, watched an episode of
Little House on the Prairie
while she paid the bills. By two o’clock she had called Nick’s cell phone a half dozen times, had left as many messages.
Where are you guys? Is everything okay?
But the phone never rang.

By four o’clock she was sitting at the desk cramped up against a wall in their bedroom, staring at the computer; the cursor winked at her, waiting. She didn’t think Jerry would mention their conversation last night with Nick, but what if he did? She imagined Nick’s reaction, how their conversation would most certainly degenerate, within minutes, to his scornful, explosive observations about Katie’s intelligence, her body. She typed her name onto the computer, stared blankly at it.

When Jerry had acted out at McDonald’s and at his birthday party right here at the apartment, Nick had sat at the computer just like this, writing up incident reports for Jerry’s file. Of course Katie wasn’t allowed to read the final drafts—
Confidential,
Nick had said both times, even though Jerry eventually ended up in Katie’s arms, mumbling Scripture and sobbing into her hair, both times.

She pictured herself handing Nick her own report from the night before, immediately saw his reaction: that same expression whenever Jerry suddenly reached for her, in fear or in happiness, the same one whenever Nick saw Katie whispering with the staff in private places at the center. She turned the computer off, watched her name disappear.

She stared at the blank screen, saw Nick’s hands fisted by his sides, his chest pushed forward. She swiveled in the chair to look at her closet, at the shoes spilling out of it.

For the next hour, Katie reorganized the closet—jeans and cargos folded neatly on the wire shelves on one side, shirts hung by color, dark to light—then sifted through and weeded out the shoes she didn’t mind giving up. The shoes Jerry would take into the bathroom when Nick was out running an errand, or to the bedroom while Nick was showering, and rip to pieces. The shoes he would try on first, then tear apart and destroy with his hands, while Katie waited patiently for him to finish so she could bury them at the bottom of the trash.

Reassuring him each time, It’s okay, Jerry. I won’t tell anyone. You have my word, you can trust me.

Nick finally called her around six-thirty, on his way back from the group home.

—You took him home already? she asked.

—We had a big day. He was tired.

—Why didn’t you call me back?

—I was thinking, he began slowly.—I was thinking about the visits. I should have told you this sooner. But I think I should take Jerry on them by myself for a little while.

—Why?

—Just until we get a better handle on his recent behavior.

—Did you talk to Patricia about this?

—I’m going to, tomorrow. And his social worker, too. Maybe it’ll help if he has some alone time with me, just a male presence to interact with. If they do agree, it will probably be better if you lay off on the visits to the center for now, too. It might distract him.

Just like that. In less than a minute, Katie felt herself thrust back in time, to a life filled with restless tiptoeing around the outskirts of everything that felt important.

—I kept calling, Nick, because I wanted to tell you, she said quickly, struggling to sound casual.—That old college friend called me back this morning.

—Yeah?

—The guy who works at PBS?

—Great, Nick said.—Hey, did you eat yet? I could pick something up.

—No, but listen. He said he’s busy, but he’s willing to look at my work. I was going to call him back and pitch this idea I’ve been throwing around, but I wanted to talk to you about it first.