by MJ Howson
“What are you doing home?” Sean asked, ripping his headphones off. He paused the game. “You told me you were having dinner with Dawn.”
“That was the plan.” Jacob took a shot of tequila and winced. “She canceled on me.”
“Oh.” Sean sat up and nervously adjusted his slipper socks, baggy sweats, and T-shirt. “When?”
“After I got there.” Jacob shook his head and sighed. He held the bottle out to Sean, but he waved it away. Jacob took another shot. “I try not to live with regrets, but I think I seriously screwed up with this one. She’s a mess.”
Sean crossed his legs, fidgeting as he tried to find a comfortable seating position in the corner of his bed. He watched Jacob but didn’t comment.
“First, she says she doesn’t want kids,” Jacob said. “Then she gets pregnant, which, by the way, was supposed to be impossible. Then she loses the kid. But now, all she talks about is wanting to be a mom. And that doll. That stupid fucking doll! I told you about it, right?”
“The therapy doll. To help her get over the miscarriage.”
“Yeah. That thing. It’s creepy as fuck, too. The white face with the painted features. And those eyes. It’s like it’s always watching me. And it looks like shit. How can she be a mom if she can’t even keep a doll clean?”
“Postpartum can be tough.”
“Why are you taking her side?”
“I’m not taking sides. I’m just telling you what I know. I’ve seen it first hand at work. Some women–”
“Whatever.”
Sean glanced back at the paused video game, his controller, and then at Jacob. He asked, “Did you want to go grab a bite somewhere?”
“No. I ate on the train ride back.”
“Oh.”
Jacob took another shot and looked down at his exposed abs. He ran his hands across the hair on his stomach, making a mental note he would have to manscape soon. He pointed at the television and asked, “Why are you home again playing these dumb games? It’s a Saturday night.”
“I spent the day at the hospital. I have to go back early tomorrow.”
“How many days a week do you work?”
“I’m not working this weekend. I was visiting my uncle.” Sean waited briefly and then frowned when Jacob didn’t respond. “I told you earlier this week he got admitted.”
“You did?”
“He fell walking home and badly cut his leg.”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“It wasn’t the fall, Jacob. He fell climbing stairs to a place he didn’t live. He was lost. Confused.”
“Getting old sucks.”
“He’s got Alzheimer’s.” Sean sighed and slumped over. “I told you before.”
“When?”
Sean rolled his eyes in frustration. He said, “It’s getting to the point he can’t care for himself.”
“Does he have a wife?”
“No. My uncle lives alone. He never got married.” Sean pointed at the framed photo on the nightstand. “I told you all about him when you first moved in and asked about the guy in the picture.”
“Oh.”
“Why do I bother? You never listen.”
Jacob sighed and did his best to temper his annoyance at Sean’s attitude. Prior to moving in together, Jacob had made it clear to Sean they would just be roommates. Yet, as he thought about the past several months, Jacob realized Sean had slowly become his confidant. He said, “I’m listening now.”
“He . . . he always told me I was his favorite nephew.” Sean’s eyes welled up. “I’m really worried about him. He was kind of like a second dad to me, you know?”
Jacob’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He retrieved it to find a SAM notification. It was from Daniel confirming he wanted to move forward. Jacob smiled and took another shot of tequila.
“His mind is still sharp,” Sean continued. He looked over at the picture of him and his uncle and sighed. “Usually. But I know it’s only a matter of time before he’s lost for good. I try to keep him company and talk to him about the past. He’s so good at remembering things we did when I was five or six years old. But then he’ll forget why he’s in the hospital. It’s really sad.” Sean looked back at Jacob, lost in his phone. “Are you even listening to me?”
“What?” Jacob slid the phone back in his pocket. “I heard you. I can’t imagine being that old. If I could freeze time and stay thirty, I’d do it.”
Sean frowned and shook his head. He asked, “If you already ate, maybe we could watch a movie? Or we could play a game.”
“I have an early day tomorrow. I need to figure out my schedule and how I’m going to fit all these clients in.” Jacob waved his phone and added, “I just scored a new one. Not sure how serious he is.”
“Of course.” Sean flopped onto his stomach and grabbed his X-Box controller. He slid his headphones on and restarted the game. “Clients.”
Jacob leaned across the bed and yanked the headphones from Sean’s head.
“Hey!” Sean yelled.
“Let me know if you order a pizza. I wolfed down a few tacos earlier, but I could go for a slice or two. No peppers.”
Jacob tossed the headphones back to Sean, stood up, and left the room. He closed the door and walked to the kitchen. After taking another shot of Patron, he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened the SAM app. Jacob sent a message to Daniel.
Let’s do this. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.
Jacob went back to the living room, grabbed his coat and shoes, and brought them to his bedroom. He reviewed the message exchanges with Daniel. Jacob wasn’t too sure about this one. Older married men like him were unpredictable. Half got cold feet and bailed. Others became regular clients. Over time, Jacob had developed a knack for reading the people he met on SAM. He had Carol pegged on day one. She pretended to be nervous, but he wasn’t the least bit surprised to find she had a dark side. Widows like her almost always became repeat clients.
This guy Daniel, however, felt like a potential flight risk. There was something in his voice when he spoke about his wife. Jacob's expectations were low, but Daniel didn't balk when Jacob sent him his rates. That told Jacob the guy had some deep pockets to spend. He had no idea what Daniel did for work, but it didn't matter as long as he could afford Jacob's fee. He'd have to ask Daniel what he did during their first session together. Jacob sent him a second message.
I promise to be gentle. Name the time and place.
Thirty Two
Betrayed
Dr. Cole inserted a blank cassette, labeled Easton-D 12/13/19 #13, into the old Panasonic recorder sitting on the edge of his desk. He flipped open the manila folder in front of him and began to review the notes from his last session with Dawn. A knock on the door broke his concentration. He looked at the wall clock, surprised to see Dawn was ten minutes early.
“Yes?” Dr. Cole asked. The door opened, and Flo entered, carrying a folder. Luna quickly followed her. Dr. Cole looked past his wife into the empty waiting room. “Did she cancel?”
“No.” Flo stopped in front of her husband’s desk and smiled. “I know you don’t like me researching your patients, but I did some snooping.”
“Flo, we’ve talked about this. Trust is key.”
Flo held the folder out and presented it to her husband. He stared at it and frowned.
“Is this about the kids in that diary?” Dr. Cole asked.
“No. But, I’ve started poking around about that mystery, too.”
“Then what’s this?” Dr. Cole took the folder and placed it on his desk. “I’m afraid to look.”
“What do you know about Evelyn Easton?”
“Dawn’s mother? You know I don’t like to discuss confidential details with you.”
“What about her dad?”
“As I said, Flo, client discussions are–”
“Private. I know.” Flo crossed her arms and stared down at her husband. “Tell me how he died.”
Dr. Cole leaned back
in his chair and folded his arms across his chest, resting them on his bloated belly. He rocked back and forth, causing the springs beneath him to creak.
“His death is public knowledge, Winston,” Flo said. “Very public, it turns out. I had no idea.”
“About his suicide?”
“Suicide?” Flo rolled her eyes and shook her head. She leaned across the desk and opened the folder. “He was murdered.”
“What?” Dr. Cole frantically flipped through the half dozen papers facing him. “Dawn told me he killed himself. He fell from their terrace.”
“Oh, he fell, all right. He was pushed.”
Dr. Cole began to read through a January 2002 New York Journal article about Stephen Easton’s plunge from his penthouse apartment the night of New Year’s Eve. He licked his finger and flipped to the next article, dated two months later. Dr. Cole read the headline, looked up at his wife, and said, “Evelyn Easton killed her husband?”
“Mm-hmmm.” Flo sighed and ran her hands across her orange and green polka-dot dress. “I guess if we’d been fashion hounds, we would’ve known. Apparently, it was a big issue seventeen years ago. It shook up the fashion world. I wonder what the trends were back then.” She frowned as she let her eyes settle on a loose button on her cuff. “Or now.”
Dr. Cole pushed aside the research his wife had done and began scanning through his session notes. He felt his brow moisten as his mind retraced the family discussions he’d had with Dawn. Dr. Cole sighed as he ran his fingers across the pages, searching for entries about Dawn’s parents.
“She’s been so dismissive about her mother,” Dr. Cole finally said. He looked up at his wife. “All these months telling me how her mother couldn’t handle running the company after her father died and simply went away.”
“Well, that part’s true.” Flo moved her folder back in front of her husband and flipped to the third page of documentation–another news article she’d printed for him. She pointed to the last paragraph. “See.”
Dr. Cole read the passage to himself and said, “Oh my God.”
“That girl is messed up, Winston. She hasn’t told you any of this?”
“No.”
The outer door of the waiting room opened. Flo turned around and frowned as Dawn entered, struggling to push her stroller through the doorway.
“She brought that damn freaky doll again,” Flo said. She looked at her husband and asked, “Are you ready?”
“Not after reading this.” Dr. Cole scratched his beard as he stared at the information Flo had given him. “But you can send her in.”
Flo rolled her eyes and left the office, stopping briefly to collect a defiant Luna. Dr. Cole went back to reading the news article. He tried to ignore the small talk happening in the waiting room. Unfortunately, he could only get halfway through the news report before Dawn wheeled the stroller into his office. Dr. Cole closed the folder as Dawn approached.
“Good morning,” Dr. Cole said. “I see you brought the therapy doll.”
“Eve,” Dawn said. She remained glued to the side of the carriage, her oversized sunglasses masking her face. “Yes.”
Flo reached into the office and grabbed the door handle. She glanced at the stroller, shook her head, and gently closed the door.
Dawn and the doctor stared at one another in silence. The clanking and hiss of the radiator beneath the window soon broke the awkwardness of the situation.
“Can I ask why you brought Eve?” Dr. Cole asked.
“She comforts me.”
Dr. Cole nodded and pointed at the chair across from his desk. He asked, “Our usual seating?”
After a brief glance into the carriage, Dawn said, “Yes.”
Dawn removed her full-length brown mink coat and tossed it over the back of the chair. She wheeled the stroller next to the chair and sat down opposite the doctor. Dawn presented a nervous smile, tapping her finger against her knee, matching the beat of the ticking wall clock.
“Has something happened that you feel you need her here during our session?”
“It’s Jacob,” Dawn said. “I found out he’s nothing but a liar. I’ve been distraught all week.”
“Before we continue, I’m going to record our session, okay?”
“Sure.” Dawn nodded and glanced at Eve in the stroller beside her. “I guess.”
“Do you mind removing your sunglasses?”
“Sorry.” Dawn removed her Pradas and slid them into her purse.
Dr. Cole hit the record button on the tape deck sitting at the edge of his desk. He then said, “This is session number thirteen with Dawn Easton. Today’s date is Friday, December thirteenth, twenty nineteen.” Dr. Cole looked at his notes to refresh his memory about their last session. His mind was too consumed with Flo’s revelation for him to keep his focus. He looked up and stared at Dawn. She appeared far more tense than usual. He knew he needed to ask her about her mother, but he’d need to be delicate and try to guide her to the topic. “So, Jacob’s got you rattled?”
Dawn nodded without responding.
“Would you like to bring him in?”
“Not anymore.” Dawn stared at the doctor for several seconds, her crystal blue eyes never blinking. “But I bet you would.”
“Excuse me?”
Dawn reached into the stroller and removed her coffee and pastry bag. She popped the lid from her lipstick-stained cup and took a sip. She glanced past the rim and said, “I can’t trust him.”
“Do you want to tell me why?”
“I’m . . . not sure.”
Dr. Cole pushed his notes aside and opened the folder Flo had given him. He said, “When you first came here, we talked about how important trust was in pursuit of your therapy.” He pointed at the plaque that read Trust is a two way street. “Do you remember?”
Dawn opened her pastry bag and retrieved a half-eaten miguelito. Under her breath, she muttered, “Do you?” She took a bite, looked up at the doctor, and asked, “What do you know about my Jacob?”
“Just what you’ve told me.” Dr. Cole began to flip through his notes. “I know you two have wrestled over his role as a father. And that he struggled with your pregnancy.” He sighed and tried to recall the rest from memory. “You said he didn’t like the doll. And you were convinced he didn’t want kids but would come around. I challenged you as to why you were pursuing someone not interested in kids. Did you two have a fight? What’s happened?”
Dawn looked into the stroller at Eve, flat on her back with her eyes closed. Dawn shook her head, turned to the doctor, and asked, “Have you ever met him?”
“Jacob? No.” Dr. Cole rubbed his temples, confused by Dawn’s questions. “Why?”
“He’s not the man I thought he was. He’s a liar.” Dawn bit into her pastry and slowly licked the sugary residue from her lips. “I’m starting to realize most men are.”
“And you’re sure you don’t want to bring him in? It was once important to you.”
“Not anymore.”
Dr. Cole sighed and scratched his beard. He knew he needed to confront her with what he’d learned. Dawn’s constant half-truths had to end. He said, “Let’s get back to trust.”
“Right.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“My mother?” Dawn glanced at the stroller and frowned. “I’ve already told you. Why do you keep asking me?”
“You go to great lengths to avoid talking about her, Dawn. And yet you . . . you want to name your baby after her. You once called her your hero. Your protector.” Dr. Cole waited as Dawn nervously fidgeted across from him. He said, “Tell me again. Please. Where is your mother?”
“She’s . . . away.” Dawn took a sip of her coffee but refused to look at the doctor. “She left after my dad’s death.”
“You told me she left the city to be with friends, and you’ve never spoken to her since then. But where did she go, Dawn? Where is she? Right now. Today.”
Dawn lowered her head and took another bite of pastry.
She looked at Eve and said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t?” Dr. Cole sighed and leaned forward. “How did your father die?”
“He fell. From the terrace. Again, we already–”
“Dawn.” Dr. Cole clasped his hands together. He felt Dawn’s tension rising in concert with his. “Trust comes from telling the truth. I can’t help you if you aren’t being honest with me. I’ll ask you again. How did your father die, and where is your mother today?”
Dr. Cole waited and watched as Dawn sat silently across from him, nervously drumming her fingers against her cup. She took a sip of her coffee and glanced at the stroller but did not respond.
“I know the truth, Dawn,” Dr. Cole said, trying to temper his anger and disappointment at her refusal to answer him.
Dawn looked up and started to say something. She glanced at Eve inside the stroller and groaned. Dawn placed her coffee cup on the floor and began wringing her hands together.
“Tell me,” Dr. Cole said. “It’s important I hear the truth from you.”
“My parents are gone. That’s all.”
“Dawn,” Dr. Cole said. “Your mother killed your father.”
“Who told you that?” Dawn smacked her fist into her thigh. Her focus shifted rapidly between the doctor seated behind his desk and Eve’s stroller by her side.
“Are you saying it’s not true?”
“Who told you?”
“She murdered him for raping you. That was your first pregnancy, wasn’t it?”
“Stop! Stop!” Dawn covered her ears and closed her eyes. “Those are all lies!”
“Tell me, Dawn. Tell me about that first miscarriage.”
Dawn looked up, tears streaming across her flushed cheeks. She lowered her arms to her side, her hands now curled into red balls. Dawn glared at Dr. Cole and said, “I’m not talking about this.”
“Your mother was found not guilty by reason of insanity,” Dr. Cole glanced at the notes Flo had given him. “She’s been in the Beaumont Psychiatric Center in Rye since the trial ended seventeen years ago. Do you know what her mental diagnosis is?”