What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “I know who I am.” Ellen stood to leave.

  He put his hand on hers. “Just hear me out, please?”

  Ellen looked at the serious expression on his face. “Okay,” she whispered and sat again.

  “Maybe you don’t know who you really are, maybe you forgot. Maybe you truly believe you are Samantha Miller. And maybe you aren’t Ellen or Sam, maybe you’re someone else entirely.” Rory raised his hands in the air and shook his head. “I don’t know. But I do know this—that woman in that hospital is hurting, she’s in pain and no one seems to care. No matter who she is, no matter who she thinks she is, she shouldn’t want to die.”

  “That’s not my problem,” Ellen said.

  “I know, but it will be our guilt and my guilt if we don’t try to help her in some way.”

  “Help if you want. I think she’s mad, Jonathan thinks she’s mad, her own doctors think she’s mad. Her children …” Ellen stopped. Her poor children, believing their mother is insane.

  “I know all that, but I don’t believe it. And I don’t know why, but I believe she really believes that she is you, that she is Samantha Miller.” Rory leaned in close. “You will marry Jonathan, what does it matter?”

  Ellen shrugged. “It doesn’t, I guess.” What she wanted to say—it matters because she’s been a conniving little bitch who deserves everything she has coming to her. Ironically, if it was the other way around and I was actually in there, Sam certainly wouldn’t help me. She would pull the plug, throw away the key. No, Sam wouldn’t lose any sleep over me.

  “What could I do? I mean, she hates me.”

  “She needs you. She needs you to stop the hit. She won’t ask, so I’m asking.”

  “The hit? What hit? Why is everyone so worked up about an imaginary hit?” Ellen blushed at her feeble attempt at innocence. So, he does know all about it.

  “Your mother, Bob and God knows who else, planned and paid for a hit. You should remember the conversation, you were there, after all.”

  “How do you know?” Ellen asked. Rory leaned back, about to speak. His face was colorless. “You’re part of it! Oh my God, you are!” Ellen covered her mouth in disbelief.

  Rory shook his head and held up his hands. “No, not at all.”

  “You are! How else could you come up with such …” she paused. Her mother could have told Rory, her mother did have a big mouth. “You don’t believe they would do it, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. I know Bob and he definitely could, and if lots of money is involved, he would. You know he would.” Rory hesitated. “She’s very sick. I think they are poisoning her. I think it’s too late to stop it.”

  “Couldn’t we just tell her doctors?”

  “First, they won’t believe us—like, who are we? Then, if they did, we would look like we are in on it. How else could we know all about it if we weren’t in on it? And why shouldn’t we be? There is that nasty little problem of motive that usually winds up with lots of jail time.”

  “So what can we do?”

  “Get her out of there.”

  “You must be joking.” Ellen shook her head. “She’s a mental patient—she can’t just leave. You can’t just march in and take her out of a locked facility.”

  “Could you convince Jonathan to let her out?”

  “Are you kidding? Now I know you’re mad.” Ellen stood abruptly to leave. “Good luck.”

  “If she stays in there she’ll die.” Rory stood, moving closer to Ellen. “One way or other, she will die.”

  “You’re being a bit dramatic, aren’t you?”

  “You have to see her. If you saw her, you would see a woman who has nothing to live for, who welcomes death, who would prefer death.”

  “She’s a mental case, Rory! You keep forgetting … she’s playing you.”

  “She’s a person. And she’s hurting.” Rory leaned close to Ellen, looking directly into her eyes. “You know, she actually believes that if she dies, you two might switch back. She thinks you tried to commit suicide and that’s why you both switched bodies. She plans to kill herself, just in case it works. She has nothing to lose. Trouble is, if she dies, would you actually switch?”

  Ellen felt her face drain as her body turned cold. “That’s the most ludicrous … the most … the stupidest thing I have ever heard.” She turned away for a moment, unsure what to do. Her head was spinning. The room was spinning. She leaned against the table for support.

  “Just go see her, that’s all I ask. One visit … five minutes.”

  “I don’t know … it’s so—and Jonathan, what would he think? He’d never forgive me if I went behind his back.” Ellen slowly sat down, her hands pressed against her head. This is insane.

  “Yes, Jonathan!” Rory shouted. “We wouldn’t want him upset, now would we?” Rory slammed his fist on the table. “You know, I am pretty tired of everyone so worried about not hurting Jonathan when he doesn’t give a damn about anyone else.”

  “He has many great qualities … you just don’t know him as I do.”

  “I know him enough to know he’s selfish, that he doesn’t love anyone except himself.”

  Ellen stood and walked away. She felt Rory’s hand on her arm. “Sam, please. Come with me to see her. Can you just do that for me? I’ll never bother you again.”

  Ellen pulled away from his grip. She pushed her way through the crowd into the cool night air. As the door slammed behind her, she took a deep breath. In the silence, she felt mounting relief as she stood, breathing in calmness, until guilt crashed down onto her. She turned toward the door to see if Rory had followed her outside. Instead, her reflection in the window greeted her—actually—the reflection of Samantha Miller. In that moment, everything Ellen wanted seemed impossibly out of reach. She stood staring at the window for a few moments, wondering who she really was.

  ***

  Three days had passed since Ellen had met with Rory. She couldn’t sleep, with the thoughts of a possible switch taunting her. A confrontation could destroy everything, yet leaving this alone and Sam killing herself could also cause her ruin. Either way, she had to do something—she just had no idea what that was.

  As they drove to the hospital, Rory hardly spoke. They listened to the stereo, staring out the window in mutual silence. Ellen wanted to tell him he was wrong but found herself unable to put the words into any sequence that made sense. She watched as the highway led them away from monotone concrete and steel and into vivid green and gold, as fields of grassy meadows appeared, naturally trimmed with tall pine and oak trees. The hospital was nestled between the rolling hills and a large blue-glass lake. The long driveway wound through a border of trees before stopping at a wrought iron and stone gate. They announced their names, and the gate opened. Once inside, Rory parked in a visitor’s stall and came round to open Ellen’s door.

  “Remember, you are my wife.” He smiled with a wink.

  “Yes, Mr. Chasen.”

  “Nervous?” His eyes studied hers. “Don’t worry, they won’t suspect a thing.”

  That’s not what I’m nervous about, Ellen thought.

  They walked up the stairs and into the lobby entrance. The building was old and dusty looking, with the faux medieval style erroneously attempted during the 1920s. The polished floors shone in stark contrast to the dull stone walls. Dim lighting filled the corridors and entrance lobby, casting long shadows and creating an unnerving feeling of isolation. As their voices echoed into the vaulted ceiling, Ellen tried to imagine staying here and shuddered.

  Rory announced himself and pointed to Ellen. Behind the desk, a sullen woman nodded approval while a buzzer announced their success at passing the test. The door opened and Rory led Ellen through the door into the hallway landing. Dark, heavy Gothic doors paired with thick matching frames hid private rooms from public eyes. The halls on the second floor were lighter and appeared somewhat updated, circa the sixties. Rory led the way to the left of the main desk, down a long corridor filled with numerous distresse
d and troubled people, until they made a left turn and passed another five doors. Ellen noticed the name on the wall.

  ELLEN HORVATH. She paused and touched the sign, unsure why she felt compelled to do so. Rory pushed on the door. “Knock, knock,” he said aloud.

  “Rory,” a feeble voice called out. “You came back.”

  “Yes,” he answered, and motioned for Ellen to stay.

  She stood outside as he went in, then strained to listen, but could hear only muffled voices. After several minutes, Rory came out and said, “You can go in now. I’ll wait in the TV lounge down at the end of the hall. Come and get me when you finish.”

  The room was dark and musty, stripped of any decoration. A small lamp sat on a table in the opposite corner, and beside it, an old tapestry reading chair. She was lying in the bed. Ellen approached the bed in awkward silence. As she reached the bed, Ellen could see a face forming in the shadows. She stopped and stared, trying to make out the details.

  My face! Or what was left of my face. Puffy lips and smooth skin replaced her former familiar features. Dark circles etched deep under the eyes that blinked as they stared into hers before breaking away to study her face. Ellen stood, unable to move; her body seemed incapable of response. The air felt thick and too heavy to breathe. She wanted to turn and run.

  “I’m surprised you came,” a familiar voice broke the silent duel.

  “I …” Ellen cleared her throat. What could she say? The truth? Ellen moved closer. She looked old, yet glossy and smooth. The wrinkles appeared in all the wrong places. “May I sit?”

  “Do what you like,” she said, without enthusiasm.

  What did I expect? Ellen pulled the chair from beside the nightstand closer to the light but far enough away to avoid physical contact. She leaned on the armrest of the chair.

  “I wanted to see you,” she said softly. “You look good, or should I say, I look good.”

  Ellen shifted her weight as her face blushed. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to respond.”

  “Try the truth.”

  “The truth is … I don’t know what you are talking about,” Ellen lied.

  “Cut the crap. I know you stole my body and my life. I should hurt you. So, how is it being me?”

  Ellen stood and started to walk away.

  “Wait! Please stay. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you angry.”

  Ellen turned and faced her.

  “I wanted you to know, in spite of everything, that I forgive you. That you win. I’m tossing in the sponge … towel, whatever. I’m done. I can’t go on.”

  “You should try.”

  “Should I? For what? Just what the hell do I have to live for?”

  “Well, friends and—”

  “Friends. I don’t have any. Do you, Sam?” Her eyes narrowed.

  Ellen shifted in her seat. “What about Patty? Or Greta, or Lady Sutherland, or Betty? Aren’t they your friends?”

  “No.” Her head rolled side to side in disagreement. “No, they don’t want to have anything to do with a crazy woman. Patty stopped by once and then stopped taking my calls. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I think I scare her.”

  Ellen studied her hands. The movements weren’t mine, yet they looked just like my hands, my old hands. She noticed the cast on her arm, remembering the news of the fall recently.

  “And Johnny—well, forget about him.” She wiped a tear off her cheek. “He’s abandoned me completely—thrown me to the wolves. I never thought this would be—”

  “Is it bad here?” Ellen asked, pulling the chair closer.

  She nodded. “It’s horrible. This would be you, you know. He would have done this, no matter who it was.”

  “Now you’re talking nonsense.”

  “You know. You know who you really are, I know you do.” She looked away for a few minutes, staring out toward the blank wall. Ellen sat in silence until she finally turned and faced her again, and spoke softly, “I hear you are getting married. When?”

  Ellen cleared her throat. “Yes, yes. In a few months, as soon as the divorce …”

  She nodded. “I had a beautiful wedding planned. It was going to be the talk of the town. Do you want to hear about it?”

  “Sure.” Why not? Ellen thought. Does it matter now? What was she up to, anyway?

  Ellen watched and listened as the woman who looked like her, went on about the dress she had on order, about the bridesmaids’ dresses, the reception and the cake. Her mannerisms were nothing like Ellen’s, full of uncontrolled head bobbing and animated hand movements. When she finally stopped, her eyes were wet. She reached for a tissue and wiped her eyes and nose. “Sorry,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “I guess it’s knowing I’ll never get to do it—never be a bride.”

  Ellen looked down at her feet, trying to block the images of her own wedding day.

  “And the baby, is it true?”

  Ellen looked up at her, at the pain etched across her puffy face. “Yes,” Ellen confessed, trying to mask her guilt. Or was it shame?

  “Whose baby?”

  “Jonathan’s, of course.”

  “Do you know for sure? Rory told me, you …” She paused. “You and he, but only a couple of times. That was when Johnny was with me, right? It’s okay,” she added. “Rory told me.”

  Ellen sat back in the chair. “I’m at a loss for words.”

  “Rory’s a great guy, not just for sex, you know? But he really is a good man. I never knew … I never saw. But God, I see it now …” She started to cry again. “I never knew I loved him.”

  “Does he know now?” Ellen said without thinking. What am I saying? She’s me.

  “I told him,” she sniffled as she spoke. She wiped her eyes. “Are you keeping the baby?”

  “I haven’t decided.” Ellen wasn’t sure what to tell this woman. This was so very strange.

  “Johnny wants an abortion … I mean, demands one?”

  “Yes.” Ellen confessed.

  “That’s my fault. I promised him no babies, no complications. I told him if I ever got pregnant, I would abort. That was to be put in the pre-nup.”

  “In the pre-nup? What else was to be in the pre-nup?”

  “If I ever cheated I would forfeit alimony. If I got fat—bye-bye.”

  “You would have actually signed that?” Ellen realized she was treating her like Sam.

  “Yes, wholeheartedly, I was so excited to marry—and marry a man with all that power and all that money. I would have done anything.” Sam sat up, trying to adjust her pillow.

  “Including an abortion?”

  “Of course an abortion,” Sam said, as she flopped back against the pillows.

  Ellen shook her head and put her hand on her stomach. “I can’t seem to decide. I know what I must do … but it goes against every belief I hold deep in my soul. It’s a no-win situation, no matter how I look at it. I’ve—”

  “You have to do it—to keep him, you know.”

  Ellen looked up. “Do you want me to do it?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I want, you have to do it. I know him. He won’t believe it’s his if you keep it. Even if you give it up for adoption, he will leave you. He wants no part of a financial or legal responsibility.”

  “Or an emotional one,” Ellen piped in.

  “He’s had a vasectomy, but you already knew … didn’t you?” Sam asked.

  Ellen stared at her for several moments, before realizing her mouth was open. She closed it and bit her lip. “No. He never told me.”

  “He did. He had it done when we first met—said it was insurance against complications.”

  Ellen put her hand over her mouth. “Then how? I used the diaphragm. Why did you use one when he had a vasectomy?”

  “He was still so paranoid about an accident, so petrified of having a baby, so he told me to go on the pill, saying I was too fertile, being so young and it takes a while for the doctors to test if the snip job is working properly. But I d
idn’t want the weight gain, so I lied and told him I was on the pill, but used the diaphragm in secret.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Could it be someone else’s?”

  “No!” Ellen snapped.

  Sam shrugged, picking lint balls off her blanket. “It could still be his, vasectomies aren’t a hundred-percent effective, accidents happen, sometimes—rarely—but they do happen—it’s a one in two thousand possibility. When you think about it, that’s not very good …” Sam leaned over toward Ellen. “Know this … he will want a paternity test if you don’t abort. He’ll be determined to prove it’s not his. In his mind, right now, he’s probably convinced it’s not his and that you are lying, trying to trap him. He’s testing you.”

  “But—”

  “You, of all people should know how cruel he is. I had no idea. I didn’t see it and now … now I’ve lost all the love I ever had for him—all of it. He’s yours; you win,” Sam waved her hand in a gesture of finality. “I won’t be a roadblock any more. You can have him. I don’t want to have anything to do with him now.”

  Ellen leaned over to Samantha and reached for her hand. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Don’t thank me, thank him. If he weren’t such an asshole—he made it easy.”

  Ellen stood, then walked toward the door and was about to leave. She hesitated for a moment, then turned and walked back toward Sam. “Can I ask you something personal?”

  Sam studied her for a moment, contemplating. “Go ahead.”

  “What was it like when you did it?”

  “The sex?” A sly grin appeared on Sam’s solemn face. “It was—”

  “No,” Ellen interrupted. “The abortion?”

  “Oh.” Sam’s smile evaporated. “You really want to know?” She paused for several minutes, her eyes cast down and face drawn. “No matter what anyone says, you can never forget and never forgive yourself. You always wonder. You relive everything they do to you—to it … all the sounds …” Sam wiped her tears. “And sometimes you imagine what it might have been …”