What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  What is it? It’s warm. A finger? A hand? Her thoughts raced to who it might be.

  Where am I? What is going on? What has happened?

  If only someone would tell her. She tried to speak but nothing happened. She tried harder, still nothing. Sam wanted to scream, Let me out of here. Let me wake and move. But couldn’t. She can only listen. The voices are unrecognizable. Could it be Rory? She tried to call him. Or maybe her mother? Or Johnny? Perhaps Sienna?

  She strained to listen to the sound of the voices. They are too soft and muffled against the beeps and thumps. The noises stilled, fading as the thick fog of silence arrived and the heavy weight of a quiet calm pressed upon her.

  Falling.

  Falling.

  Deeper into sleep. A heavy comforting sleep, back into the light, back into the warmth.

  Lost in timelessness. Lost in effortlessness. Lost to everyone and everything.

  ***

  Later that afternoon Ellen heard her phone ring, despite the loud voices from the office gathering nearby. She fumbled to answer it without dropping her files. “Hello,” she said, praying for Jonathan’s voice.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” he said, his voice animated. She moved closer to her desk and leaned forward, covering her other ear with her hand in an effort to block out the noise and catch every word.

  “How are you feeling my love? I’ve missed you.” His voice was full of concern, loving and tender. But he wasn’t saying these words to me, was he? These words were for Samantha Miller. A smoldering anger built within her. How long had it been since I heard him say I’ve missed you and my love? Yet, it felt good to hear those words, to feel loved and adored.

  “I’m much better … but I’m still having trouble remembering things,” she lied. “That was some fever; it’s all very strange.”

  “I bet. Listen sweetie, I’d love to see you soon.”

  Ellen’s heart quickened at the thought of him seeing her—seeing him now as a beautiful twenty-seven-year-old. As the twenty-seven-year-old he loved. She couldn’t wait. “When?” she asked, as her mind filled with thoughts of passion.

  “I’ll be away from the office for the rest of this week; I’m afraid I can’t get away to see you for a while.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you it wouldn’t be right to be seen gallivanting around with my wife in a coma.”

  “Oh, but it was just fine to be gallivanting around the rest of the time, sneaking around behind her back, when she was alive and well.” Damn him. He had lots of time for Sam when she was Ellen.

  “Sam, now, be fair.”

  “Fair? You always want me to be fair. What about her? Do you expect her to be fair?”

  “She’s in a coma, for Christ’s sake. What I am supposed to do?” he snapped, his voice escalating. “My children need me.”

  “Since when have you given any thought to your children?” Ellen thought of her distressing encounter with Brianna. “Brianna, how is she doing? This must be hard on her.”

  “Yes. She blames me. She blames you. She’s angry about everything. I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me if Ellen doesn’t make it—”

  “Doesn’t make it?” Ellen’s stomach twisted. “What do you mean, doesn’t make it? What’s happened? I thought—”

  “She’s taken a turn for the worse. She appeared to respond last week. I actually thought I felt her hand move and she moaned a bit. We were very hopeful. She seemed to be improving each day … or so we thought. Then nothing. In fact, they almost lost her yesterday. Something changed since Friday … the doctors say she’s declining fast but they have no knowledge why … she … she might be a vegetable.” He choked on the words. “They have no idea. The doctors say they can’t tell what exactly caused this, so we have to wait and pray …”

  Guilt landed squarely on her shoulders. Even though I cursed Sam and told her I hoped she died, I didn’t actually expect it to happen. I don’t want to be trapped in this body forever—or do I? If Jonathan leaves her, I will have everything I want. It will all be just as before, except that I will be beautiful and young as well as rich and famous. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

  “Sam? Are you there … Sam?”

  “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

  “I was asking you to wait this out until I know something.”

  “But what if nothing happens?” Ellen asked in frustration. “What if she just stays as she is? Then what?”

  “Then, I guess in time, we could resume—”

  “Resume? What do you mean resume?” She understood all too well the intended meaning of his words. Resume having sex. Resume dating on the sly. Resume cheating and lying behind his wife’s back.

  “It won’t be long,” he continued. “Brandon flew in and will be here for a few days … maybe even a couple of weeks. I’ll have a better idea of what to do then.”

  “So you’re abandoning me? I have to sit around and wait for you.” Ellen’s voice cracked. “Nothing has changed.”

  “No, not at all.” His tone was firm.

  She sighed, trying to stifle tears.

  With a soft voice, he said, “Now, sweetie. Don’t think of it like that. I love you—you know I do. We just have to wait.”

  “I’ve been waiting. I’ve done nothing but wait—wait and hope. I thought … I thought this would—”

  “It will, baby. I’ll see what I can do. I’d do anything to be with you, you know that, right?”

  “Jonathan …” Ellen whispered in a soft baby voice, hoping this was a good moment. “I need to ask you something.”

  “Yes?”

  Ellen clenched her teeth and took a deep breath. “I need some money—” she stopped as she heard him breathe out a long sigh, followed by an extended silence.

  “How much this time?” he asked, his voice flat, as if frustrated.

  “Five thousand dollars? … maybe—”

  “Another five? Sam, I hope you’re joking.” He sounded annoyed.

  “No. I need it. I’ve—well, I seem to have—”

  “I just gave you five thousand.”

  “I don’t know who else to ask.” It was true. She had tried everyone.

  He remained silent and then let out a deep exhale. “I would. I want to. But with all this stuff going on … and then later this week I’ll be revising our will with the lawyers—now just isn’t a good time to draw attention—ask me later.”

  “Sorry, but payday isn’t for four more days, I just need—”

  “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you next week.”

  “Jonathan, I—”

  “Bye, now.”

  Ellen hung up. The little love she finally felt from him had vanished—instantly.

  What if I am stuck in this body … forever? What if I can’t ever be Ellen again? What if I have to stay like this, with no money and piles of debt? And have to work … work endlessly? She looked at the stack of papers and wanted to cry.

  ***

  Sam woke again from a murky dream. Or was she still in one? They came and went so often, blending together, she could no longer separate one dream from another. In one part of a dream, she was having her revenge on Mrs. Horvath; in another, she was trying on her wedding dress and planning her wedding. She had a hazy recollection of floating and bright lights. She remembered being cold and scared, frozen and unable to move.

  Can I move now? Can I speak? An assortment of sounds appear, beeps and clattering, grinding and squeaking, the muffled noises surrounding her, pulling her into reality. She was still cold. A blanket, I need a blanket. As she tried to speak, a raspy noise escaped from her lips. Rigid, stiff and unresponsive, her lips still wouldn’t move.

  She felt a sudden warmth, of flesh covering her hand. A hand. The unknown hand gripped her tighter. Then the touch of warm lips, a kiss on her cheek.

  “Thank God!” A voice cried out.

  More noises. Her heart beat faster. Thump, thump, thump. The rhythmic machine near her head beat
in unison with her own heartbeat.

  A hospital. The sudden realization that she must be in a hospital, brought little comfort to her. She tried to touch herself to see if she was all right but couldn’t raise her arm or her hand, as if someone pinned them down. Voices. Suddenly she could hear voices. Sam struggled to open her eyes, praying she could see. They refused to open, as if super-glued shut.

  “Can you hear me? Oh, thank God.”

  She tried to speak. It came out a gurgle. She tried again, this time a cough.

  “It’s me,” a voice whispered, a woman’s voice, soft and muffled. “I’m here. I’m here.” The voice grabbed her hand again. “I’m so happy.”

  Sam’s heart stopped for a second. Who is this? She tried again to speak. A thin frail voice finally forced its way out of her mouth. “Who?” she asked in an almost gasping voice.

  “It’s Brea.” Silence.

  “She doesn’t know me,” the voice said.

  “It’s your daughter,” a male voice said.

  “I don’t … have …” Her voice was weak and fading, “a daughter …”

  “No!” the voice wailed.

  Another hand came upon her shoulder and a male voice spoke. “It’s me, your son. Do you remember me?”

  “No …” Sam coughed, her voice waning. It hurt to speak. “I don’t … have … any children.”

  “It’s okay … let her rest,” said another unfamiliar voice.

  “She may not remember much.” A voice spoke in a hushed tone. “The doctor said severe trauma to her brain may need time to repair. You should leave and let her rest.”

  “Trauma?” Sam said in an inaudible whisper, wishing it didn’t hurt to speak. What the hell kind of trauma? The footsteps faded into the distance.

  Sam listened to the bustle around her, for what seemed an eternity. Finally, someone turned on a television. And for the next few hours, she enjoyed the sounds of sitcoms and soap operas more than she ever had in her life.

  Then, above the canned audience laughter, she heard, “Hello dear.”

  At last, a voice she knew. She wasn’t crazy. “Jonathan …” Sam spoke in a soft, raspy voice, her throat, still raw and sore. “What’s happened? Why am I here?”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it. His lips were cold. “You’ve had an accident. You have been in a coma, but … thankfully, you are out now.”

  “Oh my God,” she cried, escalating the pain in her throat. A coma? Am I hurt? Am I okay? Is my face okay? Can I walk? Her mind raced through all the horrible possibilities. “I’m paralyzed, aren’t I? Oh God, that’s why I can’t move my arms—”

  “You’ll be fine,” he replied, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “We are certain you will be fine.”

  His voice wasn’t very reassuring and Sam couldn’t help but wonder what he wasn’t saying, what he was afraid to say. She felt nauseous. Sam tried to open her eyes. “My eyes … I can’t see …”

  “You will, dear. You will,” he said stroking her hand. “The important thing is that you rest. Get strong again.”

  Sam lay quiet for a few moments. Would she get better? God, she had to. There was no way she would spend her days like this. No way!

  She thought about everything she remembered up to this point. “These strange people came in—they told me they were my children. Can you imagine?” she said, trying to smile. Her face wouldn’t cooperate, still frozen and tight.

  Jonathan set her hand down by her side and held it, stroking her cheek with his other hand. “Listen … you focus on feeling better. We are all anxious for your recovery. Now rest, dear … just rest.” He placed her hand back on her chest and released it, then he gently kissed her forehead and patted her shoulder with reassurance. She heard the click of heeltaps as he walked away.

  If nothing else, she felt relief knowing she was well, and most important, not injured. She tried to move again, but this time her body ached with mind-numbing pain, like she had been dropped from a building and scraped off the sidewalk. The oxygen tube in her nose pressed deeper as she tried to turn her head. She called out, her voice sounding like a cackle as she attempted another cry. A chill raced through her body and the cold reality of fear flooded into her heart. Suddenly, cool hands touched her briefly and a nurse told her to relax, that everything was going to be all right. Then the pain faded, slowly into a gentle haze.

  Why couldn’t she see? Was he telling the truth? He sounded distant and cold. She tried to put it all together in her foggy brain. Over and over, the questions surfaced, continually failing to meet with answers. She thought of nothing else as she slipped into a deep sleep.

  ***

  Ellen spent the next ten days working long hours and trying to escape boredom, frugally avoiding spending any money, which, when living in New York, was nearly impossible.

  After getting paid last Friday, by the time she cashed her check, she was already broke, and that was before paying anyone back. She thought again about her phone call with Jonathan and how angry he sounded. Asking him for money was a big mistake, but she assumed Jonathan had always kept his ladies in style and gave them money. This situation certainly wasn’t the kind of style she could continue to live in—something had to be done.

  And she was angry that he didn’t want to see her now, and why didn’t he? To be with his wife! Now, after all the trouble Ellen went through—now she gets his attention. Was this to be her curse? And now, what if she lost him completely? What if I am stuck as Samantha forever? What if my old body died? Or worse—what if my body stayed in a coma? Could he even divorce her like that? And what about her children? Would she ever see them again? Would they speak to her?

  Ellen thought about how harsh Brianna was in the hospital, but she couldn’t blame her. In fact, she was proud of her, so protective of her mother. Yet, it’s heartbreaking to have your daughter hate you like that—not that Ellen was immune to having her daughter hate her. Like most teenagers, Brianna had her vocal moments of hating her mother.

  And yet, even though they could never agree on anything, Ellen loved her. Why was it so difficult when all I want is their happiness? Had anyone ever thought about her happiness? My entire life up until this point had been in the pursuit of making others happy, only to have those others turn on me and blame me for their unhappiness … and as a mother and wife, never once ever thinking about my own happiness or the lack of it.

  The loud ring from the phone interrupted Ellen’s thoughts. She reached over to the nightstand and picked it up.

  “Hey Sam, it’s Rebecca. We’re all going dancing tonight, wanna come?”

  “Dancing?” Ellen did want to have fun, but dancing at a club? “No, I don’t think—”

  “Oh, Mr. H tonight?”

  “No, but I—”

  “We’ll pick you up at nine for cocktails.”

  “Nine? That late?”

  “Come on working girl, it’s Saturday. We want to get into Jax, so dress hot.”

  Ellen hung up and tried to imagine dancing in a club. She had no idea what to expect or how to be hot. She could try to relax, enjoy herself, and for the first time in her life, no one would know she’s Mrs. Jonathan Horvath II. No one would judge her every move or mistake. I’m Miss Nobody now and no one will care what I do.

  Sienna poked her head into the doorway. “Going out?”

  “Yes,” Ellen said, “to Jax with Rebecca and the gang.”

  “Ooh, fun, wish I didn’t have to work.”

  “I need to look … hot. Any suggestions?”

  “Mmm, yes. Take off your unhot clothes and—here,” she reached into the closet and pulled out a bustier corset trimmed with large, fake colored gemstones.

  Ellen wrapped the black satin bustier around her, hooked up the front and studied her reflection. It was pretty, but her breasts pushed out of the top, exposing far too much skin.

  Sienna grabbed a small skirt covered with sequins and handed it to Ellen. “Here.”

  “What about on top?” Ellen
asked as she stepped into the skirt.

  “That’s it.”

  “But this is just a bra—I need to cover these …” Ellen pointed to her cleavage.

  “Ha-ha! Oooh, those gold shoes with the chains—perfect.” Sienna grabbed a pair of very tall pumps and set them at Ellen’s feet. Ellen sat on the bed to put them on.

  “I’m not comfortable looking like a hooker,” she said as she stepped into the shoes.

  “You never used to be uncomfortable.”

  “Well, I am now. I don’t need to get attention and lower myself by looking like a tacky slut for men to ogle and—”

  Sienna rolled her eyes and laughed, covering her mouth with her hands. “Yeah, right.”

  “I need respect.”

  “Respect?” Sienna stared at Ellen for a moment, as if determining if she might actually be serious, then shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, here …” She pulled out a cropped jacket with large shoulder pads and puffy sleeves that covered her arms but not much else. “Feel better?”

  “Much.” Ellen looked at her reflection. “Maybe I should just wear a dress, like this one.” She pointed to a black dress hanging on the door.

  “Maybe not,” Sienna said with a depreciative laugh. “You want to get in, don’t you?”

  Ellen nodded, unsure why getting in was such a big deal.

  “Then take my advice.” Sienna grabbed a wide belt from a hook and turned to face her. “It’s in the warehouse district, that means tough chic, not glam or elegance. You need to look like you belong, like you’re somebody, that you deserve to get in. Remember, getting in is everything. If you can’t get in, no one else gets in. Now, take this belt … and you need another tattoo.”

  “I don’t have one of those tramp marks; that’s for trash girls.”

  “Then what do you call that?” Sienna pointed to her back.

  Ellen grabbed a hand mirror and looked at her backside, as Sienna lifted up the bolero and pulled the bustier down to reveal a tiny motif in the small of her back, just below the bra line. “Good heavens,” Ellen cried out.

  “Yes, Princess, you have one.” Sienna smiled and pulled Ellen to the bathroom. “Let’s do a henna tattoo on your chest.”