What is Love? (43 page)

“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 distressed 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 didn’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.”