Lies of the Heart

by Michelle Boyajian

  A few seconds later, Jerry’s thick body filled the narrow doorway—his thin brown hair combed to the side, a crisp button-down shirt tucked neatly into his jeans. The only sign of trepidation showed in his chubby, storming face: trying hard, it seemed, to arrange itself for this new situation. He finally ducked his head in, looked directly at Nick with wide blue eyes.

  —Uh-oh, Jerry said.—Him.

  —It’s okay, Jerry, Patricia said.—There’s someone else here I want you to meet.

  Jerry reluctantly tore his gaze away from Nick; his eyes pulsed in recognition at Katie for a second before he hung his head.

  The floor absorbed all his interest for a full minute. Patricia stood patiently by, whispering words of encouragement, her hands folded in front of her. With his chin remaining securely tucked against his chest, Jerry finally lifted his eyes to Katie for a brief moment—face still struggling, lips moving silently.

  —You can do this, Patricia told him.

  Another minute watching the floor, arms clamped to his sides like a soldier, his lips continuing to move in silent argument with himself. Patricia coaxed and encouraged, and suddenly Jerry’s right arm twitched, a little jolt of electricity. Katie watched in fascination: it twitched again, and then, slowly, it started to rise up. When it was straight out in front of him, Jerry closed his eyes tightly, pushed his arm through the doorway. Fingers reaching for an invisible rope to pull him into the room.

  —Good, Jerry. Keep going.

  He placed a tentative foot over the doorjamb, carefully tested the floor with small steps, arm still extended.

  —You’ve seen her around here an awful lot, and I think you’ll like her.

  His face flushed deeply at this, but then his other arm came up gradually, hand reaching.

  —Almost there.

  He rocked in the doorway, pelvis swaying back and forth, fingers pulling at air, eyes squeezed shut. The one sneakered foot already in the room taking quick slaps at the floor.

  Finally, with a small grunt and a hop, his other foot landed in the room; he stood bent in half, his arms extended and his lower half jutting back toward the door.

  —Good job, Jerry!

  Katie waited until Patricia led him to the table; she stood slowly, said in a neutral voice,—Hello, Jerry.

  Jerry looked at her, jaw dropping, then stared at her feet.

  It was all scripted beforehand by Patricia—when Katie should stand, how much eye contact she should make, when and how she should respond directly to Jerry. Nick’s job, on the other hand, was easy: sit quietly and let Katie and Jerry interact as naturally as possible.

  —Katie is Nick’s wife, Jerry. Can you say hello to her?

  He towered over her, his lips whispering without words.

  —Hello, Katie, Patricia prompted.—Nice to meet you.

  Lips working faster.—Meet you, Jerry said without looking up.

  —Can you tell Katie what you do here at the center?

  Nick closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose.

  —Sometimes, Patricia coached,—I put backs into earrings.

  —Put da bags in, Jerry repeated, his voice like a boy approaching adolescence, high-pitched one moment, deep and guttural the next.

  —And I eat lunch with my new friends here in the cafeteria.

  —Lunch-teria.

  Patricia nodded at Katie.—That’s great, Jerry, Katie said.

  Jerry’s head snapped up. He stared at Katie, slowly lowered it again.

  —Do you want to tell her about your new house? Patricia said.—I live on Dixon Street now.

  —Dison.

  —And I have two roommates, Bobby and Victor.

  Lips practicing the words first.—Woom-mits.

  —Bobby and Victor.

  —Viter.

  —I like Bobby and Victor very much, Katie said, smiling.—Do you?

  Jerry stared at her, openmouthed. He turned to Patricia, and she nodded and smiled at him: Go ahead, talk to her.

  Jerry turned back to Katie, closed his mouth, opened it again—his light blue eyes fastened on her. After a moment he started making small panting sounds, his head pulsing forward with each exhalation, eyes growing big with urgency. Katie had to fight to keep the smile on her face: he loomed over her, his stare unnerving.

  —Viter cook, Jerry finally said, face red with the effort.—Cook macwoni.

  Patricia beamed at him, at Katie, her eyes skipping between them triumphantly.

  —Good, Jerry, that’s right. Sometimes Victor helps cook dinner at your new house. Good job!

  One of the rules was no quick movements, to keep her body as still as possible, but as Patricia continued to coach Jerry, Katie watched him more closely. Was it her imagination, or was Jerry staring at her shoes? She carefully tilted her left foot one way, then the other, thinking of sequins and light. Jerry’s eyes widened, his mouth opening, until Patricia spoke again.

  —Can you tell Katie what Nick’s job is here?

  An instant frown, lips pressed together. But still trained on the shoe Katie displayed for him.

  —Nick helps us try to speak clearly, Patricia said.

  Nothing.

  —Katie is Nick’s wife, and she loves him very much. She trusts him, and she isn’t only his wife, she’s his friend, too. Katie told me that she hopes you’ll let Nick be your friend.

  A doubtful look directed at Katie.

  —It’s true, Jerry, Katie said.—And I hope you’ll be my friend, too. Almost a smile for Katie then, but Nick shifted quickly in his seat and Jerry’s eyes were back on the floor, filled with impending terror.

  Patricia’s office was a surprise, a sort of structured chaos—thick files piled on the corners of her desk, blue Post-it notes stuck to her computer, the windowsill behind her desk, and on the oversize day planner; phone numbers and names and meetings crowded each square on the planner, a few triple-circled in red ink.

  —I discussed the possibility with Nick, and now I have no hesitation, Patricia said to Katie.—I think you both should be his resources.

  —What’s that? Katie asked, turning to Nick.

  Nick ignored her, his arm draped across the back of his chair, one leg thrust forward—a posture of studied detachment.

  Patricia looked from Nick to Katie, said,—Some of our clients have elderly parents or, like Jerry, no family at all, and we match them up with what we call “visiting resources.” They take the clients out to eat, to a movie, that sort of thing. Over time the bond can become pretty strong. We have a few clients now who do sleepovers, spend the holidays with their resources. I’m hoping Jerry will be open to it.

  —One meeting, Nick said.—That’s what we’re going on here?

  —I’ve seen it, too, Nick, Patricia said.—He follows her with his eyes. Something about her has captured his interest. She shrugged.—It’s a start at least. We need to connect with him soon, or we might lose him.

  —You really think Jerry is going to sit in a restaurant with me? Nick asked.

  Patricia smiled sympathetically at him.—Maybe if Katie is there.

  For their second visit with Jerry she wore bright red sling-backs with three-inch heels, the kind of narrow, teetering shoes that took painful bites of her feet with every step. Completely inappropriate for Pizza Hut, though Nick didn’t say a word about them. Since their meeting with Patricia, Nick had been either short and dismissive with Katie or infuriatingly polite. After the first visit, she thought of reasons to back out, rehearsing her excuses in the shower. You’re the expert here, honey, not me. I know that Jerry will come around with your help. You don’t need me. And it was true, too—she saw signs of it on their very first visit to Newport Creamery. Jerry sneaking quick looks at Nick when Nick dropped his long ice-cream spoon onto the floor, or when he pulled money out of his wallet and calculated the tip. Both times, in just those few seconds, there was an unexpected, open curiosity in Jerry’s light blue eyes, the fear completely gone. He caught Katie watching once
, smiled shyly at her instead of glancing away.

  But Katie didn’t tell Nick about these looks or the smile, and she didn’t back out of the visits. Because his mother had called once, twice, a third time. And each time Nick mouthed “busy” at Katie before retreating to the kitchen table with the thick textbooks Patricia had given him.

  —Is something wrong, Katie? Candice asked on her third try. —This isn’t like Nicky.

  —No, Candice, he’s just very busy with work. He’s been exhausted.

  —Maybe I should try him in the morning?

  —Okay, then, I’ll let him know you called.

  But if Katie was honest with herself, she knew that it was more than this mild triumph that kept her silent. She could still see that look of vulnerability and fear on her husband’s face with Jerry close by, so alien and telling. Was it a clue, this fear of failing with Jerry? A hint about the things Nick kept hidden from her?

  Katie spent her days visiting the Warwick Center, watching Jerry watch her, watching Nick watching them both, and—in her spare time—shopping for just the right pair of shoes.

  On their way into the Pizza Hut, Jerry loped beside her, Nick striding ahead of them to the door. It was only the second time they’d picked him up from the group home on a Sunday afternoon, but Katie was ready for Jerry now, remembered not to swing her arms, or walk too quickly—impossible in these shoes anyway. A calculated pace so Jerry could find her hand and capture it for those brief moments before they stood beside Nick, and Jerry took his hand back.

  Nick stood at the entrance, staring at the space between Katie and Jerry where their hands had been linked only seconds before.

  —Age before beauty, he said to Jerry, smiling.

  —Oh, Jerry said, stepping back to let Katie go in first.—Oh.

  —I think he meant you first, Jer, Katie said. She tried to catch Nick’s eye, but he was watching Jerry’s nervous movements—hands slapping at his thighs, taking a giant step back, two small steps forward, another big step back.

  —It’s okay, buddy, Nick said gently.

  Jerry took one more step back, then suddenly shot through the door, head tucked down. He stopped short, eyes widening, and turned around to look at Katie. The dining room was teeming with loud, hungry families, with waitresses weaving through the tables, pizzas held high to avoid darting children. Jerry turned to the room again, lips mumbling.

  —Why don’t you two get a table? Nick said to Jerry, the frustration clear on his face.—I’ll be right back.

  Jerry waited until Nick disappeared up the hallway toward the bathroom, moved closer to Katie. He stared wide-eyed around the room, then looked down at her shoes.

  —Pity, he said.

  —Pretty?

  Jerry nodded.

  —Thank you, Jerry. She turned her foot to the side for a better look.

  He stared, then looked up at her and smiled.—Day hurt you?

  —No, not really.

  —Oh, he said, looking disappointed. His lips moved in that familiar way now, like Patricia was coaching him.—Dem shoes old? His face suddenly hopeful.

  —I’ve had them forever, she lied.

  —Old, he said, nodding.—Good. You wear a lot. Jerry looked back at the shoes.

  —You sweat in dere?

  Katie hesitated for a moment.—A little bit.

  —Dat bad?

  —No, not at all.

  —Oh. Okay. Day pinchy little? he asked, with that sudden, eager look again.

  —Sometimes, yes.

  His mouth opened, closed. Opened again, face pink.—May-be, Kay? May-be—I—

  The hostess interrupted them, arms loaded with menus and a brittle smile on her face.—Two?

  Jerry hid his blushing face in his arms.

  At the table Jerry inched his chair closer to Katie’s, just in time for Nick’s reappearance. He pretended not to notice, but his nostrils flared in annoyance.

  —Waitress come yet? he asked the space right above Katie’s head.

  —Not yet, she said lightly, trying to catch his eye again.

  Nick pulled out his chair, careful to keep his glance away from the thin sliver of space between Jerry and Katie.

  A few minutes later, a flustered young waitress rushed to the table with apologies, water, and—after Nick’s obvious, appreciative gaze at her—a special smile meant just for him.

  —How about a large deep-dish with extra cheese and banana peppers? Nick said, touching her arm.—But I can see how busy you are. No hurry at all.

  The waitress smiled at Nick, headed back to the kitchen with a walk that was somewhere between a saunter and a strut.

  —Peppas? Jerry asked Katie.

  She glared at Nick.

  —Haven’t you ever had them, Jerry? Nick asked.

  Jerry turned to him. He watched Nick carefully, switched his eyes to the table, and shook his head.

  —They’re delicious, he said, looking straight at Katie.—I think you’ll love them.

  —Nick knows I don’t like them, Jerry, she said, staring back at Nick.—He knows I think they’re pretty gross.

  Jerry looked from Katie to Nick and back again.—Gwoss?

  —Disgusting, Katie said directly to Nick.—And childish.

  —Oh, please.

  When the pizza came, Nick beamed at the waitress, then served Jerry, who stared down at his pizza as if it were trying to communicate with him.

  —Peppas, he said.—Oh.

  Katie served herself, took her time flicking off the banana peppers one by one and sliding them to the side of her plate. Jerry watched her and followed suit, used two fingers to pick them off like bugs.

  At first Nick scowled, but then he reached across the table, lifted one of the peppers off Jerry’s plate, and raised it to eye level. Turned it around slowly to inspect it.

  —Hmmmm. Yes, this one will definitely work, he said, studying the pepper.

  He caught Jerry staring.—Okay, buddy? Nick asked, and Jerry nodded shyly.

  Nick curved the pepper against his teeth, pressed it down, tucked the ends into the corners of his mouth. Opened his lips for a wide, waxy yellow smile.

  Jerry stared. Nick’s lips stretched, and then he munched the pepper, swallowed.

  —Crunchy smiles, Nick said.—Dee-licious.

  Jerry’s mouth dropped open.

  —Yup, Nick said, reaching for another one. He fit it into his mouth, smiled big again and raised his hands. Ta-da!

  Jerry peeked at Katie. She shrugged, and he picked up a pepper with two fingers. Looked at Nick, who nodded his encouragement. Jerry lifted it up to eye level for careful inspection, but then his elbow dropped, landing squarely in the center of his piece of pizza. Like a sudden sting—Jerry flung the pepper onto the table, turned his arm sideways. Stared at his elbow in horror.

  —Uh-oh!

  —Man, I hate when that happens, Nick said.

  He looked at his piece of pizza, looked at Jerry. Plunked his elbow into the very center of his own slice. Smiled a waxy, banana-pepper smile.

  Jerry’s lips moved as he looked at Nick’s mouth, his elbow firmly planted in the pizza. And finally, what Nick had waited for, had clearly hoped for, since his first meeting with Jerry. A slow grin spread over Jerry’s face.

  Giggling, Jerry reached for another banana pepper—watching for Nick’s approval.

  —Dis one good, Jerry said, holding it up for Nick. Nick nodded, and Jerry dropped his elbow back into the pizza. Giggled again.

  —Wait a minute, buddy. Someone here is holding out on us, Nick said.

  Katie and Nick held each other’s eyes for a moment.—Do I have to? she said, shaking her head with a smile.

  The pepper in Jerry’s mouth was crooked, hanging halfway out of his mouth.

  —’Mon, Kay, he said.—You, too!

  Katie picked up a pepper from her own plate. Plopped her elbow into her pizza.

  Jerry’s squealing laughter filled the restaurant.

  9
r />   Eddie Rodriguez, a normally youthful and athletic man in his mid-fifties, looks as if he’s aged twenty years since May. His thick brown hair has new patches of gray on both sides, and his shoulders are rounded as he makes his way up the courtroom aisle with a studied are rounded as he makes his way up the courtroom aisle with a studied gait.

  Eddie doesn’t look at the jurors as he answers Richard’s questions; instead, he explains his duties as the Warwick Center’s recreation director in a soft, faltering voice, his eyes glassy and focused on the floor. Judge Hwang asks him twice to speak up, and both times he stops his narration to cast a wary glance in her direction before beginning again.

  “So you were away from the building when the shooting took place?” Richard asks him quietly.

  “Yes,” Eddie says.

  “And Detective Mason eventually brought you to the shed that day?”

  Eddie nods, then mumbles another “Yes” after Judge Hwang asks him to speak up again.

  “And how did the defendant know that the gun was in that shed, Mr. Rodriguez?”

  “We had a game—we tried to sneak up on each other. I didn’t know he followed me outside. If I knew he saw it . . . if . . . I didn’t intend on leaving it there—”

  “But you did leave it there.”

  A guilty crimson steals over Eddie’s face. “I only planned to keep it there overnight. I just picked up the permit—”

  “There had been some robberies in your neighborhood?”

  Eddie nods, catches himself. “Yes.”

  “So you purchased the gun for protection?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t want to take it home that night because . . . ”

  Eddie steals a look at Donna. “I was picking up my sons at school that day,” he says quietly. “My wife wasn’t crazy about them being in the car with a gun.”

  “So you were going to store it in the shed and take it home after work the next day?”

  “Yes.”

  “And then the next day the defendant broke into the shed and stole it.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did the defendant ask you why you had a gun, Mr. Rodriguez?”