What is Love? (40 page)

“Oww!” she screamed.

“Not the broken
arm,” a voice yelled.

“Sorry. Sorry
Ellen,” another voice said with some compassion. She felt the rubber on the
other arm, below the cuff.

A nurse came and
leaned over Sam. “Ellen, we’re taking you downstairs now for x-rays. You will
be on an IV for a few days, alright?”

Sam nodded. “Where
were you when I needed you?” she gasped.
Where was he? Johnny.
“Call my
husband. I need to see him.”

As they wheeled Sam
down the corridor, she prayed that this would bring Johnny to his senses, or at
the very least
 …
bring him in to
see her.  

“Thanks for coming,”
Rory said, as he turned the keys in the locks, all six of them.

“That was a great
show. I love your work and I think you have a lot of talent.”

“Well, you do, too.
You just don’t trust yourself.”

The door to his
studio opened and he stepped aside to let Ellen enter. Sunlight shone in
through large, naked windows. The room was bigger than the apartment Ellen
shared with Sienna, and was open, filled with canvases and easels. A worn
leather couch sat below the tall windows, while the wall on the left had
exposed brick where several large canvases hung from a silver cable. In the
middle of the room was a large table with low legs, covered in spilled paint.

“Is that where you
dine?” Ellen laughed, as she pulled her jacket off.

“Funny. No, on the
sofa or over the sink.” Rory pointed to the galley of cupboards to her right,
which held the fridge, small stove and sink, then he tossed her jacket onto a
nearby chair.

“And sleep?”

“Ahhh,” Rory said,
his face lighting up in a broad smile.

“That’s not what I
meant, and you know it.”

Rory pointed to the
sofa. “Another of its many uses.”

Ellen walked up to
the large canvases hanging against the brick wall. “They’re exceptional. I
didn’t realize you did such large-scale pieces. These deserve a large gallery,
with high ceilings and lots of good lighting.” Her hand touched the canvas.
“Such a luminous glaze. I love the texture and bits of metallic leafing hidden
beneath the smooth surface.”

“Come here,” he said
and reached for her hand. “I want to show you something.”

He walked her over
to a smaller canvas covered with a sheet, and lifted it. “This is for you.” He
revealed a canvas with a portrait. “Call it a wedding present, to both of you.”

The image was
clearly Samantha. “Rory, it’s beautiful. Thank you, and thanks for being such a
good friend.” Ellen gave him a hug. “I really mean that, I’ve never known
anyone quite like you before.”

“Sam, cut the bull—”

“It’s true.” Ellen
grabbed his hand and looked directly into his eyes. “You have done something to
me, helped me to see myself in a different way, in ways I never imagined. My
art sales at the market are an example of that. I never imagined I could take
pictures that anyone would want to buy. I have you to thank for pushing me and
teaching me. And I don’t know how I would have fixed everything with Jonathan
if you hadn’t helped.”

Rory let go of her
hand and flopped onto the couch. “I guess now you have everything you ever
wanted.”

“Not everything, not
yet.” She sat beside him.

“Oh?” His face
softened and his eyes looked into hers.

“I need to decide
about the
 …
baby
 …”

“Oh, right.” Rory
leaned back and put his feet on the low table splattered in paint. “Is that
what it is—a baby?”

“Of course.”

“Funny
 …
you wouldn’t call it that before.
You said it wasn’t a baby until at least five months.” He turned and looked
directly at Ellen.

“What? I don’t understand.”
Ellen looked away. “I don’t remember.”

“Oh, right. I forgot
about your selective memory.” Rory stood and went to the fridge.

Ellen looked around
at the objects in the room that weren’t related to painting, the Rory objects.
In the corner, a bike hanging from its wheels, a bat and glove on a stand next
to the door, tennis racquets and a long punching bag hanging from a chain in
the corner.

“You don’t
remember?” Rory asked again, as he studied the contents of his fridge.

“No, I don’t.” Ellen
tried to sound convincing.

“You’ve blocked it.”
He grabbed a beer and shut the door. “I don’t blame you. I wish I could, too.”

“What happened?”

“You honestly don’t
remember?” he asked and turned to her. “Wow.” He opened the bottle with his
opener, his head swung side to side as if annoyed by this revelation. “Okay,
you told me you didn’t want to have a baby and be a poor single parent
 …
like I wasn’t up to the job.”

He put the bottle to
his lips and took a mouthful, then swallowed, wiping his mouth with his hand. “Then,
as if that weren’t enough, you demanded I pay for the abortion.”

“I did? And did
you?”

“Yes, I did.” Rory
moved toward her and sat down. A long silence divided them as he picked at the
label on the bottle. Finally, he spoke. “I almost wish you could remember so
you don’t do it again.”

“Do what again?”

“It! The choice. End
a life.” Rory slammed the bottle on the table. “I couldn’t believe how easy it
was for you. You just marched in there and four hours later you came out—”

“Upset?”

“No.” Rory shook his
head with a slight laugh. “No, relieved is more the word. You came out relieved
of a huge weight.”

“But I must have
been upset. I mean, I had to be. Who wouldn’t be?”

“Well, you sure hid
it if you were.” Rory took her hands. “Look, I know why you did it. I
understand—sort of. You have such high goals, goals that require sacrifice.”
Rory sat back, pulling on a cushion behind him. “You need to do what you must
do. I mean, he could reject you and leave you. I get that. You with a baby to
raise and all
 …
Or, if you give
it up and he leaves, then what? I don’t envy you. It’s a tough call.” He
punched the sofa arm a few times.

Ellen leaned back
and stared at her stomach. “How could anyone?” She thought of her own loss. Her
own heartache. “I lost a baby once
 …”
Her voice was a soft whisper. “Miscarried.”

“What? When?” Rory
moved closer to her.

“Years ago
 …
when I was young
 …
younger, much younger
 …”
She turned and looked out the
window unable to focus on anything. Her face started to feel heavy, her body
followed, slowly pressing her downward, making breathing difficult. “It’s like
something
 …
pulling down and you
have no resistance
 …
down you go
 …”
She hung her head. “I wanted that
baby. I felt his life inside of me. We connected. There was part of me in him,
a part that was lost when he was lost
 …”

He stroked her back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

She turned to Rory
and looked at him, his eyes, full of trust, his face lit with compassion. “I
never told anyone that I was pregnant. It was such a shock at first, a mistake
 …
a terrible, terrible mistake. I was
too young and I trusted
 …
and I
was so afraid, scared my life would be ruined, that my uncle
 …
that he would deny what he had
done, anyway.” She wiped her eyes and breathed in deep, allowing the air to
calm her raw nerves. “It was so evil, so shameful
 …
and my aunt, she wouldn’t believe me, how could she?
 …
it would mean he was a monster and
I
 …
anyway, I knew she would
hate me
 …
so I didn’t tell
anyone. I was scared they would stop loving me, that my world would collapse
around me, that everything I knew, everyone I trusted would abandon me, that
revealing the truth would destroy more than living the lie, so I suffered in
silence, in guilt and pain
 …”

“I’m sorry Sam, I
had no idea. I never knew you had an aunt and uncle who cared for you. I never
should have said anything about—”

“It’s funny, I’ve
never told another soul about this, about any of it or about how I felt
 …
or how much I hurt, how betrayed I
felt and how I believed that somehow I deserved it, that I allowed it to
happen. What did I know about all that? About any of it?” She gave a forced
laugh then, her body tightened and grew cold.

She hesitated. “He
was a part of me that I can never have back, that tiny little baby. A part that
will never be repaired
 …
and the
worst part is that I let it happen
 …
I
didn’t take care
 …
and
 …
and he couldn’t take it.”

She looked at Rory.
“His little heart stopped,” her voice cracked and she wiped her eyes again. “At
first I didn’t want him,” she cried, taking in a deep breath, “but only at
first
 …
only for a moment. I was
scared, so young and so very scared. I shouldn’t have thought that, I never
should have imagined—how could I know that by thinking such a horrible thought,
that it would happen, that he
 …”
Her voice faded and she looked out into the distance for several minutes.

She wiped her eyes
with the back of her hands. “He wouldn’t stay with me. He let go. I can never
undo it. Never. It was my fault.” She rocked back and forth for a few moments,
holding herself, then whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I lost you. Forgive
me. I lost you forever before you had a chance to live
 …”
Ellen was sobbing with her whole body.

Rory put his arms
around her and held her. He wiped his eyes and pulled her closer. Nothing was
said between them as she cried against his shoulder and the darkness fell
softly around them, the light fading like the last dying ember of a fire,
leaving the deep and eternal blackness of night.

***

Sam sat in bed,
staring out into the hallway, deciding what to do. She pushed the nurse buzzer.
A few minutes later, a nurse appeared in the doorway.

“Mrs. Horvath, what’s
wrong?”

“Becky, I need you
to do something for me. Come here.” Becky came into the room. “There is a name
and number on here,” Sam said and held up a piece of paper. “I need you to call
and say that his cousin Wendy is in the hospital, in room 22056 and needs to
talk to him.”

“But that’s your
room number.”

“I can’t explain.”

“You better start,”
she said, crossing her arms.

“He’s mad at me,”
Sam blurted. “If I phone, he’ll just hang up. It’s about money. You know,
inheritance stuff.” Becky nodded but remained motionless and silent, waiting
for more. “I want to apologize to him,” Sam continued. “I need to sort things
out. You know, just in case
 …”

“Uh, huh.” She
unfolded her arms. “And this Rory, who is he?”

“My cousin. But you
are to call me Wendy
 …
because
he’s mad at me. He won’t come unless you say it’s Wendy. Please, just help me.”

Becky shrugged and
strummed the paper. “Does anyone else know about this?”

“No. It’s personal.
Please help me.”

“I’ll see what I can
do.” Becky checked the IV drip before leaving.

Sam lay back, hoping
to see Rory. She thought about his smile, the feeling of his arms around her,
all the late-night talks. And his body, his beautiful body. It seemed strange
that for all the years together, she had never imagined what it would be like to
never see Rory again.

Did she believe that
after Jonathan married her, she would lock Rory out of her life? Had she
secretly hoped that Jonathan would not live that long and that somehow they
might still end up together? Slowly she began to realize it would never be as
before. Not only would she not get back into her body, she couldn’t get out of
this place. Sam turned onto her side and a jolt of pain shot through her broken
arm.

She adjusted herself
as she stared at the gray surroundings. She hated this room. She hated the
pathetic metal chairs, the desk with the plastic white top and the boring lamps
with safety cords. She even hated the patterned wallpaper. And, she hated
Jonathan. She was tired of everything, tired of this body, tired of fighting,
tired of being sick. Tired of being lonely.

Yes, she was truly
lonely. No one came to see her; no friends; not even Patty. Where was Patty?
Why had she abandoned her? Sam missed Patty, but knew no one wanted to visit a
crazy person. Why would they? Would she have ever visited anyone in here? Not
likely.

And no one cared.
She lay engulfed in fear, realizing no one really cared, except Brianna. She
cared. But she cared for Ellen, for her mother. No one cared for Samantha
Miller. No one. She wiped a tear from her eye. She was even tired of crying.

Would anyone even
notice if I died? Would anyone care?
Sam lay on her back and looked up at
the ceiling. She would disappear forever without a word, without recognition.
Slipping away into oblivion. No record. No one knowing. Did it matter? Did any
of it matter?

At least if she
could see Rory one last time, she could say goodbye. And maybe, just maybe
someone would miss her. Someone would actually miss Samantha Miller.

***

Ellen was looking
forward to seeing Jonathan. Six days had past and she hoped the time apart had
helped soften his stance. She stepped out of the shower as the phone rang.

“Hello?” she said,
wrapping the towel around her body.

“Sam, darling.
Listen, I have to cancel tonight. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, Jonathan. You
aren’t still upset with me, are you?”

“Yes, and no. I am
still annoyed, but no, I have to go back to the hospital. It’s Ellen.”

Ellen sat on the
bed.
It never ends.
“What now?”

“She’s fallen. She
hit her head on the floor and broke her arm. I need to go and meet with her
doctors. Can we reschedule?”

“Yes, of course. I
have work to do on my photos anyway.”

“How about
Thursday?”

Three more days of
waiting. “I was hoping to see you, it’s been—”

“I am sorry. This
whole thing
 …
it’s never-ending.
I thought I might get some peace with her in there. But now, I certainly worry
more,” he said with a sigh. “She’s gone from bad to worse. It’s tragic.”