Authors: Tessa Saks
She wished. She
wished hard. Sam fell asleep wishing for everything and anything, except
staying in this hellhole.
***
Sunlight filtered in
through the small apartment window as Ellen sat sipping her tea on the sofa.
She reflected on the night before, her night with Jonathan. With his
confirmation that he was serious about being with her and committed to marrying
her, she was finally able to relax.
But when would
that be? He still hasn’t actually proposed.
Ellen tried to
picture their wedding, the grand cathedral, the ballroom, the guests. A chill
flashed through her bones as she thought about her children. They detested
Samantha Miller and they would never come to their wedding. Would they ever
warm up to Samantha?
No. They would never want to see me.
And if they
did, could she endure their hatred cast toward her? Ellen’s heart crumbled as
tried to imagine a life with her children deeply hating her. She missed them
far more than she imagined she would. Her thoughts were interrupted by the ring
of the phone.
“Sammy?”
Ellen recognized the
husky, hoarse voice. It was
Mom
. “Hello, Mother, how are you?”
“Sick, and in pain,
but that’s nothing new,” she crackled. “Been that way so long now.”
“I was hoping you
were feeling better,” Ellen sighed.
“Nah. Doc says to
cut back on the medi’s. I told him that’s the only thing holding me together.
You cut that and I’m done. ‘Cept for you, of course. How is he?”
“Who?”
“That rich man of
yours, Mr. H?”
“Horvath,” Ellen
closed her eyes. Should she say?
“Oh, yah, right. His
wife, she’s mad now, huh? Just ask’n, cause I got a phone call. Kinda strange
one, it was. Somebody phoned pretending to be you.”
Damn her!
Ellen knew exactly who would phone, that sneaky little tramp. “Ellen?”
“Dunno. She tried to
be you but I’m no dummy, so I busted her, then she goes on and says she’s
afraid for you. I got suspicious, so I hung up.”
“So who was it?”
“Never figured it
out. His wife’s Ellen, right?”
Ellen paused, “Yes,
why?”
“We should talk.
It’s somethin’ important. Seems we need to clear up a few things.”
Ellen waited as
Mom’s hacking continued for several minutes. “Is it true what they are saying?”
Ellen finally asked.
“What who is saying?
The police? Did they ask you anything? You didn’t say nothing, did you?” her
mom asked, in between hacking up her lungs.
“What’s going on?”
“Let’s not talk over
the phone.”
“Why not? I don’t
have time—”
“You best make time,
little missy. Things can get real bad, real fast. I won’t say nothing more till
we meet.”
“You’re sounding
paranoid and crazy.”
“I am crazy,” she
laughed. “You know that, all right.”
Ellen shook her
head. “Okay, where do you want to meet?”
“Somewhere besides
your place—could be bugged.”
“Bugged? What have
you done?”
“Let’s meet at Bud’s
Tavern. Wednesday okay?”
“Yes, say seven?”
Where was this Bud’s? Ellen was about to ask and stopped—better that she figured
it out herself.
“See you there. Bye
Sammy, baby.”
Ellen sat and stared
at the phone, imagining how much Sam probably hated this embarrassment of a
mother. Or perhaps, she loved her. Love is a funny thing. Ellen had read that
sometimes, abused children still love their parents in spite of all the pain
and suffering. She thought about her own children. They resented her for so
many so-called failings. What would they say to a mother like Mrs. Miller?
Would they have loved her more? Ellen admitted she held high standards for her
children, for her family and herself, but it was all with the best intentions.
She wanted them protected, she wanted them safe and happy. Isn’t that what all
mothers want?
She thought about
Sam’s mother—in her own demented way, it was what she wanted for Sam. To be
safe. Protected. Ellen laughed aloud at the irony in the fact that if a plan to
put a hit on Ellen was real, as Sam believes—it would result in Mrs. Miller
hurting—or far worse—killing her own daughter. No wonder Sam’s a nervous wreck.
A chill raced up her
back as she imagined what kind of plot could actually be underway. Whatever Sam
feared, it was actually meant for her, for Ellen.
Would I seem any crazier
than Samantha if I had found out about a plan to kill me?
Sam must know
something or she wouldn’t be behaving this crazy and willing to be locked away
in a mental hospital. Ellen smiled as she thought of the irony:
that Sam
should have wanted my life to end and by doing so, could end her own life. Talk
about a plan backfiring.
An uneasy feeling
crept into Ellen and twisted deep inside her.
What is even more ironic is
that I am now in the sole position of protecting her. I have the power to save
or destroy her.
To her surprise, all the hate Ellen held for Samantha
softened and she suddenly felt a kind of sympathy for her. This lasted a mere
moment before she reminded herself what Sam would do if the tables were turned.
Hah!
She
laughed at the notion that Sam would spend even a second to care about
anyone—especially Ellen. She had read Samantha’s journal after all, and was
very aware that in the hands of Jonathan and Sam, Ellen would certainly be
where Sam is now.
No. This little
plotter and schemer deserves
everything
she has coming. No one has ever
questioned that you reap what you sow. And now, for Samantha Miller, it’s
harvest time.
***
Ellen sat watching
the door. The drone of voices filled the coffee shop with excitement and
laughter. She inhaled the sharp fragrant air. When Rory phoned earlier today,
she found herself feeling guilty about telling him of the divorce. He entered
the room and upon seeing her, his smile widened and he gave a quick wave. She
waved back as he headed toward her. “Hello gorgeous,” she said and immediately,
a warm blush washed across her cheeks.
He reached over and
kissed her pink cheek. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he replied as he pulled up
a chair, straddling it between his legs and leaning forward on the back. Ellen
pushed a cup of coffee toward him and studied his rugged hands as they wrapped
around the cup.
“Mochaccino?” he
asked.
“Of course,” Ellen
replied, wrapping her hands securely around her cup of coffee. She found
herself unable to drink, feeling suddenly uneasy around him. Almost queasy.
He took a sip,
licking the cream from his lips. “What’s new? You must be up to something. You
look like the cat that ate the canary.” Rory grinned. “You naughty little girl.
Fess up.”
“Well, I am—sort of.
Jonathan is leaving Ellen. He’s finally filed for divorce.”
Rory sat back, then
pulled his cup closer. “Oh really? Lucky you. To the happy couple.” He raised
his cup and let out a laugh.
Ellen smiled. “I
thought it might upset you.”
“Upset me? Why?”
“I don’t know, I
thought maybe—”
“You thought wrong.”
Ellen looked into
his eyes. “Did I?”
“Yes.” He stared
back with intense, dark eyes. “You did. I knew this was just fun and games.
Relax.” He leaned toward her and pinched her cheek. “You look so serious.”
Ellen shook her
head. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” Rory
laughed. “You hurt me a long time ago, remember? And I got over it. See?” He
flexed his biceps. “All better, a man of steel.”
“So you’re all right
with all this—I mean, ending it?”
“Of course I am.” He
drummed the table like a beatnik bongo player. “I am happy for you— really.
This is exactly what you want
…
what
you’ve always wanted.”
“It is.”
“Then how could I be
upset if this makes you happy?”
“I just thought—I
mean, it’s so final.”
“Hey, we can still
be friends. Look at me.” He wrapped his hands around hers. “I promise I will
always be here if you need me. Even if I’m married and my wife hates you,” he
said and pointed his finger at her. “You should see your face, you look so
serious.”
“This isn’t easy for
me, we can’t—you know—ever.”
Rory stood up,
leaning over her, his face pressed close to hers. “I’ll be okay, really.” He
put his hand on hers and put them next to his heart. “I mean it. I’ll always be
your friend. All I need is for you to be happy. You are happy, right?”
“Yes, very.”
“Well, that’s it!”
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s celebrate. How about your
favorite
place.”
“Chanel?”
“No.”
“Sotheby’s?”
He shook his head
and pulled her close. His muscles hardened under the thin cotton as his arms
flexed around her. She imagined him sitting against the headboard, no shirt
…
Stop!
She scolded herself
for even thinking it, then asked, “Where is my favorite place?”
“You’ll see.”
Ellen shuddered and
tried to imagine, wishing more than ever that Sam’s favorite place had been
Rory’s apartment.
***
Sam sat staring at
Jonathan as his words tumbled over her. He looked calm and relaxed, as if
talking about the weather to a stranger. She stopped listening once her blood
pressure surged, like an overloaded circuit board. “But Johnny, you can’t do
this. You’re all I have.”
“Now Ellen, we’ve
discussed this before. You have your children, your friends
…
your charity work.” Jonathan pulled
on his cufflinks as he spoke.
“But they don’t even
like me. I can’t—I don’t even know them. Please, Johnny. You don’t understand.”
Sam put her hand on his arm. “Don’t leave me. You can’t. I need you.”
“Now, Ellen.”
Jonathan took her hand off his arm, placing it on her lap.
“No! I’m so lonely.
I’m afraid. I’m all alone, I can’t
…
Johnny,
don’t you care? You must
…
I
know you must.”
“I’m sorry, Ellen. I
can’t coddle you forever.”
“Coddle?” Sam
screamed, unable to restrain herself. She wanted to slap him. “You fuck’n call
this coddling? Locking me away in here? Not trusting me? God, you’re an ass. I
want out of here. Now!”
“You can, in time.”
“In time? What do
you mean in time? I never agreed to this. I agreed to come here only for a
while. My decision, not yours. Only to protect me until I decided.”
“Yes, and it’s best,
I see that now. You are safe here, out of danger.”
“But Johnny, I am
not crazy. I’m not like them. I shouldn’t be here. I need to leave.”
“That’s true, but
you can be a bit
…
irrational.
That’s what they called it.”
“Irrational? You do
this to me, and I’m irrational? Anyone would be irrational in this place.
You
would be irrational! How the hell can I be anything but irrational?”
“Ellen, calm
yourself, this is not open for debate.”
“This is my life you
are ruining! How can it not be open for debate?”
Jonathan stood and
turned to the window, “Ellen, this is for your own good. You may even thank me
one day.”
“Johnny,” Sam cried.
“Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me. How can you not care? You loved me
once—you told me you loved me more than life itself, and now
…
now you don’t care.”
“I do care. That’s
why I’m doing this. It’s for your own good.”
He started walking
toward the door. “Johnny!” Sam cried. “Johnny!” she shouted with all the force
her body could generate. “Don’t leave me here! Please!” Sam was crying and
wiping her eyes when a nurse entered the room and helped her onto the bed, then
handed her a pill. Sam brushed her hand away, sending the pill and the water
cup flying. Another nurse arrived and together they held her arms as she tried
to wrestle free.
She kept crying out
“Don’t leave me,” but Jonathan no longer heard. He was out the door, and there
was nothing Sam could do about it.
***
Ellen looked around
the photo studio, wondering how she could begin to use all the equipment, not
knowing what most of it even was.
Rory pulled her over
to a sofa. “Sam, why are you so uncomfortable here? You loved it here. You used
to come on Saturdays and spend all day with Reg developing your prints.”
“I don’t remember
being here, or how to use any of the equipment over there, and I—”
Rory picked up the
camera and looked at her through the lens. “Reg will help you.” He set the
camera on the table in front of them. “After all, you own most of the stuff in
here. It’s not hard. Remember when you learned to use the darkroom in high
school? We had some fun, huh?”
“I don’t know. I
don’t think I can do all this. I can’t even think of anything to take pictures
of. I’m not an artist. How can I make pictures that anyone would want to buy?”
“Sam, here’s how I
see it. Every one of us can be an artist. Come on Sam, I’ve seen your work. I
know you’re good, that you have something worth sharing, that others will
want.”
“I don’t think so,
not anymore.”
“Come on. Try.
That’s all I ask. Take some photos and bring them next Saturday. I’ll try to
sell them for you. Just feel the work again. Let it come alive.”
“I can’t. I don’t
feel anything.”
“You can. Inside of
everything is a kind of energy. A force that if you study it, you can see. Look
at a flower, I mean really look.” Rory grabbed her hand and held it. “Do you
ever feel something when you look at things? Some emotion stirring deep inside
of you?”
“Yes, I guess.”
He let go of her
hand and sat back, kicking his feet onto the table. “I think that’s inside each
of us. I want to capture that inside force and show it on my canvas. You know,
it’s funny, kids have it and they aren’t afraid to let it all show. They are
born with no inhibition and somehow, you’ve seen it, people tone it down. They
tone down the best part of themselves. Sometimes, I see older people and I want
to shake them, free that energy and force, you know?”