What is Love? (37 page)

“Not really
 …”
Ellen sat, watching his hands as
he spoke.

“Anyway, I’m amazed
by people and by things. Sometimes I feel things too strongly, I want to
explode—release it, and share all that passion with others.” He looked at
Ellen. “So, if you had no words, no language, what flower would you use to show
love?” Rory asked.

“That’s easy.
Peonies.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, they
have thousands of petals all tightly wrapped up into a firm ball and as they
bloom, they open and suddenly there are layers upon layers—endless. The deeper
inside, the more layers. They are also fragile in some ways, tender and
delicate, but strong in other ways. You can plant them almost anywhere, neglect
them for years and they’ll survive.”

Ellen glanced out
the window and continued, “And the weight. The weight of their petals causes
them to bend, often all the way to the ground, yet they never break. In the
rain, in sadness, they bend to keep from breaking when full, as when full of
love, people overflow with the weight of the love they carry.”

“And sadness? How
would you depict sadness? No words, remember?”

“A tulip. A lone
tulip, its stem bent to touch the table in anguish. Most of its petals gone,
perhaps only one lone petal left attached, all the others scattered on the
table.”

“Okay, and death?”

Ellen paused a
moment. “Black snakeroot, a purple-leafed plant, so deep and dark, its stems
and leaves look truly black. Its jet leaves are lacy and jagged, severe, yet captivating
in their somberness
 …
a sort of
rogue beauty. A stunning contradiction of melancholy and intrigue.”

“Perfect. How about
pain?”

“Polar star. It’s a
rose climbing vine, with long, thick, dangerously sharp thorns twisted amongst
creamy white roses. Isn’t that how pain works, the degree of pain is in direct
proportion to the degree of love or beauty lost?”

“See, you get it.
Art isn’t about seeing beautiful things or making a controversial statement.
Art is saying with imagery what you feel. You use the image to say, yes, this
is what I am feeling, right now. Others may feel as you do when they see the
work, or they may not. Take your camera and try. I think if you took your
feelings and photographed objects and flowers, putting them onto cards, you could
make relevant work. And money. I know you could.”

“I don’t know
 …
I need real money.”

“Just try it. Tell
me you’ll try it once, then I’ll never harass you again.”

Ellen looked at him
and took the camera from his hands. She looked through the lens and focused on
various objects about the room. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy. How bad could it be?
It certainly couldn’t be any worse than her lack of jewelry sales.  

Ellen woke up
feeling sick again. She reached over for her calendar and tried to determine
her last period. Counting the days, she realized it had been at least seven
weeks. How could she have forgotten to keep track?

She sat on the bed,
overcome with disbelief.
This can’t be possible.
She had used the
diaphragm. She lay back and touched her stomach, which was noticeably swollen
and bloated. She touched her face in frustration, dry washing it with her
hands. What could she do? What would Jonathan do? She tried to imagine having a
baby. Starting over. She was too old for it—not physically—emotionally. The
crying. The diapers. The rebellion. The tempers.
I can’t do it, no way
,
she told herself, then quickly rubbed her stomach again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean
that,” she whispered to her belly.

She rolled over and
grabbed the furry stuffed bunny on the bed, tucking it against her stomach.
Why?
Why now?
She lay back. Would Jonathan be happy? Perhaps he would be
excited, supportive even. But he’s sixty-one. How could he be happy? How could
any man his age? He’d be eighty when the child would start college. Impossible.
Ellen examined her options.

Have the baby and
keep it. No—maybe. Have the baby and give it up. No—maybe.

Abort. No—never.

She sat up.
But
what if I’m not pregnant? This might be a mistake, a false alarm.
She
reached for her appointment book and called her clinic to book a pregnancy
test, and hopefully, within a few days, she would know for certain and know
what fate her future held. She stood and looked in the mirror. Her breasts were
firm and full, but they had been like that since she switched into this body.
Her belly did seem firm and bloated, but that might be her period starting. How
could she know how regular Sam was? Ellen certainly had never been regular,
often missing weeks at a time. She was rubbing her stomach when Sienna walked
past.

Ellen called out,
“Hey, where have you been hiding?”

“Steve’s place. I’m
so in love. He’s the one—hey, congrats on the upcoming divorce.”

“Yeah, it’s great.”
Ellen sat down. “Just one hitch.”

“Oh God, not the
wife again.”

“No, worse. I think
I might be pregnant.”

“No!” Sienna stepped
into the room covering her mouth with her hand. “Oh Sam, no.”

Ellen lay back and
held the ridiculous bunny again. “I can’t imagine what to do.”

“Have you tested?”

“No. I go tomorrow
and get the results on Friday. I’ll just drive myself crazy until then.”

“That sucks.” Sienna
turned to leave. “Hey, I have a pregnancy test, wanna try?”

Ellen sat up. “Are
they accurate?”

Sienna shrugged and
made a puzzled frown. “Pretty good, I guess.”

With nothing to
lose, Ellen followed Sienna into her bedroom and watched as Sienna opened her
bathroom cabinet and rummaged for the box. “I have to run,” Sienna said, as she
handed the box to Ellen. “We have tickets to the game and I won’t be back for a
few days. Hey, good luck.” Sienna gave Ellen a hug and left.

Ellen heard the
front door slam and closed the bathroom door. “Please be no,” she pleaded to
the box. “Please, be no.” She opened the wrapper and read the directions.

“Add three drops of
urine into the test tube, add contents of the plastic vial, shake ten seconds,
place tube in holder and leave undisturbed for two hours.”

She reread the
instructions aloud, then followed every step and put the test tube into its
special holder and sat watching
 …
wondering,
driving herself crazy, staring at the test tube, waiting for that little circle
to not appear. Unable to read a book or do anything else while waiting, after
two hours of grueling avoidance, she finally looked at the tube.

For a moment, she
felt a burst of joy.
A baby!
A soft, cuddly bundle of love and—then—the
truth. Reality suddenly inundated her happy thoughts, wiping away any illusion
of motherhood. Her heart sank as she stared at the brown ring that confirmed
her biggest fear.

She thought of her
own children, her struggles to be a perfect mother, the stress and worry of
being a parent, of everything. She toyed with the test tube absentmindedly as
she questioned if motherhood was actually worth it. Here she was now, without
her children. She missed them. But did they ever miss her?

Her mind reeled back
to when Brianna was born, a little baby so innocent and pure, full of love. No
one could have predicted the challenges that lay ahead or convinced her that
she would ever doubt her love for her children. She could see Brianna, her
pigtails and curls, and Brandon, his long lashes and soft cheeks. Her heart
longed for them. She missed them. She had missed them for the better part of
twenty years, which was when she last felt they loved her. Somehow, the love
had slowly slipped away, before she had realized it happened. Ellen tried to
imagine what she might have done different. How could she have had their love
forever? What would have worked? Ellen touched her belly and wished she knew the
answer to everything.

***

Two days later, the
call from the doctor’s office officially confirmed her fear—Ellen was pregnant.
She sat staring at the picture of Jonathan in Samantha’s wallet. Should she
tell him now or wait? She wanted to wait, she imagined waiting, but he would
eventually find out. He would certainly know when she showed, when she could no
longer hide the truth, and then he would wonder why all the secrecy. He would
think it was to trap him. Delaying, for whatever reason, would only hurt her
relationship with him. Honesty would be best.

She pushed away the
thought that she wasn’t being honest telling him that she’s not actually
Samantha. How could she? He wouldn’t believe it anyway. The truth was, he barely
noticed a difference between them. He treated her as Samantha and Samantha as
Ellen, regardless of what they thought or felt. They were the bodies they
inhabited, nothing more. Ellen suddenly felt completely invisible, as if
standing in the midst of a crowd and no one could see her, not even the person
she trusted most in the world. Was she really just a body? Why couldn’t he tell
the difference?

Her thoughts
vanished as she stared at the phone. Ignoring the knot twisting in her stomach,
she dialed Jonathan’s number, unsure just what he would say about the baby.

“Sam, darling. I
need to see you. I have news.”

“So do I.” Ellen
held her breath hoping he wouldn’t ask.

“Let’s meet at The
Rainbow Room, say six-thirty tonight?”

Ellen hung the phone
back onto the cradle and sat for a moment, wondering what his news was.
Something good, she prayed. Let this be good news for a change.

***

Ellen sat facing
Jonathan in the historic Rainbow Room on the sixty-fifth floor of the
Rockefeller Plaza. The table between them was like a barrier. She wanted to be
close to him, touching him as she broke her news; instead, four feet of crisp
white linen and crystal glasses separated them. She nestled her foot against
his ankle.

“I’m happy to see
you.” He reached for her hand and smiled, looking into her eyes.

A wave of relief
covered her. “I am very happy, too,” she said, returning his smile.

He banged the table
with his fist. “Well, I’ve done it. I’ve officially filed for divorce and I’ve
told Ellen.” He kissed her hand. “Thank you for being patient, my love,” he
said, then he pulled a box from his jacket pocket. The Tiffany box. “Samantha
Miller, will you marry me?”

“Oh yes, yes. Of
course,” she said, as he opened the box. “I’m so happy.”

He reached for her
hand and slipped the ring on her finger. A perfect fit. “We can get married in
six months, officially.”

“Jonathan, that’s
wonderful.” She admired the dazzling emerald cut diamond, now hers.

“And you can get
back to your planning. I think we should have a big wedding—the grandest,” he
said, motioning for the waiter.

“Oh yes, we’ll
invite everyone.”

“Whatever you want
my love,” he said kissing her hand again. The sommelier arrived and took
Jonathan’s wine order.

“How are Brianna and
Brandon dealing with the news?”

“Upset. But they’ll
get over it—they’re adults now.”

Ellen pulled her
hands away. “I don’t want them to hate me.”

Jonathan leaned back
and let out a laugh. “It’s too late for that, my dear.” He took his glasses off
and tucked them back into the breast pocket of his jacket, then leaned forward.
“Don’t worry, in time they will love you like I do, or at the very least,
they’ll accept you.”

Ellen stared out
toward the quivering city lights hovering below the evening skyline. She tried
to imagine her children accepting his new wife, younger than themselves. A new
wife, who in one instant would steal all the inheritance rightfully theirs. “Of
course, they would resent me—they’d hate me.” Ellen smoothed her napkin. “And
Ellen—how is she?”

“Fragile. Frankly,
she’s a mess. She goes on and on and just won’t deal with reality. She says the
craziest things. I honestly believe she would be a danger to both herself and
to you if she weren’t locked away.”

“She wouldn’t hurt
me
 …
I’m quite sure of it.”

“Don’t be so sure.
Remember, she hired the private eye. I thought about how much she hates you and
all the things she’s said. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had hired him to try
to find a way to hurt you, physically, I mean.”

“No,” Ellen said,
unconvinced as the sommelier returned to prepare the wine. She imagined all
kinds of sordid attempts that Samantha might try, while she sat and impatiently
watched the sommelier perform his methodical ritual.

As the sommelier
poured the wine, Ellen imagined Sam planning some absurd scenario.
Oh, she could
all right, that little selfish vixen was capable of anything.
“She wouldn’t
try it, would she?” Ellen asked after the man finally left.

“Yes, that’s why
she’s so damn paranoid about someone hurting her. Dr. Sutton agrees. And the
way she keeps doctoring up this crazy hit story, she may begin to think I am
behind it.”

“You?”

“Relax. I’m not
 …
not at all. But she’s so unstable.
Dr. Sutton fears she may start to accuse me and make up all kinds of absurd
lies. That would really make a mess of everything.”

“Does she have
reason to?”

“Hell, yes! All the
money. If she could prove I contracted a hit on her, I would get nothing in the
divorce. Zero. Trust me
 …
it’s
for everyone’s benefit that she stays in there.”

“For how long?”

“Don’t worry,
darling,” he held her hand again. “I can keep her in there for a long time.”

“It isn’t right,
keeping her locked away,” Ellen lied, squeezing his hand for effect.

“What? Why?” He let
go of her hand. “But I’m doing this for you, for us.”

“I know, but your
children must hate to see their mother locked away. They’ll hate you and
they’ll hate me even more.”

Jonathan shrugged.
“I’ve done everything for them. They judge me and have a list a mile long of
why I’ve failed them. They have a list for Ellen, too. Frankly, I’m tired of all
of it.” He toyed with his knife. “After the heart attack, I thought a lot about
my life, you know, why I’m here, what my purpose is and all that.” Ellen sat
silent, as he continued. “And I came to the conclusion that my purpose now is
to be happy. I did my tour of duty for forty years. I raised my kids. I honored
my wife by staying in a loveless, sexless marriage. Now, it’s my turn. I’ve
earned it. I’m going to be selfish for the first time in my life. And
 …
I’m going to be happy.” He kissed
her hand again. “With you—you make me happy. We can both live happily ever
after and to hell with all of them.” Jonathan let out a laugh.

Ellen shook her
head.
Loveless marriage! Forty years of love and devotion and he calls it
loveless. He was the unloving, loveless partner.
She loved him more than he
deserved. Loveless!

“You don’t look
happy. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Ellen
tried to remain calm. “It’s just
 …
I
thought you had a loving marriage. I thought, in spite of everything, you and
Ellen did love each other. She certainly loved you.”

A look of confusion
broke across his smiling face. “We did. I was exaggerating. We did love each
other once—hell, we were great in the beginning. Everything changed so slowly
that I never even noticed, then it seemed too late to fix. I am capable of love
and devotion, if that’s what worries you.”

“A bit.”

“Samantha Miller, I
pledge to love, honor and cherish you all the years of my life, in good times
and in bad, through sickness, health and all that jazz, okay?” He picked up his
wine glass. “A toast. To new beginnings.”

She raised her glass
and looked into his eyes. “To new beginnings.”

“To a life of love
and happiness,” he said, clinking her glass.

They clinked their
glasses together and took a sip of wine. “You are the best thing to happen to
me,” he said, as he set his glass down.

Ellen blushed. She
was feeling dizzy with pleasure as joy rose up, radiating out from every inch
of her body. “I love you, Jonathan. I always have. I feel so
 …
relieved. I was worried.”

“Nothing to worry about.
Everything will be great, just great.”

Ellen took another
sip of wine then stopped.
No alcohol.
She pushed her glass away.

“Something wrong
with the wine?”

“There’s something I
need to tell you.” Ellen sat back and took a deep breath. She hesitated for a
moment, then exhaled slowly and looked into his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”