What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  “But Sam, let me at least try.”

  “I still hate you for all of this. Go!”

  “Give me some time.”

  “Out! Get the hell out of here!” Sam was crying as a nurse entered.

  The nurse touched Ellen’s arm. “I’m sorry. I have to ask you to leave.”

  “I just want to help,” Ellen pleaded to Sam. “I think I have a way to help—”

  “Don’t you think you’ve helped enough already. You’ve taken everything away from me. Everything! I hope we both die.”

  Ellen turned and whispered, “I’m sorry.” She walked away, emerging into the hallway and the annoying harshness of the bright lights, uncertain if she could do it. Uncertain if any of this could possibly be repaired, and if it was worth all the effort and risk.

  ***

  Ellen took a cab from the hospital to her old house. As she drove through the tree-lined streets, a flood of memories surfaced again. She thought back to when they had first bought the house, the excitement of leaving the apartment and having all that space, the trees and a vast lawn. A real house. A grand house. Her house had defined her. Now after all these months and all Sam’s changes, it no longer felt like home.

  Where was her home now? Ellen had spent so much time wanting to be back here that she hadn’t truly thought about where home really was. Was it in the gardens she missed so much? The conservatory filled with her exotic plants? Her sunroom? Her bedroom? Did home lie in all those places? She could create new gardens and find new bedrooms and sunrooms. What was it she couldn’t find? What had she really lost? Ellen thought about all the memories in their house that filled her heart. That’s what she missed, the memories of her family, and their love.

  The taxi pulled toward the gates. “Stop here,” she said to the driver. She wished Sam hadn’t added all the video cameras to the gate and front entranceway, it made her job more difficult. Thankfully, Jonathan was away until Sunday.

  The cab stopped abruptly. Ellen paid and got out. She walked to the hedge dividing their property from their neighbors. Inside the hedge was a hollowed low opening, just big enough for a small body. She pushed the branches back and attempted to crawl inside. The branches were thick and wooden with age, making it painful to push them out of the way and crawl in. The scratches on her arm stung as she finally succeeded, and was inside. She crouched and crawled along the ground, encased within the hollowed shrub, feeling foolish as she worked her way slowly to the back end of the yard.

  The large shed at the back was still standing. She fought her way out of the hedge, encountering more slashes. The shed looked exactly as she had left it. She turned the familiar brass knob. Locked. Ellen reached above the doorway for the key but found nothing except dirt and cobwebs. She tried the windows. No key. Ellen was about to grab a paving stone to smash the side window when she noticed the pot of dead clematis and ivy. She pushed it aside and saw the dull brilliance of a gold key covered in dirt.

  She unlocked the shed door and proceeded to look for the house key. She opened several old tobacco tins, her usual hiding spot, but was unable to find the key. Darkness was setting in and soon the motion sensors would be on. She opened other tins and jars and as she heaved on a heavy metal toolbox, she heard a rattle. Lifting it down from the shelf and opening it, there, in the bottom of the box, was a key chain holding the house keys.

  She raced out of the shed along the pool house. The yard lights were already on and she had to hurry. She made her way along the tattered rosebushes lining the patio and up the stairs to the conservatory, ignoring all her favorite plants. She tried the key in the conservatory door, knowing at this late hour, no one would be in there. Two clicks and she was inside. Ellen moved quickly through the overgrown plants and neglected flowers.

  At the entrance doors of the conservatory, she crossed the foyer and raced into the library. From the library, she climbed the servant stairs leading into the second-floor library that adjoined Jonathan’s bedroom.

  Inside Jonathan’s room, Ellen took comfort in the familiar surroundings. As she passed his dresser, she noticed the one thing that had changed—their wedding photo. She picked up the new photo of Jonathan and his surgically enhanced wife, wearing a very short dress and obvious silicone breasts. Doesn’t look like me, she thought, more like a drag queen impersonation of me.

  Sudden voices from the hallway gave Ellen a start, forcing her into the closet to wait. She heard the voices fade, followed by doors closing and footsteps down the stairs. She listened intently and heard another door closing, which sounded like an outside door. With a sigh of relief, she realized it was one of the staff leaving. Ellen went to the hallway and listened, ensuring it was clear. She walked quietly down the hall and slipped into her bedroom.

  Once she got over the shock of the purple and gray bedroom, complete with chrome furniture, she started snooping. She opened drawers out of sheer curiosity. Everything that she owned was gone. What did she honestly expect? Sam would have had no attachment to anything, and she certainly had different taste. Different, Ellen laughed. Try horrendous.

  Inside the dressing table, Ellen found countless bottles of pills. All kinds of pills for nerves, sleeping, blood pressure and cholesterol. Uppers. Downers. Painkillers. Ellen went through the drawers, the closet and bathroom cabinets, but no sign of the vials. Only pills. A chemical cocktail that, hopefully, weren’t taken together. No wonder everyone thought Ellen was insane—with so many prescriptions and narcotics, who wouldn’t be?

  Ellen opened the doors to the closet and wasn’t surprised—no longer sorted by color and organized, now a tangled mess of color and prints. She stepped onto the step stool and went through the boxes on the upper shelves, and to her disappointment, not one of her old shoeboxes was found among the lot. They were all gone, along with any hope of finding the powder.

  She looked under the bed and found a journal, obviously Sam’s. Ellen would never keep a record of her thoughts for others to discover and expose. She picked up the red, sparkly journal and sat on the edge of the bed, turning on the bedside lamp. She flipped back to two months ago, just after the switch happened.

  “July 26, 1986: I don’t understand what’s happening to me. He won’t touch me. I try all the things that he loved so much before. Was I that deluded that I didn’t see he only loved my body? I truly believed he loved me. ME. The inside. That I was special. That I mattered. Every day he treats me like I’m not a person. He sees me as Ellen, nothing more.”

  “August 21, 1986.” The last entry, right before she went into the mental hospital.

  “I am lost. I am empty. I am no one. I have nothing. I am nothing. If I disappeared who would notice? No. I never knew life could be so meaningless. I have money, more money than I ever imagined and everything that I ever wanted, yet I have nothing. What’s missing?

  “I am. I cannot be me. No one lets me be me. I have to live a lie and pretend I am old and boring, that I don’t need sex and worse, that I am happy. I have no friends. None of these women could ever be a real friend, someone who helps you when you are in trouble, someone who likes you even if you’re not perfect. And besides, who wants to be friends with a freak? I am young. They are old. I hate all of them. I hate my life. I hate her, that evil impostor. I hate everyone.”

  Ellen couldn’t read anymore. She lay back on the bed and thought about how things had worked out. Sam did get what she wanted—sort of. She knew the pain Sam was feeling. Ellen had lived a hollow life for many years. Everything that had seemed important was now pathetic and superficial. Her friends, where were they now? Now that Ellen had had a breakdown. She knew the truth. As soon as life was real, they weren’t. They evaporated. She had lived in fear of losing her standing in a society based on a plastic and artificial life, an imitation of happiness.

  She thought of her children and the pain they experienced, pain she never intended to inflict. And at what cost? Would hurt ever heal? Not without love. Her children were alone, and without love. She wa
s adding up all she had gained in the switch and all that she had lost, when suddenly, the sound of the door latch gave her a start. “Samantha,” Jonathan yelled. “What in the hell are you doing here, in Ellen’s room?”

  Ellen sat up and looked at the mess she made searching for the bottle. “I … I can explain.”

  “You better start,” he said, pulling her off the bed. “You’re bleeding. What’s going on?”

  “I …” Ellen stuttered, unable to think of an answer. “I wanted to surprise you, but I fell.”

  “Come here,” Jonathan said, still agitated. He led Ellen into the bathroom and dampened a facecloth under the tap, then pressed it against her cuts. “Start explaining.”

  The cool wetness felt good against the sting. “I wanted to come by and surprise you, tomorrow,” she lied, trying to think fast. “I knew you were coming back anytime between today and tomorrow, and I wanted to sleep in your bed and wait for you, a surprise for you, that’s all.”

  “And that’s why you are here in Ellen’s room, snooping?”

  “I …” Ellen couldn’t think of a decent lie. “I was curious.” She hung her head in shame.

  “What’s this?” Jonathan pulled the journal out of Ellen’s hands.

  Ellen pulled the book away from him. “It’s her journal. I told her I would come here and get it for her. I went to see her … I didn’t want to tell you … in case you didn’t approve.”

  “Why would you go to see her?”

  “I wanted to see … her condition.”

  “You are the last person she should see. Did she throw you out on your ass?”

  “I … I think I can help.”

  “You? You’re a fool.” He grabbed the journal and tossed it onto the bed.

  “Jonathan, she needs to get out of there.”

  Jonathan looked at her, his face twisted in contemplation. “You should be happy about this—she’s out of the way for us.”

  “I’m not. It isn’t right.”

  “Isn’t right? I don’t like what you are insinuating. You think I’m a monster?”

  “No, I just thought—”

  Jonathan sat on the edge of the bed. “You do want to get married, right?”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” Ellen said, and sat beside him.

  “Well then, she stays there. She will find a way to mess everything up if she’s free to run around town. You don’t know her.”

  Ellen’s anger rose at his disparaging comment. But to whom was he referring?

  “Frankly, I’m sick and tired of all of it. So no, she’s staying. End of discussion. How is your own problem?”

  Ellen stared at him, unable to respond.

  “The appointment. The abortion. Your goddamn decision. Twelve weeks, right?”

  “Yes. I … I, can we talk about this later—”

  “Damn it, Samantha. You’re stalling. You don’t need more time—it’s obvious what the answer is. The appointment is now Tuesday at ten. I’ve already canceled this once and you are running out of time for … well, you better do what you promised.” Jonathan stood and started out the door, but stopped and turned to face her. “I love you and I’m committed to spending the rest of my life to be with you, but I am not committed to being a father again, not at this age.”

  “But Jonathan, I—”

  “Sam, we’ve talked about this. You told me—no—you assured me you would do this.”

  “I don’t think I can—”

  “For crying out loud, you’ve done it before.”

  “But this time it’s different—”

  “Damn it, Sam! What do you want me to think, that it’s different because I have money? Is this a trap? Because this is starting to look like one. You knew I had a vasectomy specifically to ensure I wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m beginning to think it’s not mine—”

  “No … no, Jonathan, it’s not a trap. I just can’t—”

  “Well, you can. You have to—if you want to be with me.”

  “But I do. I want that more than anything.”

  “Then prove it. Do something for me. Show me just how committed you are … .”

  Ellen couldn’t speak. Words failed to materialize.

  “Let me make this simple. Me, or the baby. You decide. Who would you rather spend your life with? Because I won’t be around if you have that baby. It’s up to you.”

  “I can’t give you an answer, not now. I have to get this journal to Ellen first.”

  “Right now, I’m pretty fed up with both of you.” He hit the wall with his fist.

  “But Jonathan, I wanted—”

  “I’m tired. Please go. Get Weston to drive you home, unless you plan to walk.” He turned before she had a chance to respond. His bedroom door slammed, causing her to flinch.

  Ellen tucked the journal into her purse and quietly put as much as she could back into the drawers. As she closed the last drawer, she noticed a velvet bag tucked under some lingerie. It felt heavy and lumpy. She tucked the bag into her purse, along with the baby pictures from the desk drawer. As she closed the door behind her, she wondered if she would ever return.

  She glanced down the hall toward Jonathan’s closed door, and knew that if she did not go through with the abortion, she would never return as Mrs. Horvath. She also knew where she stood. She just wasn’t sure if she liked being there anymore. In fact, she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. But as she walked down the stairs, past the furniture, past wealth and privilege, and out into the garage to meet Weston, one thing suddenly became abundantly clear. She knew what she had to do. She just wasn’t sure she could actually do it.

  CHAPTER 36

  The next morning, Ellen sent a courier with the hair sample to Brianna.

  After several hours, Brianna called back. “I spoke to Mr. Maxfield, and he has already requested the documents, he’ll have them tomorrow. I gave the sample to Nadia this afternoon and she will know something by noon.”

  “Tomorrow will certainly be an interesting day,” Ellen said. “Brianna, I have another favor … can you phone Patty for me? I’ve tried already, but she won’t return my calls—”

  “No kidding.”

  “I need you to ask her about the prescriptions I … er, your mother took before the coma.”

  “What about them? I think the doctor said they were tranquilizers, very high dose.”

  “Well, anyway, I need to speak to her about them. It is very important. I need to get another batch. She’ll know about it and where to get them, she bought them before.”

  “She bought my mother’s drugs? That explains a lot.”

  “No, she helped her, that’s all. I think the exact pills will help reverse what has happened to your mother and make her better.”

  “What are these pills?”

  “Patty will know. Tell her we need the exact same kind, same exact dose. And hurry, we need them right away.”

  ***

  Ellen stood in the bus terminal, figuring out which bus to take to get to the jail in Montgomery County. She was tired of filthy buses, the stifling air, the constant noise of crowds, and realized, as she boarded the bus, nothing about her situation was comforting, and there was certainly no comfort in being poor. As if life weren’t hard enough, you had to have every step filled with challenges and danger as well. She never felt safe. Since her first moment as Samantha Miller, she hadn’t felt safe and secure once. Except with Jonathan. Good old Jonathan, secure and reliable. With Rory, she hadn’t felt scared either, but she was more energized and nervous with anticipation, the good kind.

  But traveling around on foot and by bus or subway left her vulnerable, always on alert. The streets were not safe … men constantly hitting on her, weird people talking to her, losers following her. The value of riding around in a comfortable air-conditioned car with a driver to see to her every need could not be underestimated. She longed to drive her own car again, something she rarely did. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, she would drive, perhaps even ou
t to the country.

  She almost caught herself imagining traveling with Rory, but stopped herself. Rory was a good man, but he didn’t love her and she knew it. He was a great guy. He actually reminded her of Jonathan when he was young. Adventurous and happy. What had happened to the two of them? How did they both age so fast? Now she could see what Jonathan had been trying to tell her, all those years, repeating his desire to be young and free.

  It did feel good to be free. She had to admit that not worrying about everything you did had its advantages. And why did she stop having fun? Why did getting wet and dirty and playing and having adventures no longer interest her? Why did she always have to be so comfortable? Was that part of the price for comfort? Had she given up too much?

  And it seemed strange now, being nice to women who you know despise you, and to pretend you enjoy their friendship all the while worrying that they might be gossiping about you behind your back, preventing you from doing anything reckless or fun. You had to play by their rules. But here, now, in this uncomfortable world filled with danger, there was no danger with friends. There was no danger in being yourself. No one really cared. Most people accepted you in spite of your flaws and odd hang-ups. Young, old, thin, fat, rich, poor, none of it mattered to them. There didn’t seem to be any rules of conduct, and now, after having it and enjoying it, Ellen wondered if she could ever go back. Could she return to her old life if she married Jonathan? Would that be enough?

  The bus pulled into the station and Ellen rounded up her belongings and stepped out into the calm, October night air. Taxis were waiting along the curb, ready to carry her to new danger, to a place she never imagined she would set foot in—ever. What other adventures lay ahead?

  ***

  She sat waiting for Bob to arrive, surrounded by the damaged wives and lovers, restless for their sacred allotment of time. The entrance and visiting room were painted a liver-toned beige, with no artwork or decoration to make it inviting; instead, it made her feel more nervous than she anticipated. It felt like a prison. The echoes and clanking and voices were just like the movies, as were the guards, standing to attention with concern etched across their faces and an intense energy hanging in the air. Her heart sped up as they unlocked the door and inmates entered the visitor area.