by MJ Howson
“You’re the best.”
“I know.” Flo smiled and winked at her husband. Her smile soon faded. “Winston, I know it’s none of my business, but shouldn’t she be over her postpartum by now?”
“This . . . this isn’t postpartum.”
“Oh.”
“I’m glad I decided to record these sessions. Dawn’s case may headline my book.” Dr. Cole glanced at the notes on his desk and sighed. “I need some time to get organized.”
“I’ll let you know when lunch is here.” Flo smiled and left the office, closing the door behind her.
As Dr. Cole began to sort through his notes, the pen on his desk began to vibrate. He opened his top drawer and stared at the two phones. Dr. Cole picked up the blue one. The lock screen image was a picture of him and Flo, taken at an awards ceremony two years ago. The New York Psychiatric Association had recognized a paper he’d published on schizophrenic affective disorder. As he recalled that day, he let his eyes drift to the SAM notification on the red-cased phone.
Shawn: I saw you checking out my profile. Older men are the best.
Dr. Cole looked back and forth between the red and blue phones. His wife of thirty-three years was his best friend. He’d remained faithful to her despite endless curiosities and temptations. He slowly placed the blue phone down.
After unlocking the red phone, Dr. Cole opened SAM and immediately went to Shawn’s profile. The private pictures initially appeared tasteful. He particularly liked one of the outfits. As the doctor scrolled through the images, the photos became more shocking and rather vulgar. Dr. Cole deleted the message, sighed, and said, “That’s a bit much.”
Out of curiosity, Dr. Cole opened the app’s search function. The screen gave him a wealth of options to pick from. He glanced at his office door, well aware he was pressed for time. He knew he should be documenting his findings from Dawn’s session, but Shawn’s disappointing profile frustrated him. Dr. Cole had been on this app for months but had yet to make any sort of connection. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the perfect fantasy. Dr. Cole shook his head and began to fill in his criteria.
Once he entered what he considered to be the ultimate match, he ran the search. This wasn’t the first time he’d run a search like this, but he’d never been this specific in his requirements. A list of fifty profiles appeared. The first on the list was Taylor, flagged as being online with a 95% match rate. Taylor’s profile picture was from the neck down. Dr. Cole read the profile and smiled. Everything sounded too good to be true. He sent a Wave–a harmless way to see if the other party was interested. As he scrolled to the next profile, Taylor replied with a message.
Unlocking.
Dr. Cole’s heart raced as he went back to Taylor’s profile. Unlike Shawn’s gallery, Taylor’s private pictures were tasteful–erotic but not trashy. When he reached the end of the photos, Dr. Cole realized there were no face shots. He wrote back.
Face?
Taylor replied.
Says the guy with no pictures on his profile. ;-)
Dr. Cole frowned and lowered his phone. Of course he had no pictures on his profile. How could he? It wasn’t worth the risk. This wasn’t the first time he’d been called out for having so little information on his SAM profile. Before he could close the app, Taylor sent another message.
You get my face in person. Happy to meet and talk. No expectations.
Dr. Cole’s heart was now pounding in his chest. Sweat formed on his brow, and a knot formed in his stomach. He raised the blue-cased phone and looked at his smiling wife. He flipped the phone face down and responded to Taylor.
I’d like that.
He immediately got a reply.
Name?
Dr. Cole chuckled. He’d never gotten this far into a conversation on SAM before. He looked around his office, and his eyes settled on the Trust plaque from his brother-in-law.
Daniel.
Taylor wrote back.
Nice to meet you, Daniel. Name the time and place to meet. Taylor.
Twenty Nine
Hugo
Dawn frowned as she stared at her pale reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her straight hair looked bizarre, with three-and-a-half inches of her natural black abruptly changing to white. She opened the top drawer in her vanity and retrieved a pair of scissors. Eve sat to the left of the sink, leaning back against the mirror, her arms resting by her side. Jacob’s sapphire pendant hung from a nearby cabinet pull. Dawn’s three prescription pill bottles encircled a nearby glass of merlot. She bit her upper lip as she waved the scissors at Eve.
“What do you think?” Dawn asked Eve. “Is it time?”
“Don’t cut it,” Eve replied.
“No?” Dawn pulled her hair back into a ponytail behind her head. She studied herself in the mirror, trying to imagine what she’d look like without white hair. Dawn sighed as she released her grip, allowing her hair to fall past her shoulders. She looked at Eve and said, “I guess I can wait.”
Dawn grabbed her glass of wine and took a large gulp. Bits of merlot dripped from her lips, staining the white satin piping of her pink silk robe. The short-cropped garment came from her mother’s 1988 Women of the Night collection.
“I’m still upset from today’s session,” Dawn said, waving her arms. A bit of wine sloshed from the glass and splashed across Eve’s hair and face, staining her rosy cheeks and pink-painted lips. “I’ve told him I can’t get Jacob to come in with me. Does he care? No! He said we can’t force him and that maybe Jacob isn’t the problem. Can you believe him?” Dawn picked up a pill bottle and shook it vigorously, causing the pills inside to rattle. “All he wanted to talk about was these stupid pills. He’s worried about my anxiety. If he’d make Jacob come in, I wouldn’t be so anxious. Doesn’t he understand?”
Dawn placed her wine glass beside Eve. She sighed as she twisted the cap of the Prozac bottle open. Dawn glanced inside the container and frowned. “Sometimes, I think these are just making things worse.”
“Don’t take them,” Eve said.
“You keep saying that.” Dawn squatted a bit so she could be eye to eye with Eve. “Do . . . do you think the doctor is like Caretaker in your diary? With those vitamins?”
“Don’t trust him.”
“I . . . I don’t think the doctor’s like Caretaker. I’ve told you that before.” Dawn took a small step back and crossed her arms. “You never listen to me.”
Dawn strolled into her bedroom and retrieved the wooden box from beneath her bed. She opened it, grabbed her fertility pills, and brought the bottle back into the bathroom. She opened it and the rest of her meds and filled her palm with her pills. She looked at Eve briefly before using her wine to wash down her medication. After emptying her glass, she grabbed Eve and returned to her bedroom.
The wooden box sat open on top of her bed with the diary resting inside. Dawn placed Eve, her hair and face now smeared in red wine, against the pillow on the bed. She snatched the diary from the box and slid beneath the covers.
“He wants to see this, too,” Dawn said, waving the diary in Eve’s face. “At my next session.”
“Don’t show him.”
“No?” Dawn ran her fingers across the worn leather binding. “I . . . I guess it’s not his business.” Dawn opened the diary to where she last left off. She looked at Eve and said, “I told him you must have had bad parents for keeping you in that camp all year. I’d never do that to you. I told him it proves I’m ready to be a mom. He doesn’t get it.”
Dawn put her arm around Eve and pulled her close, causing Eve’s locket to slip from beneath the doll’s dress. Dawn cupped it in her hand and let her eyes fall across the intricate detailing. She twirled the pendant and admired the scripted letter W on the front and the 12/22 on the back. Dawn slowly ran her thumb across the latch before tucking the locket back beneath Eve’s dress.
“Okay,” Dawn said as she turned her attention to the diary. “Where were we?”
∞∞∞
&
nbsp; November 27, 2012
Eve looked across the room at Hugo, flopped in his lumpy bed. Three-quarters of a chocolate cake sat on a platter between his legs. Hugo ran his fingers along the edge of the plate, scooping up the light chocolate frosting. The other five dust-covered beds made the room feel barren and somewhat lonely.
“Another great cake, huh?” Eve said.
“It’s like the only thing they get right in this stupid place,” Hugo replied. “I’m just glad I’m finally leaving. It’s been almost a whole year here.”
Eve tore a page from her diary before closing the book and tucking it beneath her pillow. She stood up and slipped her red moccasins onto her feet. As she crossed the floor to Hugo’s bed, she said, “Way back when I figured out we were stuck here until our birthday, I had a huge fight with my mom.”
“So did I!” Hugo chuckled and shook his head. “My dad got so mad at me.”
“Same.” Eve looked around the dreary cold room and sighed. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Me too,” Hugo said. He placed the cake platter on the rickety table beside his bed and patted his hand against his brown blanket. “I’m . . . kind of scared. About tonight.”
Hugo reached beneath his mattress and retrieved his PEZ dispenser. The pale yellow shaft, topped with a sombrero-capped boy’s head, was a gift from his favorite uncle. Hugo couldn’t wait to get back home to El Paso to see his uncle and the rest of his family again. He flicked the top back, causing a tan chocolate-flavored candy to pop out. Hugo tossed it in his mouth and held the dispenser toward Eve. She shook her head and smiled.
“I can’t believe you haven’t run out yet,” Eve said as she sat down beside Hugo.
“Last year, when my parents told me I could bring one special thing to camp, I told them it had to be my PEZ with plenty of candy.”
“How much did they bring?”
Hugo shrugged and popped another chocolate tab in his mouth. He said, “Whenever I run out, I tell my mom, and she brings me more.”
The two sat in silence, staring at the cobblestone floor. The high-mounted windows rattled from the cold wind buffeting them. A storm outside caused thunder to rumble in the distance and the overhead lights to flicker. The scent of chocolate from the birthday cake filled the air, bringing a tiny bit of joy to the two remaining campers.
“I . . . I think you’re right about Caretaker,” Hugo said. He began to fidget with his flannel blankets, their light brown color a close match to his skin tone. Hugo drummed his fingers across his round protruding belly. “She’s a liar. She pretends to care for us, but she always sides with Father John and Mother Martha. Always.”
“I don’t trust any of them,” Eve said. She looked at the page she tore from the diary and folded it a few times. Eve handed it to Hugo. “This is for when you get out.”
“What is it?” Hugo opened the note.
“It’s so you can find me when this is over. I also gave it to Billy the day he left. We can all try to meet.”
“Oh, okay.”
“You should hide it. You can’t let Caretaker find it.”
Hugo nodded and glanced over at the cedar-lined armoire. The serpent’s head atop the cabinet appeared to stare back at him. He tossed his flannel blanket aside and shuffled across the floor. Hugo opened the cabinet’s twin doors. His belongings were crammed into the shelf just below Eve’s. The rest were all bare. He shoved the note inside the folds of one of his T-shirts. Eve yawned as she walked over to stand beside him.
“Will you be okay?” Hugo asked. “After I’m gone.”
“I guess.” Eve yawned again and rubbed her eyes, surprised by how tired she felt. “It’s going to be a long few weeks.”
Hugo gave Eve a hug. He said, “You have to stay strong. You’ve always been the strong one.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“What will you do?”
“Write.” Eve pointed at the pillow on her bed. “In my diary. I’ve been writing all the important things down. I don’t ever want to forget this horrible place.”
The faint rattle of Caretaker’s keyring echoed from the hallway. Eve and Hugo locked eyes and held hands.
“I’m scared, Eve.”
“I . . . I can try and follow you. Like I did Suzie.”
“Would you?” Hugo’s palms began to sweat. “How?”
“Don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
The lock on the door snapped open. Hugo headed back across the room. Eve sauntered to her bed and slowly slid beneath the covers. She slipped her hand beneath her pillow and ran her fingers across a metal butter knife.
The hinges on the heavy wooden door squeaked as Caretaker stepped inside. She looked at Hugo and then Eve and said, “Good evening, children.”
Neither Eve or Hugo responded. They watched Caretaker come inside carrying a tray with two glasses of water. She stopped beside Hugo’s bed and placed a glass next to the platter with the birthday cake.
“Did you like your cake?” Caretaker asked.
“Yes, Caretaker.”
“You know I want to make you happy.” Caretaker looked over at Eve and added, “Both of you.”
Caretaker walked over to Eve’s bed and handed her the other glass of water. Eve looked at the empty tray and furrowed her brow.
“No vitamin to make me sleep?” Eve asked.
“You already took it.” Caretaker smiled. “It was sprinkled in the water you had with your cake earlier tonight.”
Eve tried to sit upright but suddenly found herself lightheaded. She glared at Caretaker and asked, “What’s behind that black door? Where are you taking Hugo?”
“His parents are waiting for him. You worry too much.”
Caretaker turned and walked back to Hugo’s bed. She smiled and picked up the birthday cake and placed it on the tray. She said, “No more cake for you. Get some rest.”
Eve struggled to fling her blanket away. Her feet and knees seemed to be tangled between the folds. She wondered when and how Caretaker had gotten the pill into her water. Her heart pounded, and her head wobbled as she tried to stand up. Soon the blankets engulfed her, and her eyes closed.
Caretaker whispered, “Relax, Eve. You can trust me.”
When Eve opened her eyes the following morning, she looked over to see Hugo’s bed stripped bare. Eve sat up and gazed around the vast room. The morning sun peaked through the high-mounted windows, causing shadows to fall from the iron and wood chandelier. As the radiator began to clank, Eve sighed and said, “I’m the last of the seven.”
∞∞∞
Dawn awoke, relieved to have slept soundly and without any nightmares. She reached over and rolled Eve onto her side. Light spilled into the room, illuminating the doll’s white porcelain face. She ran her fingers through Eve’s wavy copper hair and adjusted her disheveled bow. Dawn sat upright and pulled Eve closer, causing the doll’s eyes to click open. A single streak of red ran from Eve’s right eye, through her rose-colored cheek, to her pink painted lip. She licked her thumb and began to clean the stains.
“It’s Saturday,” Dawn said. “What should we do? Paint? Shop?” Dawn looked at Eve’s filthy red velvet dress and frowned. “I never did get you any new clothes, did I?”
Eve remained silent.
“Maybe we give Jacob a call?” Dawn sighed and shook her head. “I really don’t know what to do with him.”
“Don’t trust him,” Eve said.
“Why . . . why do you keep telling me that?”
Thirty
A Time and Place
Dr. Cole tried to enjoy the view through the windows overlooking 10th Avenue, but his mind was elsewhere. The cold air and overcast sky meant few people were seated at the sunken benches along the High Line. He was alone, dead center, in the front row. His eyes teared up as the wind swirled around him. Dr. Cole closed his eyes and wondered if the tears were caused by the wind or his rattled nerves.
Weekends were typically his time to relax. He’d usually spend them
with Flo at home or running errands. Dr. Cole was supposed to be at a grocery store right now, getting a few things for his wife. And he would get there, eventually.
Dr. Cole’s hands were buried in his coat pockets, each gripping a cell phone. The left pocket held his blue phone, the other the red one. Dr. Cole maintained a deadly grip on the red phone as he anxiously waited for a notification from Taylor. Part of him hoped he’d get a cancellation message.
A buzz in his pocket briefly rattled him until he realized it was the blue phone. The message came from Flo.
Can you also pick up butter? I won’t have enough to make biscuits.
Just as he was about to reply, his other phone buzzed. Dr. Cole placed the blue phone on his lap and checked the red one. It was Taylor via the SAM app.
2 mins. Wearing?
Dr. Cole hesitated, staring at the tiny words on the shattered screen. Was it too soon to cancel? He could walk away and block Taylor on the app. The blue phone’s lock screen image of him and his wife seemed to be judging him. He pocketed his primary phone and unlocked the red one. Dr. Cole’s hands trembled as his mind filled with a tsunami of memories of time spent with his wife, the places they’d been, and the love they’d shared. A love he still felt for her today. But was that love enough? How long could he suppress these desires he could never share with Flo? He took a deep breath and replied.
Black coat. Red scarf. Front row.
The bleachers suddenly felt eerily quiet. Dr. Cole began to regret picking such a public setting. Maybe he should have gone with a bookstore on some side street? His heart raced as he began to second guess every decision that had led to this moment. Was this a mistake? He reminded himself there was no commitment. This was nothing more than a meeting. Maybe he could approach this like it was a patient session? Yes, that’s what he should do. Dr. Cole told himself he would do a series of questions to see if Taylor was the real deal. He began to make a mental checklist of the things he’d want to know about Taylor.