Becoming Sarah

chapter FOUR


I slept long and deep, then woke gasping from a dream where Ricky’s hands circled my throat again.

It took me a few moments to realize where I was. I lay there gasping in the dark, frightened and alone. I’d never slept in a house by myself before. Even when my mother worked the night shift as a nurse’s aid, she was home before I got up for school.

The sleek glow-in-the-dark clock on the dresser told me it was 4 a.m., but I couldn’t get back to sleep. I turned on the lights, pulled down the shade, and slowly undressed in front of the full-length mirror.

I’d never imagined having a body like this. I admired my reflection, vain for the first time in my life. I had to remind myself that this wasn’t truly my body. I didn’t choose the butterfly tattoo on my left shoulder blade. I didn’t remember why I had a long white scar on my right shin. I wasn’t the one who’d had my pubic hair waxed down to a heart-shaped patch in front -- acutally, I couldn’t even think about that process without blushing. So I had no right to revel in the long, slender legs, the toned arms, or the effortlessness with which I executed a graceful pirhouette.

Food and sleep had improved my mood, and my outlook. So Maria hadn’t believe me right off. Well, she was in shock. In a few days I’d try again. Maybe I’d talk to my mom, too. I’d think of a way to make sure Ricky didn’t get away with murder. It would all work out, I was sure of it.

Meanwhile I had work to do. If I was going to live in Sarah’s body, as Sarah, I needed to know more about her life. I’d gotten away with it with Matt, who barely knew her, but what about Sarah’s parents, her friends, her boyfriend if she had one?

In the bathroom, I grimaced at the ripe smell of booze and vomit. I cleaned up the mess, then showered. In a pair of stretchy black pants and a tank top that left my midriff bare and showed off the ring in my navel, I set to work.

First, messages. The light at the base of the house phone was blinking twice to indicate two messages; I pushed play.

A male voice, older and faintly worried. “Sarah, this is Dr. Shin. I see you’ve missed your last two appointments, and frankly I’m concerned. Give me a call.”

A doctor? Just my luck that there would be something seriously wrong with my new body. But I felt fine. Tired, but fine.

A deep male voice. “Sarah? Sarah, pick up. Why aren’t you answering my texts? Or your cell phone?” Long pause. “All right, if you want to play it that way. Look, we both said things we regretted the other night, but you know how I feel about you. Come on, honey, be reasonable. What we have is too good to just throw away. Just think about it, baby.”

Sarah’s boyfriend, apparently. I wondered what they’d fought about.

I picked up Sarah’s iPhone and stared at the screen, which asked for a password. I figured I’d have to reset it to even be able to use it, but it was worth a try. I typed in “1234”. Bingo, I was in. Oh, Sarah. I didn’t know her, but I was starting to get the picture. I dialed her voicemail.

A woman’s voice, high and irritated. “Sarah, this is Shelley. It’s, uh, it’s 12:45 and you’re still not here. This is the last straw, just the last straw. I’ll tell you what – don’t even bother coming in next week, okay? Obviously you don’t actually need this job.”

Well, that was one more thing I didn’t need to worry about – figuring out where Sarah worked. Apparently she’d burned all her bridges recently.

An older woman with a cultured drawl. “Sarah, sweetheart? It’s Mother. Your father and I were wondering how you’re doing these days. We never hear from you. Oh, I think your father wants to say hello. Just a minute.” A pause. “Oh, he says never mind, he’s on his way to the club. Anyway, he and I would love to have you come to the Hamptons this summer, and Dorrie Peterson – you must remember her daughter Madison from school? – said Madison might join her for a week if you were coming to keep her company, so we need to know. . .oh, we'll discuss this later. Just call me back when you can. I know you’ve got a busy life out there in California, but we worry about you. Bye now, darling.”

So that was a start.

I'd always been good at research, and as the sun rose and the muted sounds of the morning commute filtered in through the windows, I buckled down. First, I opened the mail.

Mostly bills -- Sarah bought tons of clothes and shoes, shockingly expensive stuff. I gulped at the $500 Coach bag billed to her Visa. Did people really spend that much on accessories? Apparently so. Nordstrom, Bebe, Saks Fifth Avenue, Guess, Nieman Marcus, Benetton. . .if there was a clothing store, she had their credit card. Some junk mail, a few magazines -- Vogue, Elle -- and a bank statement from the past month. I scanned the long list of withdrawals, mostly $80 to $100 at a time. She'd written quite a few checks, too. The largest I guessed was her rent, three times what my mother and I paid.

So now I knew how Sarah had spent her money. But where did she get it? There was only one deposit, on the first of the month, but it was a big one: nine thousand dollars, to the penny.

I needed more information. Sarah hadn't kept any files or folders, but in her closet I finally found a shoebox stuffed with old mail and documents. I sorted out half a dozen bank statements for the past year, all the same. Nine thousand dollars deposited like clockwork; most or all of it spent the same month. Finally, a letter buried deep in the shoebox helped me put it all together. It bore the letterhead of a law firm, Percy, Norris & Weigelman, at an address in New York City.

Dear Ms. Winslow,

I received your correspondence dated January 14 of this year. Unfortunately, I am unable to grant your request for an increase in your monthly allowance. Your grandmother, in setting up your trust, was very specific as to the amount of the funds to be disbursed to you.

While she did allow for the occurrence of extraordinary situations, those situations are limited to medical emergencies and the like.

As you know, you will receive the full amount of your grandmother's gift on the day of your 30th birthday. Until that time, therefore, I am unable to alter the monthly deposit to your account.

Please do contact me if I can be of any further assistance.

Sincerely,

Charles Norris III