What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  Rory sat down. “You can’t kill yourself,” he said, his voice thick and edgy.

  “I can and I will … besides, someone else will probably beat me to it. There’s a hit out … on my life.” Sam took a deep breath and sighed. “No one believes me, but I know about it, because—surprise—I am Sam. I was there with you and Bob, and Mom at Amy’s wedding, I know all about the poisoning. I’ve had two, maybe three attempts already.”

  Rory had an awkward look on his face, as if shocked. “Have you told anyone?”

  Sam fell onto her back again, “Yes … over and over. That’s why I’m still in here. God—long story—but I tried to tell people and they didn’t believe me.”

  “But,” Rory’s face twisted in confusion, “you can’t be Sam, I saw her yesterday.”

  “I think—no—I know, Ellen is in my body, she stole it.”

  “That’s insane!” Rory laughed and shook his head. “No offence, but that’s the craziest thing I ever heard. It’s just nuts.”

  “I know … I know. That’s why I’m in here. I wanted to see you because I plan to die one way or another. It’s the only hope I have of ever getting my life back—of being Sam again.”

  Sam started to cry. “I miss … my life. No one understands. I want my own life back. I want to be young and to be loved again. I want to be beautiful and adored, to have men desire me. I want to have the chance to have a husband and babies—”

  “Hah!” Rory laughed aloud and stood, pulling the chair away. “You almost had me, up to the babies part—Sam would never want babies.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I just know.”

  “The abortion? That still bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  Rory looked at her with a puzzled stare and slowly sat again, sliding the chair closer.

  Sam nodded. “I know because I was there. You drove me and then waited for me. And after, we went for ice cream and I acted as if it was great, that I was fine … only, it wasn’t great. I lied because I didn’t want you to think I had made the wrong choice. I didn’t want regrets. I hoped to fool myself … and you.”

  “I don’t understand any of this. Who told you?”

  “Rory, I was cruel to you. I wanted to marry a man who, basically, is an ass, and all because he had money, lots of money. I loved you. I always loved you—I still love you. I was always so afraid to be poor and end up like Mom. Her life has been brutal—you know that. You, of all people, know how much I wanted a better life. I wanted to have opportunities. She filled my head with dreams of being rich, of never struggling like she did, of having everything …”

  Rory sat motionless as Sam continued, “I’m sure I’ve hurt you over the years. I can’t believe it myself. I was cruel. I see it now. I don’t deserve anything from you, but know that in my heart, I’ve changed. I realize now, it isn’t just your beautiful body I miss—it’s you. Your laugh. The way you always tickle me when you know I’m lying. And your hugs, I really miss your hugs, having your arms hold me. It’s how I feel when I sit beside you—that comfort, like I’ve known you for centuries.”

  “I—”

  “Please, let me finish. It’s how fiercely loyal you are to me, to my family. And your integrity … like when you refused to cave in to Bob’s demands and lie for him or how you don’t worry what others think, you decide for yourself. You’ve never worried about being somebody, you already know who you are … and I love you as you are. I’m so sad that I will never have the chance to be with you again. I regret I will never be able to make it up to you.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “I love you, Rory. More than life itself. Always remember that, okay?”

  “But …” Rory looked at her, wincing in his concern. “You’re confused. I wish I could—”

  “I understand, you don’t have to say anything,” Sam said, squeezing his hand. “Just imagine what if—just for one moment. What if something happened and I actually did wake up from a coma in a body that wasn’t mine? In the old body of the woman I hate most in the world. And what if Ellen slipped into a coma after trying to kill herself, with God knows what concoction, and she wakes up in my beautiful young body? Try it. Imagine it. What if?” Sam looked away. “Imagine how hard it would be for me to convince anyone … and that no matter what I did, they thought I was crazy, and the harder I tried, the crazier I seemed. Imagine if this really happened—how could I get anyone to believe it?” She shrugged, looking away. “I have no one. I am completely alone.”

  Rory sat in silence, as if allowing the words to filter in for a few minutes. Finally, he spoke. “But she would know … if Ellen was you, if this happened, she could explain it all.”

  “Yes, and she does know and she didn’t explain. She lies.”

  “She would have to … she couldn’t get away with it—I mean, if it happened.”

  “Does she? Does she really have to tell?”

  “She couldn’t pretend to be Sam … no one would—”

  “She’s gotten away with stealing my life and my future from me. She’s taken everything that I wanted—why not pretend and lie? What possible reason is there for her to tell the truth, to admit the deceit?”

  Rory shook his head, resting it in his hands. “It’s impossible. I’m sorry, I just can’t—”

  “It’s okay. It does seem crazy—I’ll admit it. Tell Ellen that he’ll demand a paternity test, he’s that kind of asshole. And tell Momsie I love her. Say goodbye to Benny, that big suck of a brother. Give him my secret pinch. Oh, and I’m changing my will, my ‘Ellen’s will,’ so that you and Mom are my beneficiaries … and Brianna, she was decent to me. After I die, you’ll have to meet with lawyers, I guess. Tell Mom to save some money and hide it from the loser men she’s with. And to not waste it on drugs, she’s worse than a child. I hope she’s okay without me …”

  Rory grabbed her hand. “You can’t kill yourself, no matter who you are—or who you think you are. There’s so much to live for—”

  “Is there?” Sam sat back, her body slack against the pillow. “God, that sounds real corny—so much to live for … I used to think that. I don’t anymore.” Sam pulled on the sheet. “The only hope I have, is that by dying, somehow, by some miracle, I go back into my body. It’s my only chance. And I’m tired, so very, very tired … tired of everything.”

  “Please, don’t. Don’t do it. I need—give me a bit of time, to figure out—”

  “Take all the time you need. I can’t say when I will go. Opportunities can come anytime. Remember, I also have Bob’s hit, God knows when that will happen again. You remember all that joking about the hit? Kind of ironic now, huh? Killing your own daughter …”

  Rory looked confused.

  “Never mind, just let everyone know all this stuff after I’m gone, okay? Can you do that for me? I want someone to know I died.”

  “I’ll come back to see you again.”

  Sam laughed. “You probably can’t wait to get the hell out of here. But hey, if you do come back, do me a favor—could you bring some coconut-covered marshmallows, and that grape spaghetti licorice? I haven’t had them in ages. Might be a last meal.”

  Rory smiled, as if remembering something. “Absolutely.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek, lingering for a moment, then stared into her eyes. “Goodbye Sam-Ellen,” he whispered. “And if this is really you Sam, you always did want to be Mrs. Horvath, remember?” He grinned.

  As he turned to leave, Sam picked up her pillow and tried to throw it at him, its dead weight flopped to her feet. He turned back and picked it up, his hand gently pushed her forward as he propped the pillow behind her. He held her hand but didn’t look at her as he guided her back to rest on it again. She noticed his eyes glaze as he looked down at her, and then with a gentle squeeze, he let go of her hand. “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

  He walked out of the room, his hand raised toward his eyes as he slipped out of view.

  CHAPTER 33

  “Sam, I need to see you,” Rory s
aid, his voice sounded demanding. “Can we meet tonight? It’s important.”

  “I have to meet with Steve about working my booth at the art market, but after that, say eight? Is anything wrong?”

  “We’ll talk tonight. O’Leary’s then?”

  Ellen hung up. She hadn’t seen him since his art show and it was hard to tell if the emotion in Rory’s voice was excitement or frustration. She didn’t know what to think about his involvement with Bob. Was Rory capable of hurting Ellen? And would Rory have anything to do with hurting Jonathan after they are married? Could that have been Sam’s plan all along?

  Ellen tried to push these thoughts out of her mind and resume work, but they were like driftwood. The harder she tried to ignore them, the stronger they resurfaced. She looked at her calendar. She had one week left to decide, one week before it would be too late for an abortion—at least one that she could live with. But could she do it? Could she really live with the guilt? Ellen tried to convince herself that thousands of women do it every day and never give it a second thought. Like going to the dentist, they say.

  But could I? Could I actually kill a human life … in one swift move, end it?

  She knew the answer before she asked the question. But it wasn’t the answer she wanted to hear. She wanted to be free of the baby. She wanted to be the woman who could do what needed to be done, the woman in charge of her body, in charge of her destiny. She had made harsh decisions before. She had strength, she knew she did, and yet, in this situation, there wasn’t any to summon. Every time she imagined herself lying on the table, ending a precious life, her blood ran cold. Her hand rubbed her stomach. She felt guilty even thinking about doing it.

  In frustration, she looked at her calendar again, as if by looking at it, she could change anything. Jonathan would leave her if she kept it, she was certain of that. The very thought of being pregnant and alone and even worse, broke, scared her beyond any other fear imaginable.

  It was, in fact, her worst nightmare. Out of options, what choice did she honestly have? This life inside her demanded commitment, and Jonathan demanded freedom. As she looked at the deadline, it occurred to her that she wasn’t actually Ellen anymore. She was Samantha Miller. And honestly, what would Samantha do? This was Sam’s choice, in a way—it was, after all, Sam’s body. Sam would do it. She already had. In a bizarre way, so had Ellen, unintended, of course, but with the same result—so there was no need for guilt, no need for the extra drama.

  Her eyes glanced at the clock and the piles of invoices stacked in front of her. She had a lot of work to finish in less than three hours. She continued sorting, tried to stay focused on her task and to ignore the pressure of her miserable decision.

  ***

  Ellen arrived at O’Leary’s at 8:45. She hurried into the bar, past the cluster of people at the front. The air hummed with the clatter of conversation and laughter, with Celtic music playing in the background. Knowing Rory would be near the back, resting in a booth, she pushed her way through the crowd along the bar.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Ellen dropped her tote bag onto a chair and sat across from him.

  “It’s all right—lots to look at.” He rose and leaned toward her, kissing her cheek.

  “Yes.” Ellen smiled, eyeing a table of pretty girls. “I see that.”

  “How was your meeting with Steve?”

  “Good. We’ll rotate every other weekend. I am so happy that you convinced me to try photography, it’s going well and I made almost four hundred dollars last weekend.”

  “Great news.” Rory took a swig from his beer. “I went and saw Ellen Horvath yesterday.”

  “What?” Why would he see that idiot? Ellen shifted in her seat. “How is she?”

  “Awful.”

  “That’s too bad,” Ellen said, trying to sound concerned. “She is completely insane. Jonathan says she may have borderline personality or schizophrenia. I feel sorry for the woman.”

  Rory leaned in, resting his arms on the table. He gazed into Ellen’s eyes. “Who are you?”

  “What?” Ellen sat back and laughed, searching her bag for some lipstick. “Very funny.”

  “I’m serious. Who are you, really?”

  “I can’t believe you are even asking me that—you’re as loony as she is.”

  “Maybe,” Rory answered but didn’t smile. “So who are you?”

  “I’m Samantha Miller, for heaven’s sake.”

  “You are? Okay, how about this—where did you work when you were twelve?”

  “In Mrs. Simpson’s house,” Ellen answered. “Cleaning up after her four little monsters. I hated it, if you remember.” Thanks Sienna, for reminding me how much I hated my past jobs.

  “What did we do after our junior high dance?”

  “Danced. Kissed. I don’t remember any more.”

  “You should.”

  “Well, I don’t … do you?”

  “I do, and so does Ellen Horvath.”

  “What does it matter? She hired a private eye, remember?”

  Rory looked at her with a studied gaze. She felt the weight of his judgment. Ellen looked away. “She must have contacted my mother and found out about everything … that’s not my fault, and I still can’t remember big chunks of my past after the fever, remember?” Ellen tried to summon tears for effect, but they wouldn’t cooperate.

  “I remember. Look, I’m not trying to get you upset—”

  “Well, you are.” Ellen stood, grabbing her jacket and tote bag. “You’re just upset that I’m going to marry Jonathan. I feel sorry for you. You sound crazy.” She started to walk away.

  “I love you, Samantha Miller. Do you love me?”

  Ellen stopped and spun around to face him, unable to respond.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Of course, you are my good friend—”

  “As a friend? That’s it?” Rory’s voice grew louder. “She loves me.”

  “Who?” Ellen asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Ellen Horvath!” Rory’s hand banged the table.

  Ellen studied him. “How? How can she love you? She doesn’t even know you. You need help,” Ellen said, her voice sounding surprisingly harsh. She turned and headed toward the door.

  Rory got up and followed her. He grabbed her arm and held it tight as he spun her around. “Who are you … are you Ellen?” He held her and shook her, staring into her eyes.

  “You’re scaring me. Let go!” Ellen struggled to free herself and hold back her tears.

  Rory let go. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I’m just—please, come back and talk.”

  Ellen shook her head. “You’re a mess.”

  Rory nodded with a smile. “I am, I know … but please, at least hear me out. Come, let’s start over … I’m sorry.” Ellen looked at his pleading eyes. He pulled gently on her arm.

  Ellen cautiously walked back to the booth, unsure of what he would do or say. She sat down, resting her tote and jacket on her lap, as if ready to leave.

  “I’ve been messed up since I saw Mrs. Horvath. She said some things that only you would know. Lies, cover-ups. It was eerie … more the way she acted. If it wasn’t so crazy—and I know it is—I’d swear she really was you. She’s more like you than you are. I always wondered where you went.”

  “Where I went? When? What are you talking about?”

  “After the fever, you changed. You lost your spunk and your spontaneity. You talked completely different, you stopped swearing, you even moved different. You got so uptight, so proper. And you were suddenly rigid. Even your sense of humor evaporated, no more silliness or joking around. I never understood what could possibly have come over you that could make you so different from who you really are.” Ellen stared at him, unable to speak.

  He continued, “I ignored it mostly, thinking, what did it matter? If you were sick with your fever and it affected you, I would accept you no matter what you were like. Besides, you were busy with Jonathan anyway. Then, recently, I started to see you
open up … to have fun again, almost like that one crazy night, remember?”

  Ellen stiffened. “No.”

  “Oh … of course not. That was the first night that you partied and got drunk right after your fever. We had the most amazing sex, like you hadn’t had any for years and suddenly you—you don’t remember any of it?”

  “When was that?” Ellen’s stomach cramped.

  “I don’t know, July I guess. Oh, yeah, just before my birthday, July 17th—anyway you were more like yourself that night. Then you went back to being rigid and proper until we met at Jax in August. That was when Jonathan was back with Ellen, remember?”

  “I do remember that morning.” Ellen calculated the days. No. No. Impossible! How could she have forgotten the night she woke up with Rory? The night right around her conception date. The night, ten weeks ago, when she had no idea if they actually had sex. When she was too embarrassed by the whole episode to even ask him. Of course they did. A sick feeling surfaced in the pit of her stomach.

  “You started to remind me of the old Sam. The one I loved, the one I missed so much.”

  Ellen shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Did I use my—that night, did I use my—”

  Rory grinned. “There wasn’t time.”

  “Did you use …?”

  “No, you were crazed, like a starved, ravenous animal. You told me that it was impossible for you to get pregnant, that you were too old. Man, you were silly drunk that night.”

  The gnawing in her stomach intensified. She traced through the probabilities. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because it isn’t you I love, it’s Ellen.”

  Ellen jumped to her feet in frustration. “Well, have fun, you two deserve each other.”

  “Sit down, please.” He reached for her hand. “Sam! Just sit. You need to hear this.”

  Ellen obliged and sat, her mind spinning in disbelief.

  “You are marrying Jonathan, so it shouldn’t matter who I love.”

  “True.” She tried to reason all the information—but what was he saying?

  “My point is … I never realized how much you changed until I spent time with her. Maybe I am crazy, but I keep asking myself, what if? What if somehow, in some kind of weird, strange event, you did switch? What if you truly are Ellen and she—if Ellen is really Sam Miller?”