One Week Three Hearts:

by Adele Allaire

  "Yes, they are signed and in the mail. Everything is wonderful. Have a great day. Love you." She hung up, and tried to think about the meaning of Matt's gifts.

  What does he mean by 'show me you?' Does he want a tour of the condo? Watch me babble about funny YouTube videos and lolcats?

  The phone rang again. Rose didn't bother identifying the caller. "Jason, I told you—"

  "This isn't Jason."

  A tennis ball-sized lump blocked her throat. Matt's voice crackled through the faint overseas connection. Stunned by the short duration between the two calls, Rose sat hard on the bed. Her mouth hung open. It was a good thing Matt didn't wait for a greeting or small talk because her vocal cords decided to go on a break.

  "Look Rose, it's 2:30 in the morning here and I have to get some sleep," Matt said. "I emailed you instructions to upload videos, so check your inbox. One video file per month is all I ask. There won't be any further communications from me while I'm out here."

  The phone almost slid from her damp hands to the floor, and the small distraction melted the lump in her throat. "I don't understand what I'm supposed to show you," Rose said. Hating the squeaky resonance in her voice, she took a deep breath in an effort to calm herself. "Please tell me what you want."

  His yawn reeked of exhaustion. "Just what it says on the note. There should be an item in that package to help you figure that out."

  Rose quickly looked over the contents before explaining the package contained a camera and some accessories. Matt told her to search the box again, then abruptly ended the call.

  What is he talking about? Here's the camera, the SD cards, extra batteries for the camera, the tripod, the rechargeable AA batteries with a charger, a plain black box that probably has the remote for the camera…

  Plain black box.

  Cursing herself for not figuring it out without Matt's prompt, Rose's fingernail slid through the small box's plastic seal. Shaking the opened box caused a cylindrical object to drop through her fingers and land softly on the askew comforter. Remembering it was Matt who sent this pocket rocket vibrator, Rose shook her head at the momentary lapse to complete naivety.

  Rechargeable AA batteries, Matt? Really?

  After unpacking everything from its respective packaging and setting it all up, Rose pointed the camcorder perched on the tripod towards the bed she shared with Jason. The marital setting seemed too intimate and invasive, so Rose instead aimed the camcorder at the chair. Nervous butterflies danced in her stomach as she fiddled with the auto-focus feature to frame a significant area around the chair.

  Should I bother putting make-up on? Maybe some lip gloss or something?

  Rose dashed to the bathroom and dug through her make-up bag on the counter for some mascara and a favorite bright lipstick. Perfect for the evening, the eye shadow palette tempted her, but the simple make-up application seemed to look more natural. One quick run through her hair with the brush, and Rose's confidence somewhat returned as she made her way back to the bedroom. Grabbing the camcorder's remote and the vibrator, Rose attempted to position herself in a seductive position on the chair.

  I feel absolutely, positively ridiculous.

  The camcorder's emotionless black lens stared back at her as she pressed the record button on the remote. A red recording light dimly glowed like a taunting eye.

  Okay, deep breath. I can't think about what Matt wants; I need to think about what I want. What I need that I don't get from Jason. Same as when Matt and I talked years ago. Whatever it is that makes me switch this thing on and use it on myself. And I have to be detailed or he'll just keep coming at me, prying, questioning, probing…

  The terry lining of the bathrobe itched, and Rose shifted in the chair. Frustration levels with the old and non-sexy bathrobe jumped to maximum capacity limit. Yanking her arms out from the sleeves, Rose stood up, balled it up, and then flung it on the bed where it landed on Jason's pillow. After fishing out the vibrator and camcorder remote from the crevice between the cushion and the chair's arm, she sat on the chair hard enough to rock it backwards.

  Throwing the bathrobe like that probably didn't look too sexy. Or anything else I just did.

  Hair strands hung loosely around her face. Rose exhaled hard enough to temporarily displace them as she balanced the remote on the arm of the chair. Holding the vibrator loosely in her right hand, she contemplated the task Matt presented from hundreds of miles away.

  Why is this so hard? I faked it with Jason not even two hours ago. Why can't I simply have fun with this?

  Rose took stock and realized how she was generally open and honest with Matt. Although difficult to admit, their electronic communication methods easily concealed expressions. He couldn't see if an eyebrow raised, a nose twitched, or if her eyes blinked more rapidly.

  That artificial static was protective enough to reveal all her fantasies to Matt.

  But not Jason.

  Never her husband; those shameful thoughts Jason refused to encourage or participate in. He reaffirmed his stance this morning. There wouldn't be a change.

  She reserved white lies for Matt to dangle a tempting lure of imagined punishment. No, she wasn't a good girl that day. She left the faucet running while she brushed her teeth. Panties were shoved into the dresser drawer unfolded, defying Matt's instructions. She'd say anything that bounced in her head to get that response she craved from him.

  Rose licked her upper lip. Salt from the sweat already built up on her cupid's bow.

  Instead of thinking about that night a few weeks ago, Rose's mind brought up memories long buried.

  Focus. Think about Jason and Matt. Something. Anything.

  It was no use.

  Matt's hushed voice echoed through the headset connected to her mobile phone, precariously balanced on the plastic armrest. "Are you in your car?"

  "Yes."

  "You're not wearing any panties like I told you, right?"

  Barely able to focus on processing vendor payments that morning, Rose sat at her desk constantly thinking about her thrilling secret none of her co-workers knew. Anticipating the lunchtime conversation scheduled with Matt had her speeding to the elevators shortly before noon.

  "Right."

  Five miles separated Matt's apartment from her company's parking lot. With traffic, Rose calculated she could be there in about fifteen minutes. All she had to do was turn the key in the ignition, put the car in reverse, back out of the parking spot…

  The wedding ring on her left hand caught the mid-day sun. Her fingers slipped off the steering wheel.

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "Nothing."

  Liar, she thought as Matt cleared his throat. The wretched sound signaled distaste. It served as a priming indicator, a warning signal immediately followed by some admonishment for choosing the easy way out instead of explaining her thoughts. He would make her do something to herself now, and she breathlessly awaited the punishing reward.

  "Open your legs until your knee is against the car door."

  Matt didn't bother to confirm if she obeyed before he issued instructions to lift her skirt. A stray elbow knocked against her handbag. Among the contents that tumbled out on the passenger seat lay a jumbo binder clip she found that morning in her desk's top drawer.

  Rose pushed the ridged switch on the small vibrator's plastic shaft forward until a low buzzing sound followed the audible click.

  "Unbutton your shirt half way, then I want you to hold that clip open in your hands. That clip is my teeth. Remember, I want you to scream so loud that anyone in that parking lot will hear you and turn their heads to stare in your direction."

  ***

  Antibacterial soap bubbles covered her hands as Rose scrubbed at the vibrator's silicone tip. Water puddled around the seams of the bathroom sink. She reached for a washcloth to mop it up, and her reflection in the mirror stared back. Was it shame or exertion that reddened her cheeks?

  Leaving the device to dry on the bathroom counter and
vowing to return for a shower, Rose approached the camera still on its tripod in their bedroom. Once the SD card was in her hand, she quickly walked to the spare room that served as their home office, and sat down at the computer desk.

  Locating Matt's email containing the upload instructions took longer than she anticipated; there were too many lines detailing the limited-time sales she missed. Three for one bras. Twenty percent off furniture last weekend. Friendly reminder your bill is now due.

  Rose sighed. Not a single line read 'Your Resume' or 'Interview.' Even the spammers gave up on her.

  After scrolling through another page or two, she found the email with the innocent "Instructions" subject next to Matt's name. She clicked the containing link, entered the username and password spelled out in the email, and slid the SD card into the computer's reader.

  I don't want to see myself like that. I don't want to know.

  The brief hesitation almost stopped Rose from dragging the one video file from its containing folder to the empty one displayed side by side on the screen. The contract didn't specifically state she had to share anything intimate with Matt, but the nagging compulsion to comply with his request propelled the pointer across the screen.

  A progress bar popped up on the screen once the upload initiated. Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she forgot to eat lunch. Dizziness gripped her as she stood up and headed to the kitchen. There wasn't a need to stick around watching that empty bar fill up with the upload's status.

  Hmm, I should take that early pregnancy detection kit out from the linen closet. Considering all those times with Jason the last few weeks, I need to remember to test for a miracle in a day or two so I can move on and schedule an appointment at the fertility clinic.

  2

  SUMMER

  Red spots. Jason.

  Blurry shadows from her lashes framed Rose's vision. Her eyelids weighed ten pounds as she struggled to find clarity. Edges seemed fuzzy and clouded, as if someone spread fine cotton batting around her pupils. A figure stood with its back to her; Rose couldn't tell who it was. Dull pain spread from the side of her head, dwarfing a strange emptiness growing deep within.

  The figure facing a window concerned her more than the pain. It shook while softly rocking back and forth from toe to heel. Blurry lines of light leaked through the closed shades.

  This is a dream. Close your eyes, open them, and try again.

  He choked back sobs with a fist held to his mouth. Weak sunlight fought to enter the room through the blinds and made bright lines on Jason's face. His messy hair, unshaven face wincing in pain, the constant rocking back and forth as if to comfort himself…

  This wasn't the first time Rose witnessed her husband in so much pain. It was at his mother's funeral. His chest heaved as he furtively looked around the funeral home to see if his father would dare show up. Not like Jason would recognize him, but she saw him momentarily unbury that fear and anger through his grief as he gripped her hand.

  A loud sob from Jason brought her back to her unfamiliar surroundings.

  Something or someone hurt my husband.

  Her lips felt glued together by some unknown adhesive.

  Jason.

  He didn't turn around.

  Jason, look at me. Tell me what's wrong.

  Jason.

  Jason.

  "Jason," she whispered.

  MATT

  "It's ungodly the fuck in the morning, so this better be important," Matt said to whoever called him. His head still pounded from that last round of drinks with the know-nothings in Operations, he could barely find the speakerphone icon on his mobile phone. "Hello?"

  "It's Jason," the hoarse voice said. "Sorry to wake you up, but I knew any email or text wouldn't get to you for a few hours, and this is important. Are you there? Matt, can you hear me?"

  So groggy and my brain feels like cottage cheese.

  "Yeah."

  "Matt. It's gone. The baby. She panicked and slipped in the bathroom after. Hit her head. I'm in the hospital with her. She is okay."

  He sat up straight in bed and grabbed the phone from the nightstand. "What?"

  "She miscarried." Jason sounded like he was in a bathroom, and he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

  Oh God. Please, no. NO! What did you do? Fuck. No. Please, no.

  "Is she okay? Is Rose okay?" He tried to keep his voice down, but the phone kept staring at him with its unfeeling call timer and a picture of Jason smiling and wearing sunglasses that didn't quite match his face's shape. Every ounce of inner strength collected within himself in order not to throw it across the room and smash it against the sterile wall.

  Jason's frustration with him traveled over the Pacific and oozed through the speakerphone. "She is okay. I'm in the hospital with her. She slipped in the bathroom after realizing what happened. They just want to keep her here the night for observation."

  I heard you the first time.

  "Keep me posted," Matt said before mashing his index finger against the touchscreen's portion where END surrounded itself in red. After carefully placing the phone back on the nightstand, he brought his knees to his chest and crossed his arms around them. There wasn't a television, painting, or any object to focus on. The blank wall was all he had.

  One full minute passed before he released and extended his right arm fully to grip the top sheet covering him. He pulled it to the top of his knees, then repeated the same motion with his left arm. Soon the entire sheet was on his knees, and he buried his face into the pile to muffle the agony.

  A second scream didn't quite match the volume of the first one.

  Hyperventilating, his vision blurred from tears that refused to expel from his eyes. Matt threw the sheet off and managed to place his feet on the floor. Rising bile collected at the base of his throat. He didn't want to throw up anywhere near the bed. The kitchen was probably the closest, and his bare feet made a thumping noise as he ran across the barely furnished corporate studio apartment.

  I don't feel better at all.

  After rinsing his mouth out and cleaning up the mess in the sink, he calmly went back to the bed without turning on any lights. He didn't want to see his reflection in the window. Tinnitus stung his ears. Matt found the phone on the nightstand, and hit the music app icon. The opening chords of "Professional Griefers" echoed through the emptiness, and he set it to repeat after making sure he set the phone's speaker volume level to maximum.

  "Thank you, Joel Zimmerman." His throat felt scraped raw, and his didn't recognize the croaky voice coming from his own mouth.

  Rose.

  Matt carried the phone back into the kitchen, propped it up on the counter next to the sink, and proceeded to liberate every single plate in the upper cabinets. One by one, he threw them to the kitchen floor with as much force as he could muster. The shattering porcelain fused with the pumping beat, and drove him to continue the task. Grief and frustration gnawed at him from all angles as he started on the bowls.

  The drinking glasses followed.

  It wasn't over until all the coffee mugs were destroyed.

  Still panting from the exertion, he grabbed a loose napkin from the counter to wipe his nose. Observing the results of his destruction, his improved visual clarity went unnoticed.

  The glass and porcelain shards coating the entire kitchen floor presented a problem. Three walls enclosed the small kitchen. Five feet separated him from exiting the room. He contemplated spending significant time pulling remnants out of his feet.

  That kitchen wall is the fucking worst design decision ever made. Whoever thought it was a good idea to completely ignore all that open space beyond that wall needs a daily enema to drain the shit from their brain.

  "Look at the awful mess I made." Matt rummaged through cabinets for something to use as a makeshift broom.

  3

  FALL

  MONDAY

  The closed bedroom door barely dulled Jason's exasperated voice. "Damn it, Rose. Don't you see what'
s going on? Take a good, hard look around here — and at yourself."

  Rose stared at the doorknob. Jason didn't even bother to turn it this time. The daily scene started up the minute he arrived home from his new job at the same company that employed Matt. The dishes in the sink usually set him off followed by a tirade about how Rose didn't go pick up the mail, her sleeping hours completely reversed from a normal schedule, that she should really take a shower, and it usually went downhill from there.

  Neither you nor Matt can possibly understand what I had to go through the past few months.

  Anything involving Matt seemed overly complicated; Rose's new bleak existence lacked a defined place for him. Indulging a craving for simplicity and solitude, she abandoned him in a small mental crevice while she pondered which past misdeed led to deserving such heart-wrenching failure. The constant state of self-examination always circled back to her betrayal with Matt.

  Buried under old sheets in the closet, the camcorder sat in its box. The first video lacked a sequel; Matt didn't insist on another one after Rose revealed she was pregnant. All his communication channels were progressively uninstalled by not instantly launching any messaging programs. Her phone languished in her handbag without a recharge, and emails remained unread. The messages and chirping tones eventually ceased, and Matt dwindled away to a hushed whispered conversation with Jason she didn't want to overhear.

  Jason tried another familiar refrain. "You heard the doctor — the good news is that you can get pregnant! How many times do I have to say it?"

  Say it all you want. I don't care. The pain is as fresh as it was months ago. Just let me be. I only want to get some sleep.

  The last few months seemed like one giant blur. A constant reprise of bleak daily activities added to her numbness, and Rose inadvertently slept through them. Cheerful sounds from neighbors herding their small children in and out of cars illuminated her stark emptiness. Mundane tasks required too much energy; any physical action felt heavy and clunky. A former coworker's baby shower invitation went unanswered except for sending a last minute gift from the registry with a vague excuse for non-attendance.