What is Love? (13 page)

“Yes, but they did
 …
they really did.” Patty tapped
gently on Ellen’s arm with the stiletto heel. “Don’t breathe a word of this.
Their doctor is a specialist in Boston. He makes a mint from these women.”

“How much?” Ellen
asked. “I’m just curious.”

“It costs a bloody
fortune.” Patty leaned in. “He is risking his medical career, after all—”

“Then why would he
do it?”

“Money
 …
revenge
 …
who knows? Who cares?” Patty laughed. “At least he does
it.”

“But how can he do all
the fake treatments? It can’t be legal.”

“Legal? Of course
it’s legal. It’s a diagnosis, his professional diagnosis. He does keep a very
selective client list and won’t just do this for anyone. It’s not that
different from when doctors lie and give women C-sections because these women
don’t want to stretch their vagina all to hell giving birth. Doctors fabricate
all the time, it’s normal.”

“I’m sorry, Patty, I
just can’t imagine going to that length, all that pain and disorder, especially
if it wasn’t enough, if it still didn’t work.”

“Yes, but what if it
did?” Patty raised her eyebrows again and nodded with a slight wink.

“But
 …
maybe I could just—”

“Maybe you could
just what? Create a miracle? Come on, you said yourself the situation is
getting desperate.” Patty leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms.

“Maybe I could just
get a little sick.”

“Honey, listen,”
Patty shook her head, “a little sick is not going to cut it.”

“Okay, what about a
breakdown? I could do that—”

“A breakdown? A
mental breakdown? Perfect! That’s exactly what he’d love,” Patty threw her arms
in the air. “To put you away in the nut house and throw away the key.” Patty
laughed, and sat in the upholstered chair beside her. “And she would also thank
you. You’d be doing them both the biggest favor. No way. Don’t even think about
it.”

“Come on,” Ellen
smiled, “it could work. If I just—”

“No!” Patty stood
and put her hands on Ellen’s shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Darling,
that would never work, he’d see you as a burden—no sympathy. Mental illness
only makes them look better—unless of course, we’re talking suicide.” Patty
pointed her finger at Ellen, staring as she sat down again. “Attempted suicide
is always a good one.”

“A good one?” Ellen
shook her head in disbelief and sat on the chair beside Patty.

Patty nodded her
head, with assurance.

“Patty! You must be
joking. I couldn’t imagine—ever!”

“Yes, but it is
good.” Patty faced Ellen and grabbed her hands. “Think about it. There is no
way a man can walk away from his wife when she tries to commit suicide. He
looks like a total ass. We could arrange that—”

“How, dare I ask?”
Ellen pulled her hands free, covering her mouth with her hand and closing her
eyes.
I can’t really be asking, I would never be that desperate—would I?

“A different
prescription. A pill that makes you appear to be dying—slow heart rate, weak
pulse, vomiting like crazy, fetal position. It is a bit risky.”

“I’ll say.” Ellen
shook her head. She began to question whether Patty was sane herself.

“No. It’s only risky
if you actually take too much
 …
or
try it too many times
 …
it
doesn’t really kill you—if you take it right.”

“I can’t imagine.
No. No, I could never do that. It’s against my values.”

“With your values,
darling, you’ll end up alone.” Patty smiled and reached for Ellen’s hand. She
tapped it lightly. “You may have to rethink those values of yours.”

“I just
can’t—honestly Patty.” Ellen pulled her hand away, her face tightening with
revulsion. “It’s such a pathetic way to get him to stay,” Ellen said, looking
away. “I’m not that desperate.”

“But it works.”
Patty leaned back in her chair. “You can’t knock it for working.”

“So it works, does
it?” Ellen asked, her tone flat, to express disinterest and sarcasm.

“Every time.”

“Every time? I can’t
imagine
 …
for the life of me, I
can’t imagine resorting to all that.” Ellen shook her head and closed her eyes
for a moment. “Why can’t he just love me? Why can’t he just forget about her?
Isn’t there a potion to make him love me?”

“Forget it, he’s
bewitched and she’s evil.” Patty picked up a black satin pump beside her.

“Yes,” Ellen agreed,
“she is evil.”

“You can eliminate
the problem, you know.” Patty winked. “I know people
 …
”

Ellen stared at
Patty for a moment, trying to comprehend what she was saying. “Patty! What you
are thinking
 …
why
 …
it’s beyond unthinkable.”

“Not really.
Accidents happen all the time.” Patty ground the shoe into the side of the
chair. “Seriously, they do
 …
it
can be arranged, for the right money.”

“You’re joking!
Please tell me you’re joking.” Ellen covered her ears with her hands. “I won’t
hear of it.”

“Okay,” Patty
laughed and slapped Ellen’s arm. “I sure had you going, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” she said,
sitting back in relief. “You sure did.” Ellen’s thoughts clouded with evil
images.
But I have imagined it
, she thought, with remorse.
To my
shame, I have imagined it many times.

“But it can be done,
accidentally, of course.” Patty winked again, a broad smile stretched across
her face. “That’s what friends are for.”

Sam stared at the clock—ten
p.m. and her mother would still be awake—high, no doubt—but awake. She picked
up the phone and dialed.

“Hey,” the familiar
scratchy voice answered.

“Hi Mom, it’s
Sammy.”

“What’s doing, you
in trouble?” Her voice trailed as if she was walking away from the phone.

“No, Mom,” Sam said.

“Need money?” Her
voice was loud again. “Cause I got none. Bob left me again and I got his debts
as well my own.”

Why was she with
a loser like Bob anyway?
Why did her Mom always pick such complete duds, as
if she were a special loser magnet, incapable of any other options? Sam sighed.
“No Mom, I’m okay.”

“Can you spare a
little cash then?”

“How much this
time?” Sam already regretted calling.

“Couple of
hundred—or whatever you got. Maybe that rich man of yours could—”

“Sure. Listen, has
anyone asked about me?”

“No, but Benny’s
back in jail, stole another car. Your no-good brother just can’t stop
himself—that kid’s caused me more grief—just seems to fall into trouble, so
easy like.” Sam could hear her Mom’s frustrated sigh. “Course, his friends set
him up just like before—boy’s too damn gullible. I’ve told him a million times,
can’t trust no one.”

No, of course
not, always his friends’ fault, never his own.
Sam stared at the ceiling.
Why couldn’t she have a normal family? She always braced herself for the
onslaught of problems, but no amount of bracing seemed to offset the crap they
got into. It was torture to phone home.

Her mom blabbered on
for endless minutes about everyone. “
…
and
your cousin, remember Tim? He—” Another drag from a cigarette. “He up and OD’d
last month.”

“Timmy died?” Sam
felt a stab of pain in her chest. She actually liked Timmy. In spite of his
problems, he was a good person, and if he just could’ve left town and got a
real job, met a good girl, would probably be married and happy instead of
 …

“Yeah, pretty
sad—tried so damn hard to get clean. We thought he had ‘er licked, but Valerie
left him for that low-life Mel, and that was the end of that.”

“I’m sorry to hear
it,” Sam said with honest remorse. She hesitated for a moment, bracing herself
for more news and afraid to ask. “And how about you, Mom? Are you clean?”

“Me? Hell no, you
know damn well I can’t stop now—would be worse if I stopped. Doc says, ‘Yup,
after all these years, you’re a walking miracle.’” The line went silent except
for a wheezy and slow exhale. “But they found a lump.”

“A lump? My God,
Mom! Where?”

“My lung.”

“What are they doing
about it? You have to quit now.”

“Nothin’
 …
waiting. See if it grows. Hell, my
emphysema’s so bad, probably kill me first,” she laughed, her raspy voice
hee-hawing.

“I’m sorry you don’t
feel good.” Sam knew better, arguing was pointless when all her Mom really
wanted was sympathy—heaps of sympathy. “You need to take better care—”

“I don’t. God, my
bones ache now—and this poor circulation bullshit—but that’s what I get for
horsing around all these years.” Her mother let out another cackle before being
overtaken by a coughing spell. “Hey, don’t you forget about the money, all
right? I need some more tests.”

“I won’t. I’ll send
it tomorrow.” Sam looked around the room at her stack of overdue bills,
wondering where the money would come from. Maybe Johnny could help this time.

“Luv yuh,” her
mother coughed again. “Come round for a visit one weekend, huh?”

“Sure, take care,
Mom.”

Sam hung up. A numb
sensation swept through her body as she replayed the miserable conversation in
her head. It amazed her how far apart she and her family were. She had worked
hard to get far away and forget where she came from. She tried to be different
from her family. Better. Smarter. More successful. Now Jonathan’s wife was
snooping around reminding her, bringing all this out into the light.

Damn!
She was
so caught up in her mother’s problems she forgot to find out if the private eye
guy had come around. She wouldn’t call back; not for a long time. It was hard
enough to phone, let alone get over the drained feeling after every call. There
was never good news—one tragedy followed another, one saga after another, one
scandal tumbled over another. It seemed nothing good ever came out of her
family—except her.

She was going to be
the one to change all of that. She was going to become rich and successful, a
woman of power and wealth, a woman who could help dig all of them out of their
misery. She was the answer they needed. Sam lay in bed and wished for something
to happen. She didn’t care what. She wanted this investigation to go away and
not ruin everything. She had invested way too much time in Jonathan to let it
all unravel now.

***

Ellen tossed in bed,
unable to sleep. Jonathan still wasn’t home. She glanced toward her bedside
clock
 …
four a.m. Ellen kicked
the covers off the bed and sat up. Was he back with Samantha? She wondered if
this would be the night
 …
the
night when he finally never returns home, when he slips out of her life and
into Samantha’s life forever. When she wakes up alone. Completely and
officially alone.

Ellen thought about
what Patty had discussed a few weeks ago, about her crazy idea. Could it be
that hard? Could swallowing a strange powder that fakes an illness or suicide
be any worse than this feeling of sinking deeper and deeper into an empty
darkness? Deeper into despair. But what if it did work? What if he stayed and
realized how foolish he had been? What if he remembered what their love was
really like? Ellen took comfort in thinking about how wonderful it would be to
have him say, “I love you so much” and mean it. To have him hold her in his
arms and say, “I could never live without you.”

Ellen wrestled with
the guilt she experienced at even thinking of doing such a thing. Patty had
convinced her it was a smart backup plan, just in case. She felt guilty about
booking the appointment and meeting the doctor who administers the so-called
fake illness and suicide.

The appointment with
the doctor seemed harmless enough; in fact, it all seemed perfectly normal,
except for the discussion of side effects. Ellen couldn’t imagine bothering to
do it after hearing all the horrible things the pills would do to her body. At
first, she was glad she met the doctor, to find out for herself what it was all
about, and get the details of his methods. And, she had to admit, after
speaking with the doctor, she was tempted to try one of the methods—after all,
it worked every time. And Ellen wanted nothing more than to ensure the safety
and security of her marriage. How hard could it really be? How much worse could
it be than anything she had already been through?

But after filling
the prescriptions for the powder,
the secret fixes
, Ellen realized how
wrong it was, how completely deplorable and absurd to even consider such an
act. After she picked up the prescription from the doctor’s office and stared
at the colored powder in the vials, she gave the powder to Patty to hang onto.
She didn’t want to be tempted in any way with such a depraved attempt to get
his love. Ellen watched the shadows moving across the walls as trees danced in
front of the window, in the hazy moonlight. Her thoughts turned to Samantha
Miller. She was the problem. If anyone should suffer, it should be her. She
thought of Patty’s
other
solution and laughed.
Nice try! I could
never pull off a murder, never in a million years.

But she wanted to
hurt her. Deep down inside the dark recesses of her heart, Ellen knew she
wanted to hurt Samantha Miller in ways she never wanted to hurt a living soul.
It was an evil place where these thoughts resided and Ellen tried to resist
them. But they were there, deep inside and growing.

***

Ellen woke to the
morning light, her body exhausted, but her thoughts immediately turned to
Jonathan. She jumped quickly out of bed to check his room and discovered his
untouched bed. Her disappointment only adding to her misery. She went
downstairs and ate breakfast, then showered and headed to church.

The old stone church
stood on a corner, lined on both sides with Japanese Stewartia trees. Ellen
reached up and touched the frilly white blossoms, shaped like tiny camellias,
that covered their branches. She climbed the limestone steps in the warm June
sunshine and as she entered, she saw Father Michael standing beside the
confessionals.

Ellen sat inside and
closed the tiny door. In the darkened space, she felt her heart open to the
truth. “I’m trying to keep my marriage from failing. I’ve tried everything and nothing
is working. The counseling isn’t working
 …”
Ellen paused, mindlessly lost in the safety of the darkness. “He wants
to leave me, leave our marriage,” Ellen choked on the words.

“And you, what do
you want?”

“I want him to stay.
I’ve prayed. I’ve prayed and begged. I’ve told God I will do anything, if only
to get him to stay, to have our marriage stay together.”

“That is all anyone
can do,” Father Michael said.

“Well, there’s more.
He thinks he’s in love with someone else and—well—I’ve been told—” Ellen
stopped. She couldn’t say the words. She couldn’t admit even thinking about
such a horrible act. She tried to say what she truly wanted to do, what she
needed to do, but it was too hard to admit even to herself. Ellen said quietly.
“Forgive me Father, I want to sin
 …
”

Ellen sat unable to
speak further. She was trying to find the courage to say what she was actually
thinking of doing, what she really wanted to try, what was now consuming her
thoughts—but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t admit wanting to hurt Samantha,
wanting to do something she knew in her heart was wrong. She couldn’t admit
wanting to pretend to have a terminal illness.
Somehow
, she thought, I
might make it actually happen by confessing.

Ellen looked up at
Father Michael through the dimly lit mesh divider. She had lost track of what
he said. “I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “What was that?”

“I bless your
marriage.” He recited the “Hail Mary” and finished with an “Our Father.”

Ellen spoke with
him, reciting every line in unison. When they got to the part ‘as we forgive
those who trespass against us’ her heart grew cold. She had no forgiveness for
Samantha Miller. Here, before God, she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t forgive or
agree to any of it. Deep inside, she still wanted to destroy Samantha Miller in
any way she could, and no God could eliminate that feeling. As the priest said,
“Now and at the hour of our death, Amen.” Ellen looked up at the cross and made
a pact with God—a contract.

I will forgive
her when you bring him back to me. I will not wish harm to her if you make him
love me again. Only then, Lord
 …
only
then, will I forgive her.
Ellen made the sign of the cross. “Amen,” she
said aloud. “Thy will be done. Now, and at the hour of our death, Amen.”