What is Love? (33 page)

She pushed her
potatoes around her plate, smashing them together with the vegetables into a
noxious clump. They were dry and difficult to swallow. She glanced out the
window to the darkening sky. Large, charcoal clouds formed angry patterns that
streaked across the horizon in jagged shards. She could hear the distant rumble
of thunder.

Sam stopped eating
and went to the window. She pulled the lace curtains back and watched as a
lightning bolt ripped across the sky. As it did, her stomach twisted and
tightened.

Sam went back to
eat, but could only stare at her food. What lay ahead for her? What if Jonathan
did divorce her and leave her with no money as he had planned? For weeks now,
she stashed jewelry into her safety box—
but how long would that last?
She
sat, trying to imagine her chances on her own. After all the surgery, men still
didn’t seem to notice her. Never in her life had men ignored her. Being
beautiful always granted her admission, always guaranteed her success. She
realized how much she relied on her looks to get her way and use people. For
the first time in her life, she realized how hopeless being old really was. It
was painful. She pushed the plate away in disgust.

Sam tried to imagine
meeting other men. No one seemed interested in her. Young men wouldn’t even
look at her, and most old men ignored her or laughed behind her back at her
immaturity, making fun of her. Was it any wonder—a young sexy girl trapped in
an old body? How else should she behave? Not like the other old woman, all
cranky and stuffy, that’s for sure. But that only made them hate her. She knew
they were laughing at her, their favorite joke.

If only Jonathan
were the way he had been before. He had adored her. He treated her with
respect, and made others respect her as well. Now he wouldn’t even touch her.
He treated her worse than she ever imagined. Did he hate her?

She had ruined
everything. No one respected her—no woman wanted to be seen with her. She had
alienated herself from everyone and had no idea how to fix any of it. Even her
so-called children were no comfort; they seemed too busy with their own lives
to bother with her. Patty was the only person she ever talked to lately.

Sam got up from the
table to phone Patty. As she walked to the study, her stomach cramped again.
Sam stopped and braced herself by leaning against the wall and waited for the
pain to stop. It continued in sharper spasms. She staggered to the sofa as the
razor-sharp jabs of pain pulsed within her. Whatever she ate—she was about to
pay. Sam tried to lay back but the pain intensified, causing her to lean
forward and wrap her arms around her stomach, holding it. She cried out in
anguish.

Her head was
suddenly light and a seasick feeling swept over her, setting her off balance
and dizzy. The reality of her illness became clear. Sam headed toward the
bathroom, but not before she threw up all over the marble floor. She collapsed
to her knees and vomited again. The pain intensified. She cried out in agony as
Maria came running out from the kitchen.

“Señora! Oh,
Señora!” she cried.

“Maria, oh
 …
I
 …
help me to the bathroom
 …
hurry!”

Maria helped Sam to
her feet and they stepped through the vomit as Sam raced to the bathroom. She
barely made it before the other end exploded
 …
purging itself of built-up pain. Both ends suffering in miserable
unison. Sam leaned over and moaned. Maria grabbed the garbage can just as Sam
retched again. Maria stood for a few moments, waiting.

“God, call an
ambulance! I’m going to pass out if I have to barf again,” Sam moaned.

Maria slipped away.
Sam wanted to curl up, but couldn’t. Sweat made her blouse stick to her back
and chest. She wanted to die. As Sam sat staring at the remains of her dinner
in the slosh of the wastebasket, she thought about what could have made her
ill. Chunks of bright green floated on the surface of the vomit. The sight and
smell sickened her, the cramping and gagging intensifying. Sam couldn’t leave
the toilet. She wanted to lie down and die.

After what felt like
an hour but was less than ten minutes, she heard the siren.
God, now what?
She couldn’t let them see her like this.
Think!
But she couldn’t think
past the pain, her brain was hazy and as unresponsive as her body. She tried to
stand, but the room spun around her and she collapsed onto the floor, her
panties and pants still around her ankles. The floor was cold and wet, smelling
nasty—she lay there, paralyzed, immobile. The sound of paramedics rushing in
with their tackle boxes and tight uniforms should have been welcome, but was
instead, under the circumstances
 …
mortifying.

“Can you stand?” one
of the paramedics asked.
Of course, he was good-looking.
Sam tried to
smile, but he kept a serious face, avoiding any eye contact.

“No,” Sam said, in a
voice so feeble, it was barely a whisper. “That’s why I’m licking the floor.”
She tried unsuccessfully to laugh.

He helped her to her
feet and set her back on the toilet seat, putting a blood pressure band on her
arm. “We can wait until it settles a bit,” he said reassuringly, then stood and
faced away while he pumped the band. To her horror and disgust, she got sick
one more time. Her head felt light, too light
 …
and airy. She closed her eyes as stars and flashes danced before her,
then a black screen wiped everything away.

***

The next thing Sam
knew, she was in the hospital with an IV in her arm. She saw Patty standing
over her. “How long have I been out?”

“A few hours. You
sure had us worried.” Patty rubbed her arm affectionately.

“Was it food
poisoning?” Sam asked in a broken voice as her throat burned.

“It appears to be. A
bad case of salmonella or something, I imagine.”

Sam tried to sit up.
Her stomach hurt more than after the tummy tuck.

“Get some sleep.
You’ve been through a lot. Your blood pressure dropped so fast, lucky you
called the medics. You could have died of shock.”

“She died from
barfing.” Sam smiled. “What a way to go. The society pages would eat that up!”

Patty laughed,
shaking her head from side to side. “Well, I would miss you.”

Sam flashed back to
a conversation about dying with Rory, her mother and Bob. They had joked about
how to put a hit on Ellen. Her stomach twisted. “Could I really have died?”

“Yes, if you had
gone into shock.”

Patty leaned over
and kissed Sam on the cheek. “You get some rest. I’ll come by and see you
tomorrow, that is, if Jonathan can’t come to get you.”

Sam waved a limp
goodbye and leaned back against the pillow. They had talked about a poisoning.
Rory saw it on TV or something. Her mom, Bob and Rory—they all talked about it.
They were driving and laughing about how it would solve all of her problems
with Johnny. Get rid of the wife and he gets everything. Sam felt her chest
tighten. It hadn’t occurred to her that they would even consider it. But what
if all the methods that they talked about and laughed about that night were
true, and they did plan something? Her head hurt as she tried to remember the
details of their conversation. If so, then she was in danger, big danger, and
how could she stop it?

Don’t be so
paranoid,
she scolded herself.
It was just a joke
.
We were all
drunk and it was a big joke.
She hoped she was wrong, but couldn’t shake
the feeling, the sick sense that this was no mere accident, that someone was up
to no good—completely unaware of precisely who they were now hurting.

***

It was late when
Jonathan arrived at the hospital. She smiled as Jonathan leaned over and kissed
her cheek. “You had us worried,” he said and gently squeezed her hand. “Feeling
better?”

“Yes, much. Still
weak though—and my stomach still hurts.”

“What did you eat?”

“Salad, chicken and
potatoes. Maria made them,” Sam added.

“Must have been the
chicken,” he said as he pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

“Can they tell? You
know, do tests?”

Jonathan shrugged.
“I guess. Why bother?”

“I want to know what
it was.”

“What difference
does it make?”

“A lot. If Maria did
something, I want to know,” Sam demanded.

“You can’t think
it’s Maria’s fault?”

“She cooked it.”

“Yes, so she cooked
it. It happens sometimes, nothing to get alarmed about.” He patted her hand
with reassuring condescension.

Sam pulled away.
“She poisoned me!”

“Calm down. She
didn’t mean to. It was a mistake.”

“I want her fired!”
Sam yelled, crossing her arms.

“Ellen. You’re
overreacting—let’s talk tomorrow—”

“No! I thought about
it all evening, I want her gone. I don’t trust her.”

“She’s been with us
sixteen years. You’re joking
 …”

“Johnny, I know you
won’t understand, but someone may be trying to kill me.”

“To kill you?” His
face tightened, making him look old and cranky. “Ellen? What are you saying?”
He shook his head. “Why, that’s ludicrous, come now—” He put his hand on her
arm.

Sam pulled it away.
“No. I don’t know for sure—but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“And who is doing
this?”

“It’s her—her family
or her friends
 …
Rory maybe.”

Jonathan laughed and
stood. “I’m going to pretend I never heard that. You may change your mind
overnight, when you realize just how crazy that sounds. You should rest.”

“I’m not crazy.” Sam
crossed her arms again.

Jonathan leaned over
and kissed her cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Ellen,” he said, patting her
shoulder like a puppy. “When your head has cleared and you are feeling yourself
again.”

A doctor in green
scrubs appeared, pulling the curtain around them. “You’ve had quite the scare.
I see your electrolytes were dangerously low. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes, but I think
you need to check to see about the poison. I want to know what kind.”

Jonathan touched her
arm. “Darling, let them do their job.”

“But what happened
 …
I could have died, right?”

“In certain cases,
but thankfully, you’re fine. Going into shock is always dangerous. It’s even
more dangerous because it appears you overtook your diet pills and calcium. We
need to screen you for diabetes, as your blood sugars are very high. I think
you must avoid exercise for at least two months until we get your blood sugars
under control and your prescriptions set.”

“Great. How can I
ever get rid of this blubbery fat suit?”

“I’m increasing your
medication for your blood pressure pills but no more diet pills. They’re hard
on your heart as well as being powerful diuretics. We didn’t find any unusual
amounts of bacteria in your blood work.”

“But you did find
some, bacteria that is?”

“Yes, but not enough
to be concerned.”

“But you found
some?” Sam looked at Jonathan. “See, I told you.”

The doctor closed
the file and took his leave.

“I’ll let you rest.”
Jonathan kissed her cheek, then followed the doctor out of the room.

She watched him walk
away into the bright hallway. Sam looked around the dimly lit room.
They
won’t get me,
she thought.
I’ll stop this and they’ll never get me.
Somehow,
though, her words were no comfort as she tried unsuccessfully to sleep that
night.  

Sam sat reading the
latest issue of
Vogue
when Jonathan burst into the conservatory, his
face flushed, his eyebrows tight with tension. “Ellen, we have an armed guard
at our front door. What the devil is going on?”

“I need protection,”
Sam said, in a casual tone, ignoring the anger in his voice. She continued
reading the magazine. She had tried explaining her concerns to Johnny the night
she came home from the hospital and all day Saturday, always with the same
results: his denial of any remote possibility and his refusal to address a
solution.

“Protection?”
Jonathan’s face twisted, making him look even older.

“From the killers.”

“What
are
you
talking about?” He grabbed a nearby chair and placed it in front of her.

“They want to kill
me.”

“Who does?”

“The hit men.”

Jonathan sat down
across from Sam. She looked up from her reading and studied his face for a
moment. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Jonathan shook his
head. “I’m having a tough time with this.”

Sam set the magazine
aside and took off her reading glasses. “It’s because of my—er, Sam’s family.
Her mom and her mom’s boyfriend, they are behind this—maybe even Rory. He was
there, but I don’t think he could really do anything like this. Now Bob, he
sure could.”

“Bob?”

“Mom’s—Sam’s mom’s
boyfriend. A former drug dealer, killed some guys in a drug deal that went
bad—that was a long time ago, but he still has his connections.”

“How do you even
know about these people? I don’t even know about them.”

Sam sat for a moment
trying to come up with a reason for Ellen to have this knowledge. She squirmed
in her chair until it finally came to her. “The private dick’s report. He told
me.”

“And why would
anyone want to kill you? These people don’t even know you.”

Sam stared at him.
“Are you really that dumb?”

Jonathan looked
intently at her, not moving, not responding.

“Well, to get me out
of the way, of course,” she said and picked up the magazine, opening it again.
“So you and Sam could be together and have everything. By eliminating Ellen—I
mean, me—you would get all the money and have no problems.”

Jonathan jumped to
his feet and leaned over her. “You think I would be a part of something like
that?” His voice boomed, reverberating against the glass walls of the
conservatory.

Sam shut the
magazine and threw it aside. “No, not you dummy—
them
!” She waved her
hand, pointing toward the south wall for emphasis. “
They
think they are
helping me—her, Sam—you see? It’s crazy, I know.”

“I’ll say it is. And
what proof do you have of this crazy scheme?”

“Nothing, just my
poisoning and a strong hunch.”

Jonathan sat again,
his head hung down, slowly shaking it from side to side. “That was food
poisoning, Ellen. An accident. I thought we went over this after your release
from the hospital. It was all due to your prescriptions.” He looked up at her,
meeting her eyes. “Don’t you see how crazy this is?”

“I didn’t think you
would be so unsupportive.” She looked away as her eyes stung.

“But you’re accusing
someone of attempted murder—and for no reason.”

“I just told you
why—weren’t you listening? It’s as if you want—”

“The police phoned
me.”

“Why?” Sam felt a
rush of excitement. “Did they find something?”

“No, damn it,” he
shouted, then stood and pushed the chair away with abrupt force. “No, because
my wife called them and accused two complete strangers of attempted murder, for
no apparent reason—that’s why. What on earth do you think they thought after
this absurd act of yours, not counting the last time you called them with an
absurd accusation?”

“That I am in danger
and they want to try to help me.”

“Ellen,” Jonathan
said and sat down again, taking her hands into his. “Ellen, you have to stop
this—they think you’re crazy. I—”

“I’m not!” She
pulled her hands away. “This is real. Why don’t you see? Don’t you care?”

“Ellen, no one is
trying to kill you. We are together now, why do you think such things?”

“It’s because we
are
together!” Sam yelled in an exasperated tone. “God,
that’s
the whole
friggin
point
. They want us to split—so you and Sam can be together.
Ellen—me, I’m in the way
 …
only
they don’t realize—” Sam stopped and tried to imagine how her mom could
possibly know who she was actually killing. She felt a cold chill race through
her at the thought that her own mom would be responsible for her death. It
would break her mother’s heart if she knew she killed her daughter by mistake.
“Only they don’t realize who they are really hurting, because if they did,
they’d never
 …”
Sam’s voice
trailed as tears formed in her eyes.

“Darling, you are
afraid, aren’t you?” Jonathan put his hand on hers and gave her hand a gentle
squeeze. “No one is doing anything.”

“They will—I need to
stop them, before they
 …”
She
pulled her hands from his grasp and wiped her eyes. “I hired a detective to
find out who exactly is involved. I’m guessing they hired a contract guy to do
the work.”

Jonathan shook his
head. “This is madness, Ellen, don’t you see?”

“It won’t be madness
if they succeed,” Sam said, crossing her arms. “What then?” She looked at him
and her face tightened at the sudden realization. “Oh, yes, of course. If I’m
gone, all this will be better for you, won’t it?”

“Darling,” Jonathan
said, patting her arm. “I’ll let you keep the guard if you meet with Dr.
Sutton. I think he can help you deal with this better than I can.”

“No! I don’t want
to—”

“Damn it Ellen!”
Jonathan yelled, jumping to his feet. “Then I’ll cut you off and cancel the
guard.”

“I have nothing to
say to Dr. Sutton.” Sam leaned back and picked up her glass of soda.

Jonathan stared at
her for a few minutes, his hand covering his mouth, his weight shifting from
one foot to the other. “I’ll go with you,” he said in a pleading tone and moved
closer to her. “You can explain it to him. Perhaps he will have some better
ideas of what we should do.”

Sam looked up at
Jonathan and considered his offer. “Okay, I’ll go. Perhaps he can explain all
this and talk some sense into you.”

“Yes, perhaps he
can,” Jonathan agreed, then turned and walked away.

Sam watched him as
he hobbled with a slight shuffle. He looked old.
Poor man.
He had no
idea what was really happening, and she wasn’t in any position to convince him
or help him see the danger.

***

Sam sat before Dr.
Sutton as his notebook filled with scribbles while he listened, nodding his
head but never looking up. She tried to catch his eyes, but each time he looked
at her, it was as if he was looking past her. He appeared hard and angular,
like stone. His brows pressed together, creating a deep ridge up into his
forehead and his thin lips locked into a flat line that appeared impossible to
raise into a smile.

Funny,
Sam
thought,
I had thought you handsome before.
Now, even his hands appeared
rigid. There was no softness anywhere on this man. Sam studied the deep shadows
cast on his angular face from the florescent lights overhead.

“Mrs. Horvath? Do
you believe that you are in danger?”

Sam faintly heard
his voice. “Yes, we have gone over this. I know what they are capable of—I’m
not saying that for sure it could happen, of course—but there’s a very good
chance they will—especially now—now that Johnny and I are back together. It’s
even more dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Describe
the danger.”

“I don’t know
exactly. They want to kill me. They may try anything—cut the brakes, perhaps
push me off a cliff—I don’t think they would try anything obvious, like
shooting me. That would be too suspicious and take more brains to pull it off.
They aren’t that smart—”

“Continue.”

“The whole idea is
to make it an accident—subtle, so no one would even suspect—at least, that was
how we talked about it before.”

“Before? You spoke
of this before—to these people?” His face tightened as his eyes narrowed.

“Yes—no—I mean, I
heard what they wanted to do, but I thought they were just joking around. I
never really imagined they would actually do any of it, but now—”

“Now what?”

“Now that so much
has changed—I’m with him now—but they don’t really know—”

“So you spoke to
these people
 …
before?”

“Yes.”

“It states here in
the private investigator’s report that they have never met you.”

“Well, they haven’t
really
 …
they met with Sam, and
she told me—”

“Samantha Miller
told you?”

“Well, yes
 …
in a way
 …
yes, she did.” Sam nodded and turned away.
Should I
have said yes? How else would I know any of this?

“And why would she
tell you?”

Sam was about to
speak then stopped. This was getting confusing and hard to explain. Her brain
was feeling like cotton candy, spinning round and round, growing more tangled
as she struggled to think. “Well, to warn me.”

“So, Samantha
Miller, who you believe is behind all of this, told you that her mother, or her
mother’s boyfriend, was trying to kill you or could be trying to kill you.”

“Yes, yes, exactly.”

“Now, Mrs. Horvath,
Samantha Miller never spoke to you. Your husband read a statement from the
police that states she doesn’t have any idea what you are talking about.”

“She’s lying,” Sam
insisted.

“Nor—and it states
here—does her mother.”

“She’s lying, too!
Maybe they don’t know the hit’s happening, but they sure as hell know about
joking about it. What about Bob? Her loser boyfriend—he’s such a weasel.”

“Bob can’t hurt you;
he’s in jail.”

“Bob knows some very
scary people. He might have talked to them. Jail wouldn’t stop Bob—hell, he has
more connections in jail than out. You know, people will do anything for a bit
of money—anything. I bet Bob did it behind Mom’s back—and besides, he wouldn’t
do it himself, he’d contract it out to someone.” Sam looked away. “This could
go pretty deep.”

“Deep?”

“Layers.” She turned
toward Dr. Sutton and slapped her armrest. “So it can’t come back to him.
That’s why we need to stop this. Once the order goes out, it’s almost
impossible to stop.”

“Why?”

Sam shifted in her
chair.
Why was Dr. Sutton so dense? Didn’t he ever watch police stories, for
Christ’s sake?
“Because it goes so deep, past so many unconnected people,
that no one actually knows who’s doing the hit.”

‘So, this is a
hit
?”

“Yes!”
Finally,
you moron.
Sam couldn’t believe how slow he was, considering he’s supposed
to be smart. “That’s what I have been trying to tell you.”

“And these people
want you
hit
because—”

“Because of Samantha
Miller,” Sam interrupted.

“But she warned you,
correct?”

“No, they want her
to be with Johnny, and his wife was in the way.”

“You. So, you were
in the way?”

“Yes, I am in the
way.”

“And when do you
anticipate this
hit
?”

“Anytime—maybe not
right away, not now. They’ll probably wait, as they already tried once.”

“The food
poisoning?”

Sam let out her
frustration with a deep sigh. “Yes!” she said, emphasizing the stupidity of the
question. “They were behind it. I know it. But it failed. I probably didn’t eat
enough—”

“Okay, so, anytime
 …
you believe this might take place
anytime?”

“Yes. Now you see
why I’m so worried. It could happen anywhere, anytime.”

“And so you need
protection?”

“Yes! Yes, I do.”
Finally, she was getting through to this blockhead. Sam turned and faced
Jonathan, pointing to the doctor. “You see Johnny
 …
he understands.”

“Yes,” Dr. Sutton
said to both of them. “ You need protection from these bad people. Bad people
whom you don’t know.”

“Exactly. They could
be anywhere. I honestly don’t know who to trust anymore.”

“What about your
husband, can you trust him?”

Sam turned and
looked at Jonathan. She hesitated a moment before she spoke. “I want to,” she
said softly, shaking her head. “But no—he might be helping in some way.”

“Jonathan—here—your
husband, helping these killers?” Dr. Sutton pointed to Jonathan, who sat rigid
in his chair with a sheepish look on his face, then shook his head and turned
away.

“Well, I mean, not
actually intending to. But if he doesn’t help me get protection, he’s helping
them get access to me, making it easy for them. So yes, he helps them.”

“I see—so it’s
difficult to trust anyone?”

“Yes,” Sam smiled.
“Finally, you believe me.”

“Yes, I believe that
you believe yourself to be in serious danger.”

“And in need of
protection?”

“Yes. In fact, I
recommend you get protection.” Dr. Sutton set his notepad down and stood. “Mrs.
Horvath, can I speak a moment with your husband, in private?”

“Of course. Thank
you, Dr. Sutton.” Sam jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around Dr.
Sutton, hugging him tight, his arms remaining glued to his sides. “I knew you
would help.” Sam turned and kissed Jonathan’s cheek. “Listen to him. He knows
what’s best for me.”

Jonathan didn’t
smile but returned her kiss. “I’ll do whatever he says, dear.”

Sam left them and
returned to the waiting room, relieved that finally she was understood.