by MJ Howson
A cedar-lined wooden jewelry box sat deep within the shadows beneath the bed. The cherry box’s ornate curves and carvings were scratched and worn from decades of use. Dawn had inherited it from her grandmother when she was twenty-one. She bit her upper lip as she ran her fingers across the front and opened the lid. The only item inside was a small plastic bottle labeled Clomiphene–her fertility pills. Her mind immediately filled with the image of Jacob emerging from beneath her sheets, his hands covered in blood. Tears soon fell across her cheeks. Dawn slammed the lid closed, flung the box back beneath the bed, and hurried to the bathroom.
A bottle of melatonin sat beside the sink. Dawn opened the bottle and dropped a ten-milligram pill into the palm of her hand. She looked at her pale reflection in the mirror and thought back to Jacob telling her how thin she looked. She sighed, popped the pill, and went back into her bedroom.
The full-length mirror across the room caught her attention. Dawn took a small satin throw pillow from her bed and slid it inside her robe against her stomach. She twisted from side to side, admiring her faux-pregnant look.
“Someday.” Dawn sighed and let the pillow fall to the floor. “Someday, I’m going to make the best mother.”
Dawn tossed her robe onto the end of the bed and crawled beneath the sheets. She said, “Evelyn, turn off all the lights.”
“Turning off all the lights.”
Downstairs, the lights slowly dimmed, as did the ones in Dawn’s bedroom, until everything faded to black. Dawn rolled onto her back and stared at the time projected on the ceiling–10:04 p.m.
The stress and tears she’d felt all day accelerated her drowsiness. As Dawn felt herself drifting away, all she could do was hope the nightmares that had recently haunted her would stay away. How she so desperately needed a peaceful night’s rest. Dawn quickly fell asleep. At some point, her dream, her nightmare, began to consume her thoughts.
Dressed in a flowing red gown, Dawn found herself running barefoot down a dirt-covered passageway. Her movements felt smooth and elastic, yet somehow slow and difficult. The white stone arches surrounding her were aged and weathered. A young girl, who Dawn was convinced was her daughter, was running away from her. The five-year-old was the spitting image of Dawn at that age. The child’s giggling echoed everywhere. Her black hair, pulled back in a ponytail, bounced against a red robe as she raced down the endless corridor.
“Stop, Eve!” Dawn cried out. She felt herself slowly gaining on the young girl. Dawn reached for her daughter, her hands elongating to close the gap between them. Her bright red nails became pointy the closer she got. “Don’t leave me!”
The young girl’s laughter stopped. The pounding of Dawn’s footsteps, and her heart, began a rhythmic beat. The child looked back over her shoulder at Dawn. Her ice-blue eyes were filled with terror. Dawn felt herself inching ever closer to the girl. Her fingers grew even longer, finally scraping against the back of the girl’s head. Just as Dawn’s claw-like nails dug into her shoulder, the young child turned and cried, “Mom! No!”
Dawn screamed herself free and awoke from her nightmare. Her sweat-covered body heaved as she gasped for air. The first thing Dawn noticed when she opened her eyes was the time projected on the ceiling–11:55 p.m. She looked around the room, her heart pounding in her chest.
“Why can’t I stop these dreams?” Dawn raised her hands to cover her eyes and started to sob uncontrollably. “When will they end?”
Five
Trainer
Power Fitness Gym, located several blocks from Jacob’s apartment in Jersey City, had its usual early morning weekday members shuffling about. Roughly two dozen people lined up before the doors opened to get their workout in ahead of their workday. Half were sweating it out on the cardio deck, while the rest were scattered between the fitness machines and free weights. Hip hop music thumped from the speakers, interrupted by the occasional clang of a barbell hitting a rack.
Jacob had memberships in half a dozen gyms in Manhattan and Jersey. The fees for these were, by far, his biggest monthly expense. Jacob had tried to negotiate discount rates with the gym managers, explaining he helped promote them by training clients there. None took him up on his offer. In fact, a few had outright banned him, telling him only trainers employed by the gym could train their members. The NYC-based gyms were the most expensive ones, but they also had higher-paying clients.
His five o’clock appointment was Megan, a very fit twenty-four-year-old lawyer. She always kept her chestnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, despite it often getting in the way of the exercises. Jacob admired her focus and dedication but felt let down by her lack of confidence. She’d signed up for six sessions with Jacob last month, and this was her final one.
The two were standing near a row of power racks along the back wall of the gym. The eight-foot-tall steel racks could be used for various barbell power exercises, including squats and deadlifts. Donned in her usual blue and yellow gym gear, Megan struggled to steady the barbell resting against her thighs.
“You’ve got this,” Jacob said. He was standing directly behind Megan as she did her deadlifts. Jacob always kept within inches of his clients, mirroring their moves whenever possible. “That’s it.” Jacob stepped closer as Megan squatted toward the ground, holding the barbell close to her knees. “One more. Push hard.”
Megan groaned as she powered through the final rep, standing upright and pulling her shoulders back. She looked over her shoulder at Jacob towering above her. Megan smiled and said, “I think that’s a record.”
“It is,” Jacob replied. “A personal best.” Jacob quickly helped Megan place the barbell on the nearby rack. “It’s all about pushing yourself beyond your limits.”
“Was that it? Are we done?”
“One more. Chest press.”
“Oh, right. Shit.”
Megan sighed and flicked her hair back. She grabbed her water bottle and took a long chug.
Jacob led Megan to a standalone bench. His skin-tight red tank top caught the attention of several members as he passed them by. Jacob grabbed a bottle of sanitizer and a handful of paper towels and wiped the bench down. When finished, he glanced at the closest mirror, tilting his head to see how the harsh white overhead lighting reflected off his scar.
“You keep everything so clean.” Megan smiled as she got into position on the bench. “Such a gentleman.”
“Always.” Jacob passed her two twenty-pound dumbbells. “Just like last time.”
Jacob positioned himself in a squat position, keeping his thighs close to Megan’s face. He kept focused on her form, but out of the corner of his eye, he could see her glance between her weights and his inner thigh. Jacob had zero attraction to Megan. Her overuse of perfume was just one of several turn-offs. But he was well aware of the teasing game he had to play to retain and expand his clients.
As Megan went through her routine, Jacob tried to ignore the intermittent buzzing coming from his phone in his pocket. He regretted not leaving it in his backpack.
“Three more, Megan.” Jacob leaned forward and placed his palms an inch below Megan’s elbows. He mirrored her movements as she pressed the dumbbells up and over her chest. “Breathe.” Jacob took deep breaths in and out to encourage Megan, trying his best not to choke on her scent. “Keep pushing.”
Megan groaned as she completed her ninth rep. Spit flew from her mouth, and she said, “I’m done.”
“One more.”
Megan shook her head but did as told and pushed out one final rep. Her arms wobbled toward the end. Jacob swooped in and collected both dumbbells from her hands just as she finished.
“Great job,” Jacob said. He stood up and took his phone out of his pocket. He flashed it toward Megan and said, “Messages.”
“Busy guy?” Megan asked. She took a few deep breaths in between chugging from her water bottle.
“Always.” Jacob frowned at the half dozen notifications this early in the morning. He began to swipe through them. “Tha
t was a good set. Last time you only did eight.”
“Really? I can never remember.”
“That’s my job.” Jacob shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Your job is to believe in yourself. You need to push yourself beyond your limits. Go outside what’s comfortable.”
“Were those messages from your girlfriend?”
“No.”
Megan smiled as she took a swig of water from her bottle. She asked, “Boyfriend?”
Jacob grinned, his scar twisting his upper lip. “My girlfriend’s still asleep.”
“Oh.”
Jacob continued to smile, ignoring the apparent disappointment Megan was trying to hide. Most clients inevitably asked Jacob if he was single. Pensive ones, like Megan, usually delayed the question until their session package ended. In Jacob’s experience, his gay clients were the bold ones, often asking in the first ten minutes of their initial session. Or, more often, before they even signed up.
Jacob waved his hand in a circle, indicating she needed to get back into position on the bench to begin her second set. She remained silent as she went through her routine. Jacob could see Megan was somewhat embarrassed by their brief exchange.
Megan completed her second set and handed the dumbbells back to Jacob. His phone began to buzz inside his pocket. It was continuous, indicating it was a phone call. Jacob never took calls in the middle of a client’s session. But he wondered why someone was calling him this early in the morning.
“Do you need to get that?” Megan asked.
“I can look when we’re done. You’ve got one set to go.”
After chugging back some water and wiping the sweat from her arms, Megan got back into position. She quickly and unenthusiastically pushed through eight reps before giving up and dropping the weights into Jacob’s hands. They exchanged pleasantries briefly while Jacob gushed about her progress and told her to consider signing up for another six sessions. Megan said she’d consider it. She collected her water bottle, towel, and phone.
“Don’t work too hard,” Megan said.
As she turned and walked away, Jacob said, “Megan, before you go–”
“Yes?” Megan spun around, smiling.
“Payment?”
“Oh.” Megan sighed, unlocked her phone, and used a cash app to send Jacob his payment. “Sorry.”
“Enjoy your day.”
“Thanks.”
Megan headed across the gym, her head hung low. She gave Jacob one last look and a small smile before disappearing into the locker room.
Jacob looked at the payment notification on his phone’s screen. He started to calculate where he stood with his income and expenses for the month. Jacob sighed, realizing he was still upside down. He began checking his notifications. The missed call was from Dawn, but she didn’t leave a voice message. He immediately called her back. As he waited for the call to connect, he spent a bit of time admiring his reflection in the nearby mirror and adjusting the fit of his tank top.
“Hey,” Dawn said.
“Are you okay?” Jacob asked. Someone walked by him and pointed at a sign banning cell phone use in the gym. Jacob dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “You’re never up this early.”
“Sorry. It’s . . . it’s those dreams. I . . . I can’t shake them.”
“Did you wake up screaming again?”
“Yes.”
Jacob waited for Dawn to continue. He debated bringing up last night’s discussion at the bar. Jacob knew she needed therapy. He closed his eyes as he tried to think of another way to make the suggestion without upsetting her.
“I . . . I think you’re right,” Dawn finally said. Her voice sounded so thin. “I need help.”
Jacob opened his eyes and smiled. He said, “I’m glad to hear you say that.”
“Will you go with me?”
“To therapy?” Jacob picked at the scar through his lip as he studied himself in the mirror. “I think you need to go alone first. And then you can see what the doctor says. Okay?”
“Oh. Okay. Okay, Jacob. That . . . that makes sense.”
“Trust me, it’s the right thing to do.”
“I just want to get better. I . . . I miss being happy.”
“I think the therapy will help. And you might want to think about starting some new habits.”
“Habits?”
“If you want to make changes, you need to commit to doing new things. Different things.”
“Okay, Jacob. I’ll try. Thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you.”
“I love you too. We’ll get through this, Dawn. I promise.”
Six
The High Line
Dawn spent the next two months doing her best to create healthy habits. Jacob helped her come up with a better diet and exercise plan. Initially, Dawn struggled with many of his recommendations. They finally agreed on several compromises. Friday through Sunday were Dawn’s cheat days for breakfast. She made it abundantly clear that she couldn’t give up carbs entirely.
The most significant change Dawn had made was seeing a therapist. Her doctor had requested weekly sessions, but she’d managed to see him only three times during the past seven weeks. In many ways, Dawn found her early morning walks along the High Line far more therapeutic than talking to her doctor for an hour. Soaring thirty feet above Manhattan’s intersecting roads, the mile-and-a-half long path snaked from Gansevoort Street to Hudson Yards. The High Line’s transformation from dilapidated train tracks to a public park always inspired Dawn. The walkway’s abundance of lush plants and artwork reminded her you were never too old to reinvent yourself. She had to think positive thoughts if she were to get past her miscarriage.
The rays of the August sun streamed across the sky as Dawn left her building to start her half-mile stroll to Hudson Yards. Her journey always started with a walk three blocks south to take the stairs up to the High Line at the 23rd Street entrance. She would then follow the winding escalated walkway north to its endpoint at Hudson Yards. Access at 23rd Street also gave her the option of an elevator, should the need arise.
Dawn smiled, basking in the warm air, as she passed the curved eastern-facing benches above 29th Street. Dressed in a long black silk kaftan, oversized deeply tinted Prada sunglasses, and a cream chiffon scarf draped around her neck, Dawn took deep breaths as she enjoyed the fresh air. She soon found herself at the stairs descending to 30th Street adjacent to the shops of Hudson Yards. Her stomach growled in anticipation of the breakfast she’d soon be ordering.
The line in Mercado Little Spain wasn’t too bad this morning. Dawn ordered her usual–a large black coffee and miguelito pastry. She quickly exited back outside and headed upstairs to the public gardens and courtyard on the first level. Once there, she noticed Joe, a security guard who worked the area near the Vessel. Dawn waved to catch his attention. He waved back. She quickly made her way to meet her long-time acquaintance.
“Morning, Joe,” Dawn said.
“Good morning to you, Miss Easton.” Joe smiled, held the brim of his hat, and nodded. “Mercado will never go out of business with you here every weekend.”
Joe made for an imposing figure in both size and tone. Broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, the African-American’s voice registered so deep that it came across as both cartoonish and frightening. He’d joke that he should have gone into radio and voice-over work instead of being an EMT. Semi-retired, Joe now enjoyed the slower pace of life brought about strolling the area and keeping the peace. His shift varied week to week and day to day. Sometimes he’d find himself patrolling the indoor shops, other days the outdoor grounds.
“Their pastries are addictive.” Dawn tried to take a sip from her coffee, but it was still too hot. “How are you today?”
“I can’t complain. The kids are all coming over this weekend for Sunday dinner. We haven’t done that in ages.”
“Remind me again how many children you have?”
“Four. All married. With kids.” Joe laughed,
his deep baritone voice creaking softly. “Can’t believe I’m that old.”
“Such a big family. That must be nice.” Dawn tried to smile as she attempted another sip of her coffee.
“How are you these days?” Joe briefly looked Dawn up and down. “I know you had a rough patch earlier.”
“I . . . I did.” Dawn awkwardly swapped her pastry bag and coffee as the hot cup was beginning to bother her fingers. “It’s so sweet of you to ask.”
“I’m not one to pry.”
Dawn looked around for someplace to put her coffee. She nodded toward the closest building, where it was shady. Joe followed her. Dawn placed her pastry bag and coffee down, resting them against the wall. She said, “It’s been a rough summer. But, well, I’m . . . I’m in therapy now.”
“Oh.”
“Talk therapy. Crazy, right?”
“Not at all.” Joe looked around and gave the outdoor space a quick review. “I never told you this, Miss Easton, but my wife suffered two miscarriages early in our marriage.”
“Really?” Dawn was shocked. A part of her almost resented hearing this now. She’d confided her loss to Joe back in June the first time she saw him after losing Eve. She wondered why he waited so long. “How, uh, how did your wife get through it? The loss.”
“It was rough.” Joe took his cap off and wiped his brow. The humid August air and all-black uniform causing him to sweat. “But we got through it. Together.”
Dawn smiled as she looked away. A young couple was walking by holding hands. She couldn’t help but think of Jacob. He’d recommended therapy, and she could only hope it would help bring them closer.
“It’s going to be a hot one today,” Joe said. “I’m required to wear this uniform. What’s your excuse?”
“Me?” Dawn looked down at her long black kaftan. The silk was thin and flowing. She found it to be quite comfortable, despite the sticky weather. “I happen to like it.”
“Just teasing.” Joe winked at her. “You always seem to be in black or white. A little pop of color never killed anyone.”