What is Love? (15 page)

She tried to imagine
what he had chosen for her. She had mentioned wanting a pink sapphire ring, but
that was a long time ago. In any case, it had been a long time since he showed
any interest in gifts for her. Besides, today was a day to be enjoyed—in spite
of Patty’s upsetting accusations—a beautiful cloudless day with warm, clear
air. The city in June was glorious, with blue and pink hydrangeas bursting from
planter boxes and a deepening of the vivid green leaves on the trees that lined
the streets and parks.

The doorman nodded
as she walked past rows of glossy ebonized sycamore and striped Macassar wood
showcases filled with lavish treasures, glittering like fractured sunlight on
water. She walked to the back counter where a young gentleman in a well-made
suit stood attentively.

“I’m Mrs. Horvath. I
have a ring to pick up.”

“Mrs. Horvath, yes,
one moment.” The attractive gentlemen ducked into an office.

He reappeared with a
little blue box. Ellen stood in breathless anticipation as he opened the box. A
flash of light sparkled as a glorious emerald-cut diamond set in platinum
greeted her.

“It’s beautiful,”
Ellen said as she reached for the ring. It had to be at least four carats,
perhaps five. She held it out and admired the cut and design, a beautiful
diamond with rising pave on each side. She looked at the engraving inside, then
reached for her reading glasses and read, “Eternal love JW.” Ellen’s heart
quickened as she slipped the ring onto her finger. She tried to push the ring
past her knuckle as the manager approached the counter.

“It’s too small,”
Ellen said. “It needs to be sized correctly.” Ellen handed the ring back.

“But it has already
been sized,” the young clerk said and checked the size on the tag. Then he
slipped the ring onto a sizing cone. “See, a size six.”

“You’ve obviously
made a mistake and reversed the size, for I am a nine on that finger. The
engraving will probably need to be redone.”

“I need a word,” the
manager said rather sternly to the young clerk. “Please excuse us, Mrs.
Horvath,” he said, with a tight smile.

“Certainly.” They
slipped into the office, and in their absence, Ellen admired the beautiful ring
set halfway up her finger. As she studied the play of light, she noticed the
annoying age spots on her hands were getting worse and would need a lot of
bleaching cream before the trip.

After a few minutes,
the manager appeared, followed by the young clerk.

“Mrs. Horvath, I’m
sorry, there’s been some confusion.”

Ellen put her hand
down onto the counter. “Oh?”

“Yes, this is not
your ring. We do not have anything for you. I regret the call was in error.”
The manager held out his hand as the clerk turned away, his cheeks now crimson.

“Well, that is a
shame, I rather liked this one.” Ellen handed the ring back. The young clerk
placed it back in the box, his eyes downcast the entire time.

“So, where’s my
ring?”

“That is the error,
Mrs. Horvath. I’m sorry, but we haven’t any ring for you.”

“An error? No, I was
told I had a ring to pick up.”

“No. There is
nothing. We could—”

“Check again,” she
demanded as embarrassment blazed across the manager’s face.

“I said, check
again. I want to see my ring.”

“Madam, there’s been
a mistake. You understand we can’t—” he pleaded.

“But the
inscription. You must have a ring for me. You phoned me.” Ellen’s voice rose
with agitation. “Look, here
 …”
She
pulled the order slip and held it out. “Here is Jonathan’s signature, and here,
that’s our account number.” Ellen looked at the two of them, their sheepish
expression and suddenly grasped the problem. “Oh wait, is this because it’s
supposed to be a surprise?” Ellen smiled with relief. “I won’t say a word.” She
winked, delighted at their secrecy.

They stood gaping,
unable to speak as they wrestled to find their voices. Finally, the manager
said, “There is no surprise, I’m afraid. I regret our policy doesn’t allow us
to discuss other purchases. Please, accept my apologies for the error on our
behalf. Perhaps you wish to purchase something on your husband’s account. We
will offer you a ten percent discount for any inconvenience this caused you.”

Ellen turned away,
suddenly aware of exactly why they were denying knowledge of any ring. She knew
all about their confidentiality policy. Her body stiffened with disgust as the
reality of the engraving came into light. “Of course
 …
the ring isn’t for me. That’s it, isn’t it?”

They both stood
silently avoiding the question, unsure how to answer. “You see, the truth is
Mrs. Horvath, we have no ring for you or anyone. Your husband did not order any
rings.”

Ellen studied his
face as he spoke. He shifted his eyes away from her gaze and struggled to stand
still.
Liar,
she wanted to scream. Her anger rose as she pictured the
scene of Jonathan and Samantha standing together, picking out rings. Her
insides began to churn as her body started to tremble. This was the end. This
was everything she was afraid of. She wanted to scream—to lash out at someone,
and nothing could stop her from exploding in rage.

Then she spotted
Mrs. Z standing across from her at the Sclumberger display case. Ellen’s face
flushed with heat. She nodded and smiled toward Mrs. Z in acknowledgment and
Mrs. Z smiled approvingly in return. She tried to calm her rage.

“It’s fine,” she
said in a soft voice and smiled sweetly at the clerk and manager. “I know all
about this ring. It’s for my daughter,” she lied. “She’s engaged and of all
coincidences, his name is
 …
Jordan
West. My darling husband wants to pay for the ring. She’s so excited, but this
is a surprise for her.” Ellen forced an artificial laugh. “I understand your
confidentiality policy, of course I do. We can just keep this between us.”

They looked stunned
as she picked up the ring box and opened it again. She held the ring out,
studying it, before slipping it on her little finger. She held it up to the
light, then took it off and handed the ring and the box back to them. “I’m sure
she will love it.”

The manager placed
the ring into the box. “Please excuse me. Good afternoon.”

Ellen nodded and
watched him slither into the office. She turned to the young clerk, who
appeared relieved by his departure. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Horvath,” he whispered.

Ellen nodded and
smiled. “She’s a very lucky girl, to have a ring like that, and so young.”

“Oh yes,” he said
unable to hide his pride. He leaned close and whispered, “I helped her with it,
she was very pleased and so was he.”

“Mr. Horvath?”

“Yes, he said she
could have whatever she wanted, no price limit.”

“Of course, he’s
good like that.” Ellen’s brittle anger resurfaced. She looked at his name
badge. “Brad, let’s pick something out for me, for the mother of the bride.
Something horribly expensive. How about I come in next week and we design
something truly special.”

Bradley nodded just
as Mrs. Z approached. “Ellen, I couldn’t help noticing the lovely ring you were
admiring, a gift from Jonathan?”

“Yes,” Ellen said,
winking at Bradley. “He certainly knows how to spoil his ladies.”

As Ellen said
goodbye and walked through the counters, her rage returned with full force.

She stepped outside.
In the sudden brightness of sunlight, she was fully aware that it was over and
she had lost, and nothing in her life would ever be the same again.

And in that instant,
everything she knew, everything she loved, everything she held dear had slipped
away. With one swift blow, she was left standing alone, unable to do anything
at all to fix it. She had failed
 …
and
now, would lose everything that mattered.

***

Ellen marched in the
reception area of Baumann and Mackenzie. She pushed the double doors open and
headed into Roger’s office. He was on the phone, his back to the door when she
burst in.

“Roger, what is
going on? I demand to know.” Ellen stood with her arms folded.

Roger spun around
“Ellen? Excuse me Fred—I’ll get back to you in twenty minutes.”

“This will only take
five—is Jonathan filing a divorce action?”

“Now Ellen, you know
client confidentiality won’t allow—”

“Roger, I am also
your client. If my name is on that divorce summons, I have just as much right
to know. And I need to know—now!”

“Ellen, this is not
for—”

“Damn it Roger! Just
tell me.”

Roger stared at her.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping on the leather armrests.

“If you say nothing,
I’ll assume that I face being served a divorce summons in the next thirty
days.” Ellen moved closer. “If I’m not, you could easily put my mind at ease.”

Roger sat in
silence. Ellen prayed for him to speak, prayed he would tell her it’s all a
lie, a big mistake. The silence hung heavy as she waited, for what seemed an
endless amount of time.

“I’m sorry, Ellen.”

The words “I’m
sorry, Ellen” told her all she needed to know. They cut into her deeper than
any knife. It was underway, and Jonathan had been plotting this all along. She
stood motionless as despair circled around her, pulling her down until she
grabbed the back of the chair beside her for support.

“My God,” she cried
aloud, unable to concentrate. “How can this be?”

“Ellen, it’s just
the preliminary stage, these things take time to reach an amicable—”

“Stop!” Ellen held
her hand up to shush him. “You’re pitiful and heartless, don’t you dare speak
another word.” Ellen stared at Roger for a moment, then turned and walked
calmly to the door. The handle was cold and slippery as she opened the door,
and her head pounded as blood forced pressure on every vein in her body.

Jonathan was
actually doing this. He wanted a divorce and even without her consent, he would
eventually win. She was finished. For the first time in her life, she no longer
wanted to live. For the first time in her life, she felt unbearable pain and
wanted nothing more than for it end.

Sam flipped through
the bridal magazines on her desk. She wanted to phone her mother and tell her,
but she knew it would be better to wait until it was all completely official.
Her fingers traced over the pages filled with creamy dresses and designer dreams.
She had secretly planned to marry Jonathan all along, but now that she was so
close, it was different—it was real. She wished Jonathan would hurry up with
the divorce so she could start booking everything. Having to wait would be
painful, but it was only a matter of time before everything she’d ever dreamed
of would be hers. For the first time in her life, Sam felt secure about her
future. She smiled and opened her phone list and dialed the number.

“Good morning,
Waldorf Astoria, how may I be of service?” the cheery voice said smoothly, with
mega sophistication.

“I need to talk to
someone about using the large ballroom for a very big wedding,” Sam said,
trying to imitate the woman’s formal style. Sam grinned as the on-hold music
played, Pachelbel’s Canon, the music every bride dreams to hear on her wedding
day.

As Sam listened to
the slow, pulsating melody, she could see herself walking gracefully down a
long, flower-edged aisle, in an expensive designer gown and a church filled
with hundreds of important people, and all to the sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon.

***

Ellen stood in front
of her bedroom window, looking out toward the garden, as wind raged through the
trees. It was true. Her world was on the brink of annihilation and not a thing
could be done to stop it. She walked to her bed and sat, staring out toward the
heavy gray sky, as despair washed over her again. No time left for any other
drastic measures, short of killing Samantha Miller.

Guilt and horror
shot through her at even thinking that. How could she imagine such a despicable
act? No, she couldn’t actually think of it—yet she wished her gone and wanted
her out of her life more than ever. What could she actually do? Was there
really a possible way to eliminate her? She thought about how Morty had come up
empty in his investigation. What if he knew someone who could scare her, get
her to move on, or …
Stop it. You can’t. Don’t even think about it.

Ellen went to her
desk and sat, staring into the gilt mirror mounted on the wall in front of her.
Her face appeared harsh under the overhead light. She touched her cheek,
thinking about how, as women age, beauty slowly fades and turns into something
else. Refinement. Class. Nobility. Gone forever is the untamed beauty of a
sexcat. Instead, the lusciousness mellows. Tempers. Softens. And at the same
time, a harshness emerges in the new folds and ridges. The plump, firm vitality
of youth slips into maternal comforts and thinning hair, broken veins,
discoloration, crepe paper skin.

I’m soft in
places that used to be firm and harsh in places that were once, soft. Time
keeps etching deeper into my skin and body, stealing my youth, replacing it
with worn-out parts. Jonathan accused me of being harsh and lacking compassion
for his needs. Am I harsh? Have I lost my youth completely? Am I a bitter,
demanding and resentful woman? A shrew?

Ellen turned away
and pulled her box of monogrammed stationery out of the desk drawer. She
thought about writing Jonathan a letter. Perhaps she should write one to
Samantha as well. She reached for the pen and noticed a business card in the
drawer from the psychic, the crazy woman from their corporate party. She picked
up the card and remembered her words, “I can help you,” she had said. “I can do
something no one else can.” What could she do? It seemed completely ridiculous
to simply “hold the thought of what you want” and take an unknown herb— yet
what if Crystal Dawn really did have something that worked?

The end of her
marriage would be the end of love, the end of everything. She loved Jonathan
and always would. Ellen had reached the edge. She needed something to happen
that could salvage her marriage and her life. She thought of the bottles Patty
had given her at lunch. The crazy plan could save her marriage; it had worked
for other women. It was up to her now. She needed to take control.

She went to her desk
and flipped through her appointment calendar, searching for instructions from
her doctor visit. She noticed all the upcoming events, events that she would
not be attending after he left her. So many places to go together. She shut the
book and stared at the psychic’s business card, wishing she had tried the herb.
Too late. Patty had already tossed them.

Ellen opened her
purse and took out the two bottles of powder Patty had given her at lunch.
The
desperation cures.
Each offered a promise of hope. Each held a potential
for disaster. With such uncertain outcomes, could one be any better than the
other? She looked at her wedding picture. The only real certainty she had was
that if she didn’t act, it was over.

She studied the
bottles again. Both had side effects. Both were dangerous. One held a specific
outcome—a dangerous illness that would merit sympathy but would take a long
time to develop, and the other—a more uncertain outcome depending on his
reaction toward suicide, but had the benefit of immediacy. Both held promise.
Both would keep him home and stop the divorce—even if only temporarily. Time
was no longer her ally. No—suddenly and without warning, time had turned into
her enemy, and these powders were her only defense.

She sat at her desk
and stared at each one.
How to decide?
A part of her did not know what
Jonathan would do if she were actually sick. Would he actually respond by
caring? Would illness be enough to make him see what is most important?

And suicide! How
could she imagine that anyone would believe she was capable of suicide? It was
absurd. And God would punish her. But was it only wrong if you succeeded?

As Ellen sat
deciding, the sky had grown dim, causing the automatic outdoor lights to turn
on. She reached for a pen and started to write a note. This would be an
explanation of her desperate action, in case something was to go wrong. But
what could go wrong? She had no idea what possibilities lay before her. She only
knew she couldn’t continue without any possibilities. She wrote the note trying
to explain the futility of her life, the despair Jonathan caused, her inability
to endure any more of it, and her decision to attempt one last desperate
measure to keep him.

She folded it,
tucking it inside her drawer, in a place no one would ever look, unless—unless
she wasn’t around—and then he would find it, he would know. He would understand
just how much she was willing to risk to fight for his love and their future together.

Ellen stared at the
glass of water and the two vials. The only real question remaining was, which
one to take? Ellen opened each bottle and looked at the powder inside. They
both looked like soft, white crystalline dust—a combination of sand and sea
salt. Yet one powder sparkled more. Did it hold a greater potential for
happiness, a greater potential for the promise of love—his love? She took the
other vial and hid it inside the shoebox on her desk, then picked up the decoy
suicide pill bottles the doctor had given her. These would be the prescriptions
that Jonathan and everyone would think she had overdosed on. She tossed the
empty decoy bottles onto the floor and then lifted the vial of chosen powder,
staring at it as she held it up to the light. “Please help me,” she asked
aloud. “Please work.”

She walked to her
bed and poured the powder into a glass of water, then sat as the powder
dispersed in colorful swirls and clouds. She set the glass down on the
nightstand and picked up the shoebox containing the unchosen vial, walked over
to her closet, then stepped up onto her stool and replaced her shoebox amongst
the many others lining her shelves. Then she went to her nightstand, picked up
the empty vial and carried it into the washroom, rinsed it, and tossed it into
the trash. She turned and went to her bed, sat on its edge and picked up the
spoon and glass, stirring until the liquid turned an amber color.

Should she pray?
Would that help her?

“Forgive me, Father,
for I am doing something wrong to make something right. The wrong I am doing is
small compared to the right that I am fixing. I am doing this in your name, in
the name of the union you blessed that no man should dissolve. I am doing this
for him, for Jonathan. I am doing this to save him from himself, and I am doing
this for love, our everlasting love.” Ellen pulled her bible out of the
nightstand and set it on her lap, solidifying her pledge.

“Please God, help
this to work. Help me to reverse this mess and have him love me,” she continued
aloud. “Help me to be happy again, as Samantha is happy now. Help me to feel
the joy and happiness of his love and devotion.” Ellen finished her prayer with
a sign of the cross and raised her glass.

She looked at the
hazy iridescent water and saw hope. She could see potential pleasure awaiting
her within the amber clouds swirling in the glass, and her fear, now replaced
with a vision of her future, a bright and luminous future, full of radiant love
and warmth.

She took a small sip
and let the cool liquid slide down her throat.
Not too bad,
she thought,
not disgusting or bitter.
She took bigger sips until she finished. As
she set the glass down onto her nightstand, a chalky, gritty residue coated her
tongue. She smiled as she wiped her lips.
This is it—my future is saved. I
am about to create a new future filled with love.

Ellen pushed the
empty glass toward the edge of the nightstand and sat on the bed. The room grew
dim and shadowy and her head started to pulsate, a slow, throbbing pain. She
felt hot as her heart raced. A wave of nausea swept over her, starting at her
head and swiftly blanketing her entire body until she could no longer sit
upright. She fell back. Her mind wandered to Samantha Miller. To be like
Samantha. To have what Samantha has. To be young and beautiful like her. For
Samantha to experience her pain, see the depths of her pain, despair, and
loneliness.

Visions of Jonathan
telling Ellen he loved her seeped into her mind, so real, so comforting, as it
was before, when they were happy.
I will have happiness and love again, just
like Samantha. Just like when I was young and Jonathan adored me.

As she lay back, the
room grew dark and shadows moved across the walls and furniture. The floor
began tilting until it appeared to slide sideways. Her heart beat faster. Her
body shook with violent tremors, and as the room spun, anger rose within her.
Ellen reached for the phone that lay beside her, but her arms were numb. She
wanted to call 911 but couldn’t move.

The shaking
continued and she knew this wasn’t right. In her chest, in her heart, a sharp
stabbing pain surged, seizing her, until finally, after endless minutes, it was
numbed by a cool flooding sensation.

Something was
wrong
. She wanted to stop, but it was too late.

Am I dying?
Her body was now lifeless and immobile. She tried to concentrate but couldn’t.
She tried to pray, but her mind was nothing but hazy, isolated fragments. She
slipped gently into unconsciousness.

She dreamed of
Jonathan. She dreamed of love. She dreamed of happiness. Ellen slipped between
consciousness and unconsciousness. She was somewhere between the dark and the
light, between good and evil. Strange images appeared—colors, shapes, lights
blending into a kaleidoscope of memories and images that raced fast-forward
through her ever-expanding mind.

She felt detached
from her body. Floating upward, effortlessly, toward a sense of pleasure. Her
body, now filled with this intense joy expanded until a light started to fill
her, a warm bathing light. She wanted to stay in this light forever, bask
eternally in its glory.

Then suddenly, a
cold darkness covered her, extinguishing the light.