What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  ***

  Two days later, the call from the doctor’s office officially confirmed her fear—Ellen was pregnant. She sat staring at the picture of Jonathan in Samantha’s wallet. Should she tell him now or wait? She wanted to wait, she imagined waiting, but he would eventually find out. He would certainly know when she showed, when she could no longer hide the truth, and then he would wonder why all the secrecy. He would think it was to trap him. Delaying, for whatever reason, would only hurt her relationship with him. Honesty would be best.

  She pushed away the thought that she wasn’t being honest telling him that she’s not actually Samantha. How could she? He wouldn’t believe it anyway. The truth was, he barely noticed a difference between them. He treated her as Samantha and Samantha as Ellen, regardless of what they thought or felt. They were the bodies they inhabited, nothing more. Ellen suddenly felt completely invisible, as if standing in the midst of a crowd and no one could see her, not even the person she trusted most in the world. Was she really just a body? Why couldn’t he tell the difference?

  Her thoughts vanished as she stared at the phone. Ignoring the knot twisting in her stomach, she dialed Jonathan’s number, unsure just what he would say about the baby.

  “Sam, darling. I need to see you. I have news.”

  “So do I.” Ellen held her breath hoping he wouldn’t ask.

  “Let’s meet at The Rainbow Room, say six-thirty tonight?”

  Ellen hung the phone back onto the cradle and sat for a moment, wondering what his news was. Something good, she prayed. Let this be good news for a change.

  ***

  Ellen sat facing Jonathan in the historic Rainbow Room on the sixty-fifth floor of the Rockefeller Plaza. The table between them was like a barrier. She wanted to be close to him, touching him as she broke her news; instead, four feet of crisp white linen and crystal glasses separated them. She nestled her foot against his ankle.

  “I’m happy to see you.” He reached for her hand and smiled, looking into her eyes.

  A wave of relief covered her. “I am very happy, too,” she said, returning his smile.

  He banged the table with his fist. “Well, I’ve done it. I’ve officially filed for divorce and I’ve told Ellen.” He kissed her hand. “Thank you for being patient, my love,” he said, then he pulled a box from his jacket pocket. The Tiffany box. “Samantha Miller, will you marry me?”

  “Oh yes, yes. Of course,” she said, as he opened the box. “I’m so happy.”

  He reached for her hand and slipped the ring on her finger. A perfect fit. “We can get married in six months, officially.”

  “Jonathan, that’s wonderful.” She admired the dazzling emerald cut diamond, now hers.

  “And you can get back to your planning. I think we should have a big wedding—the grandest,” he said, motioning for the waiter.

  “Oh yes, we’ll invite everyone.”

  “Whatever you want my love,” he said kissing her hand again. The sommelier arrived and took Jonathan’s wine order.

  “How are Brianna and Brandon dealing with the news?”

  “Upset. But they’ll get over it—they’re adults now.”

  Ellen pulled her hands away. “I don’t want them to hate me.”

  Jonathan leaned back and let out a laugh. “It’s too late for that, my dear.” He took his glasses off and tucked them back into the breast pocket of his jacket, then leaned forward. “Don’t worry, in time they will love you like I do, or at the very least, they’ll accept you.”

  Ellen stared out toward the quivering city lights hovering below the evening skyline. She tried to imagine her children accepting his new wife, younger than themselves. A new wife, who in one instant would steal all the inheritance rightfully theirs. “Of course, they would resent me—they’d hate me.” Ellen smoothed her napkin. “And Ellen—how is she?”

  “Fragile. Frankly, she’s a mess. She goes on and on and just won’t deal with reality. She says the craziest things. I honestly believe she would be a danger to both herself and to you if she weren’t locked away.”

  “She wouldn’t hurt me … I’m quite sure of it.”

  “Don’t be so sure. Remember, she hired the private eye. I thought about how much she hates you and all the things she’s said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had hired him to try to find a way to hurt you, physically, I mean.”

  “No,” Ellen said, unconvinced as the sommelier returned to prepare the wine. She imagined all kinds of sordid attempts that Samantha might try, while she sat and impatiently watched the sommelier perform his methodical ritual.

  As the sommelier poured the wine, Ellen imagined Sam planning some absurd scenario. Oh, she could all right, that little selfish vixen was capable of anything. “She wouldn’t try it, would she?” Ellen asked after the man finally left.

  “Yes, that’s why she’s so damn paranoid about someone hurting her. Dr. Sutton agrees. And the way she keeps doctoring up this crazy hit story, she may begin to think I am behind it.”

  “You?”

  “Relax. I’m not … not at all. But she’s so unstable. Dr. Sutton fears she may start to accuse me and make up all kinds of absurd lies. That would really make a mess of everything.”

  “Does she have reason to?”

  “Hell, yes! All the money. If she could prove I contracted a hit on her, I would get nothing in the divorce. Zero. Trust me … it’s for everyone’s benefit that she stays in there.”

  “For how long?”

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he held her hand again. “I can keep her in there for a long time.”

  “It isn’t right, keeping her locked away,” Ellen lied, squeezing his hand for effect.

  “What? Why?” He let go of her hand. “But I’m doing this for you, for us.”

  “I know, but your children must hate to see their mother locked away. They’ll hate you and they’ll hate me even more.”

  Jonathan shrugged. “I’ve done everything for them. They judge me and have a list a mile long of why I’ve failed them. They have a list for Ellen, too. Frankly, I’m tired of all of it.” He toyed with his knife. “After the heart attack, I thought a lot about my life, you know, why I’m here, what my purpose is and all that.” Ellen sat silent, as he continued. “And I came to the conclusion that my purpose now is to be happy. I did my tour of duty for forty years. I raised my kids. I honored my wife by staying in a loveless, sexless marriage. Now, it’s my turn. I’ve earned it. I’m going to be selfish for the first time in my life. And … I’m going to be happy.” He kissed her hand again. “With you—you make me happy. We can both live happily ever after and to hell with all of them.” Jonathan let out a laugh.

  Ellen shook her head. Loveless marriage! Forty years of love and devotion and he calls it loveless. He was the unloving, loveless partner. She loved him more than he deserved. Loveless!

  “You don’t look happy. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Ellen tried to remain calm. “It’s just … I thought you had a loving marriage. I thought, in spite of everything, you and Ellen did love each other. She certainly loved you.”

  A look of confusion broke across his smiling face. “We did. I was exaggerating. We did love each other once—hell, we were great in the beginning. Everything changed so slowly that I never even noticed, then it seemed too late to fix. I am capable of love and devotion, if that’s what worries you.”

  “A bit.”

  “Samantha Miller, I pledge to love, honor and cherish you all the years of my life, in good times and in bad, through sickness, health and all that jazz, okay?” He picked up his wine glass. “A toast. To new beginnings.”

  She raised her glass and looked into his eyes. “To new beginnings.”

  “To a life of love and happiness,” he said, clinking her glass.

  They clinked their glasses together and took a sip of wine. “You are the best thing to happen to me,” he said, as he set his glass down.

  Ellen blushed. She was feeling diz
zy with pleasure as joy rose up, radiating out from every inch of her body. “I love you, Jonathan. I always have. I feel so … relieved. I was worried.”

  “Nothing to worry about. Everything will be great, just great.”

  Ellen took another sip of wine then stopped. No alcohol. She pushed her glass away.

  “Something wrong with the wine?”

  “There’s something I need to tell you.” Ellen sat back and took a deep breath. She hesitated for a moment, then exhaled slowly and looked into his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

  “What? Impossible.”

  “I am.” Her nerve instantly melted into putty.

  “Must be a mistake.” Jonathan’s voice was stark, filled with anger.

  “No mistake, the doctor tested me.”

  “You’re telling me it’s mine?”

  “How can you even ask that? Of course it’s yours. Who else—”

  “Aren’t you on the pill?”

  “The pill? No. I use the diaphragm … it’s not a hundred percent.”

  “Well …” Jonathan sat back and crossed his arms. “You know what we have to do. I’ll make the arrangements, if you prefer.”

  “Arrangements?”

  He leaned forward, his voice barely audible. “Abort. We’ve discussed this before.”

  “No. We’re discussing this now.”

  “I made myself perfectly clear that the one thing I do not want at this stage of my life is a child to worry about. You know the trouble I went through to ensure this doesn’t happen. End of discussion.” A dark cloud suddenly hovered over Jonathan. A storm had moved in and all the sunshine, that warm radiant sun that Ellen had just felt was now replaced with cold darkness.

  “But Jonathan, there are other options.”

  “Not for me. Sam, you agreed to … abortion if need be.”

  “But I can’t, not now.”

  “You can and you will. What’s the problem?”

  “I just thought, well, that I could go through the pregnancy and then give it up.”

  “Hah! That’s what all women think. They say, ‘Oh, I’ll just give it away and never see it again.’ Gone. Poof. Problem solved.” He leaned closer. “Let me tell you how it works—you carry the baby, it’s alive, it’s inside you, it’s part of you—you bond. Sam, you bond, whether you want to or not. It’s not anything you can control,” he rumbled. “It’s your damn biology.”

  Ellen’s eyes stung with the threat of tears. She strained to hold them back.

  “So, let’s say you actually give it up,” he continued. “Scenario one: closed adoption. You wonder about it—is it okay? You worry. You pine for answers. You feel guilt. You worry your entire life. Is it in a bad home? What if it isn’t loved? Why did I do this? Then you resent me for making you do this. Somehow, the wedge between us gets bigger and bigger.”

  Ellen shook her head in disbelief.

  “Or scenario two: you give it up and have an open adoption. You have contact with the new mother and child. You hear about it. You worry about it. You want to see it. You get jealous because someone else is raising your child. You don’t like the way she raises him. You don’t think she’s a good enough mother, you would do it better. You try to win your child’s love. You and this mother compete. It’s an endless battle of worry and neurosis. Trust me, Sam—you lose either way. There is only one answer.” He sat back and took a deep sip of wine. “I don’t want you to go through any of that and I sure as hell will not go through it again.” He leaned back. “It’s best. No worries, no strings and no complications. Abortion is the only answer.”

  Again? Again.

  The words replayed over in her head, like clanging bells, louder and louder. How many? Just how many? Her stomach churned to bitter acid. How could she have been so naïve? So foolish? Of course, this had happened before. Pain stabbed her from all directions and she leaned forward, holding her insides together with her arms. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t hear. Her mind raced backward, skipping back to all the lies, lifting up the covers and searching for answers. When? How many? With which ones?

  She wanted to scream. Her eyes filled with tears as her emotional dam burst, destroying her strength and calm and smashing it uncontrollably into a thousand pieces.

  “This has happened before?” Ellen cried out. Jonathan nodded. “How could you,” she wailed. “How could you lie all those years? How could you keep this from me? Your own wife!”

  “It would only have hurt her. I was protecting her. It would have destroyed her.”

  Ellen’s hands were shaking as she reached for her purse. “I can’t believe what a monster you are,” she blurted, her hands shaking.

  “Sam,” he pleaded, grabbing her arm. “Come on, Sam …”

  Ellen pulled away from his grasp, unable to look at him. She stood and dashed to the bathroom, hurling her body weight against the solid wood door. Inside, she sat in one of the stalls, crying as a continual stream of tissue pooled at her feet. After endless minutes of self-pity, she straightened her back and took a few deep breaths to see if her tears would stop.

  I am fine. This was in the past. I can’t undo it. I am fine. I am … he is … he’s such a liar. It hurt all over and the flood of tears returned. Ellen finally stood and took several deep breaths. She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress and wiped her wet cheeks, then shimmied through the tissue and out into the glaring light of the bathroom. Gazing into the mirror, she saw someone else’s face. A stranger’s. Not her own. She was not this person staring before her.

  He had not hurt this person. She tried to smile as she wiped the rivers of mascara off her cheeks. The flash of her diamond reminded her of who she was now. This person wouldn’t care what he had done. Why can’t I be this person? I have this body. Why can’t I have a blank slate? Why can’t I let go of all the wounds and scars?

  As much as she was angry with Jonathan, he was her lifeline. She needed him now. She needed him more than she ever did before. She was adjusting her sash when her hand brushed against her belly. She froze. Losing him now would ruin everything. She would be alone. Her worst fear suddenly materialized—she would be a single mother and broke … or worse, a welfare mother. She crumpled the towel in her hand and tossed it. She knew what she needed to do. The million-dollar question was whether she could actually do it.

  Sam could and Sam certainly would, but could she?

  She left the bathroom feeling bruised and muddled, like mint leaves in a julep, beaten but intact, pulverized but still whole, floating in the cloudiness of uncertainty and confusion.

  ***

  Sam looked up and saw Brianna approaching. “Hey Brea,” she called out.

  “Hi, Mother.” Brianna leaned over and kissed Sam on the cheek. “How are you?”

  Sam looked at her, then glanced away. “Oh … not good. Not good at all. I hate this place.” She turned to Brianna and grabbed her sleeve. “You have to get me out of here. Help me.”

  “Mother, I wish I could. I would, but you know I can’t.”

  Sam stood and walked to the window, reinforced with security wire. The view from her room was a lush garden, bursting with color, a calico of shades of green. “Can we go outside?”

  “Of course.” Brianna put her hand on Sam’s shoulder.

  As they walked outside, Brianna held Sam’s hand. It was good to have some comfort, even if it wasn’t real family. The sun was casting long shadows that stretched across the vast lawn. They walked in silence for a while, ignoring any conversation as they passed flowerbeds filled with riots of color, all fragrant and in bloom.

  Finally, Brianna spoke. “Mother, I think the best way for you to get out of here is to start accepting what is happening and demonstrate your acceptance to the doctors and nurses, and more importantly, to Dad. Maybe you should start going back to church. You used to love going. If you started behaving like everything is normal, start acting more like you used to, more—”

  “You mean, fake it?”
<
br />   “Yes, if that’s what it takes.”

  Sam sat on one of the benches. Her legs were aching lately; the arthritis in her hip seemed to be getting worse. She looked over at the patients sitting in their wheelchairs. Will that be me in a few years? Will I ever get out of here? Will I ever live a life of adventure again? She thought about all the traveling she and Jonathan had planned. All the dreams …

  “Mother! Did you even hear me?”

  Sam snapped back to attention from her haze. “Yes … yes, I did. Act normal. Go to church. I can’t imagine going to church, what a laugh that would be.”

  “After that? What did I say after that?”

  “Mmm … sorry.”

  “I was saying that it’s very important that Dad believes you won’t be a threat to him or to his new wife, Samantha. He needs to trust you, do you understand?”

  “His new wife? I was supposed to be his new wife. I was the one he loved.” Sam’s voice rose as her arms trembled. She clenched her fist. “That bitch!”

  “Mother, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.” Brianna grabbed Sam’s hands. “You have to stop this talk. Don’t you see you make things worse for yourself? Let Dad be. He’s an ass, and he deserves that tramp. Let this go. Let him go. You still have your life ahead of you. You can do other things, meet other people—you’re shaking—Mother, what’s wrong?”

  Sam pulled her hands away. “I’m scared … of being alone and unloved … of …”

  “I love you.”

  Sam looked into Brianna’s eyes, touching her face with her hand. “Thank you.”

  “Is it the hit you keep talking about, is that it?”

  “Yes, partly. That and …” Sam sighed. “I thought my life would be different. I thought men would love me forever, that if I lost one,” she snapped her fingers, “I would instantly have another. I expected it. I had no idea that being old was so depressing. I never, ever imagined being stuck in a body like this.” She pointed down to her body.