Lies of the Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

suddenly pulled from out of the shadows, and that the jurors can feel the weight of his absence even though they’ve never met him. But while she understands the importance of all this, there is still something that brings on the anger in brief, furious surges. And it’s not because it isn’t up to her to coax the story out, to capture the way a person’s body leans forward or suddenly stills—not because she can’t cut and edit and create a new story out of the pieces that are offered to her. No, it’s that Richard’s every word, his every movement, is planned, calculated.
    She imagines what she would see if she searched his case notes—every shake of his head, every step, carefully choreographed. 1. When you talk about how much Katie misses Nick, lower your head and absently twirl your wedding ring. 2. Remember to shake your head in disbelief when you tell them that Jerry smiled before he shot Nick.
    All of Richard’s emotions, all his actions, scripted out, rehearsed. But where, in all this performance, she thinks, is Nick ? Where is the real man, the man she’s lost, the genuine feeling that should come easily, naturally? It’s this elaborately planned orchestration, when there is so much that should be real to Richard, that fills her body with rage, that makes her want to take her grief and offer it to him in concrete, painful forms.
    Back on the deck, Katie takes a long swallow of the warm liquid, places the glass on the arm of the chaise lounge, and steps over to the projector. She turns a knob, stares at the tips of the swaying trees while the film fast-forwards and the alcohol boils inside her empty stomach.
    The November wind is growing colder. If winter comes charging through Rhode Island early this year, it will turn everything gray and dull and motionless—the perfect setting for Nick’s trial. Earlier today, after she left the courthouse in Providence to make her way to the parking garage on Packet Street, she stopped to watch a soft fall breeze pick up the trash on the sidewalk and send it into the air a few feet—a dazzling, swirling flight. But it felt wrong, the way it took her breath away for a second, how it made her stare in wonder; if the streets were empty, she would have rushed into the middle of the tiny cyclone of newspapers and candy wrappers, legs kicking out, hands attacking. There is no time for the surprises of nature now: she wants things to freeze, to grow cold and colorless and still, a quiet stage for what is to come.
    She releases the fast-forward button on the projector, flips the sound switch, and settles into the lounge with her blanket and drink.
    Arthur’s and Sarah’s bodies straighten and lean toward her slightly, a response to her asking a question from behind the camera. They settle back against the couch, bodies suddenly stiff, eyes round and vulnerable.
    “Yes, Hannah, my sister. She was the first one in our family,” Arthur finally says. His big eyes blink twice and stray slightly to the left, his hands folding into each other on his lap. There is a slight, uncertain smile on Sarah’s face as she stares directly into the camera.
    “She had blond hair and blue eyes, you see,” Arthur says, nodding, “so you think to yourself, ‘This one will be safe, this one looks good, just like them.’ ”
    The smile on Sarah’s face looks pasted on now—she gazes into the camera like she is waiting to have her picture taken.
    Katie stands with her drink, walks down the steps of the deck and onto the matted, dying lawn. She drifts over to the shed slowly, careful not to step into the stream of the projector’s light.
    “We needed to eat, you understand?” Arthur says, his voice echoing into the night from the deck. He leans forward, his fingers suddenly coming alive. They flutter in his lap like moths, but Sarah remains silent, eyes wide and unblinking. “How can you ask people to take the bread out of their own mouths, to starve along with us? They were risking