Somebody Like You (30 page)

What was he doing, living some kind of crazy split life? His home was here, in Fort Collins, but his heart resided straight down I-25, two hours south. Some days Stephen woke up wondering where he was, having to push back the heaviness weighing down his heart when he realized he wasn’t in Colorado Springs.

How odd to be back at Elissa’s boutique. He’d dated Elissa for half a year—met her here for lunch, walked the surrounding streets of Denver—and yet standing in her office at
the back of the store felt odd. Her desk was Elissa-organized, which meant it was a collection of disheveled piles of paper—and she could find exactly what she wanted in a matter of seconds.

“You sure you don’t have time for dinner, Elissa?”

“Not tonight. I’ve got other plans.” Elissa leaned against her desk wearing a fitted black dress, leaving him to stand in the doorway. “So, Stephen . . . what’s this about?”

“I guess you could say it’s about closure.”

“Ah.” Elissa wrapped the long strand of multicolored glass beads cascading from her neck around her forefinger. “And which one of us is going first—you or me?”

Elissa had something to say about closure? That was news to him. He offered her a slight nod. “By all means, ladies first.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“You mean did I discover what or who you said I needed to find?”

“I suppose that’s the correct way to phrase it.”

“Yes.” Now came the challenging part. He rubbed his forefinger across his bottom lip. “Elissa . . . I’m sorry to say I kept something from you when we were dating.”

“A secret, Stephen?” She leaned forward. “Is that what this is all about—some hidden part of your past? An ex-wife? A child?”

“A brother.”

“I know about Pete—”

“My twin brother, Sam.”

Elissa tilted her head, her eyes widening. “You don’t have a twin.”

“Yes, I do. His name is . . . was Samuel Wilson Ames.”

“You said ‘was.’ ”

Elissa always was quick on picking up the finer details. “He was an army medic—and he was killed last August in Afghanistan.”

“This is like something out of a movie.” Elissa slipped into
her red swivel chair. “Stephen, I am so sorry. Were you separated at birth or something?”

“We were separated when we were thirteen by our parents’ divorce. Up until then, Sam had been my best friend.”

“What—your mom took Sam and your dad took you?”

“Sam and I . . . separated ourselves. When my dad got remarried a couple of years later, Sam chose to stay with my mom and I chose to stay with my dad and his wife, Gina.”

“So you’re saying Sam protected your mom and you took your father’s side. It happens. But why didn’t you keep in touch?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He curbed the urge to pace the office—there wasn’t any room. “No. It’s not hard to explain. It just sounds bad—because it is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Sam and I are—were—mirror twins. We looked almost exactly alike. After Sam chose to live with my mom in Oklahoma, I liked being just me. I liked that people in Pennsylvania, where I lived with my dad and my stepmom, couldn’t confuse me for Sam. Life was easier. Ultimately, Sam asked for my mom to be his sole parental guardian.”

“But surely your father . . .”

“He tried at first—but Sam was so hostile. So he thought he’d bide his time. And then . . . life went on. Phone conversations between them dwindled to nothing. Letters were returned—well, except for the child support. I only saw him on occasion—during visits to my mom on some holidays. It was normal not to be a twin.”

“So the thing that was missing, that was driving you, was—”

“My brother Sam.”

“And all this time—since we broke up—you’ve been . . . what?”

“Sam was married . . . I found his widow. I’ve been asking her questions, trying to find out who Sam became. And I’m an uncle, too . . .” He exhaled. “I’m sorry. I do believe I said ‘ladies first.’ ”

Elissa waved aside his apology. “And I thought what I had to say was going to shock you.”

“What?” A small laugh escaped. “You get married or something?”

Shrill laughter erupted from Elissa’s pursed lips.

“You . . . you didn’t get married, did you?”

“Actually, I did.” Stephen saw that she tried to restrain the smile, but it snuck past her control. “It . . . just happened. A crazy weekend drive to Las Vegas. He asked and I said, ‘Why not?’ and then I was saying ‘I do’ in one of those so-tacky-they’re-cute wedding chapels.”

Elissa
married
?

“Who?” That was an abrupt question. “I mean, who’s the lucky guy?”

“Eddie Marino. You met him.”

“I did?”

“Yes, that night outside the Thai restaurant.”

“Him?”

“Yes, him.” Elissa nodded her head, looking past Stephen. “
Him.
”

Stephen half turned and confronted the guy with the slicked-back dark hair whom he’d met a few weeks ago.

“Nice to see you again.” Elissa’s husband held out his hand.

“Congratulations.”

Eddie walked past Stephen, over to Elissa, and wrapped her in a close embrace, causing Stephen to avert his eyes.
Nothing like marking your territory.

What could he say? It wasn’t as if he was coming back here
to try to restore his relationship with Elissa. But married? What happened to the woman who insisted she wasn’t ready to get married?

“I know this is a surprise, Stephen.” Elissa spoke from within the shelter of Eddie’s arms.

“Love often is.” He needed to stop talking. He sounded like a character in a chick flick. “Thank you for telling me, Elissa. I hope you’re both very happy.”

His mouth seemed to be a conveyor belt for clichés.

An hour later, he was back in his apartment. With time, the image of Elissa in the arms of another man would fade.

He wasn’t jealous.

Stunned, yes. Jealous, no.

Elissa had rejected his proposal, insisting he was searching for someone and that she wasn’t ready for marriage—and gone off and gotten married to someone else.

One thing he’d realized while he searched for Sam was that he didn’t want to marry Elissa. His idea to come back and try to revive their relationship hadn’t lasted long.

His heart was back in Colorado Springs . . . held in the hands of a woman who looked at him and saw her past—the man she’d loved and lost—and the tiny hands of a newborn baby who didn’t even know he existed. Yet.

A
fter a whirlwind first couple of months after Kit’s birth, Haley had gotten what she’d wanted—the house to herself again.

Haley’s father had come to meet his newest granddaughter in mid-March. She’d watched both her parents
ooh
and
aah
over Kit and never once ducked when her father took yet another photo of her as a “baby mama.” After two days, Haley had pried herself out of one more hug, shooing her parents toward the rental car and assuring her mother she was fine. That yes, she’d miss her, but it was time for Haley to settle into some sort of routine as a single mom. Time for her parents to go back home—and for her to figure out life on her own. With Kit.

During the next month, Stephen continued his “Uncle Stephen” Saturday visits, the one time each week when she knew she’d eat a decent—no, a delicious meal complete with protein, a vegetable, and salad, accompanied by a no-frills bouquet of daisies. Each time she walked him to the Mustang, she assured him that he didn’t have to waste his Saturdays driving back and
forth from Fort Collins to check on Kit. And each time he said the same thing:
“I’m not wasting my time. I want to be here.”

The man was so serious about being Kit’s uncle. And, if Haley were honest with herself, she’d admit she was thankful . . . because she liked having Stephen around. When he showed up on her front porch, she breathed easier. Stephen would look at the ever-present HOA list and say, “Oh, that won’t take long,” and then they’d work on the project together. Talk. Laugh. Stephen Ames’s presence pushed the loneliness away.

Claire and some of her other friends sometimes called or stopped by, but for now, everyone was gone—except for her almost-two-month-old daughter, of course. Life was all about her and Kit. And she was managing . . . until today, when she’d woken up and realized somehow, some way, she had managed to get the flu.

But that was okay.

She could do this.

All she had to do was keep Kit fed . . . and diapered . . . and dressed . . . and maybe, just maybe, Kit would sleep a little more. She weighed eight pounds, six ounces and looked like a normal-size newborn—and slept better, too.

Haley could tough out a little upset stomach. She had only a slight fever. No need to take her temperature. Nothing to worry about. This is what mothers did—they took care of their children, no matter what. If Sam were still alive, she’d be managing on her own whenever he deployed. She’d just pretend Sam was deployed . . .

So hot.
Haley stretched out on her unmade bed, the comforter and sheets rumpled beneath her. She should get up and drag herself to the kitchen and get a Sprite—if she had any in the fridge. Maybe she would call Claire—but that would mean Claire would be exposed to whatever she had. She couldn’t do
that. No friend deserved the flu—that was above and beyond the call of duty.

Her stomach roiled just as she heard Kit rustle in her crib and let out a cry.
Great.
After sleeping for several hours, the baby was hungry and wet. Well, her daughter would just have to wait a moment or two . . . or five. Forget the Sprite—did she have any Pepto-Bismol? She’d figure that out and then prep a bottle for her daughter.

By the time she’d swished her mouth out with water and dredged up the strength to walk to her bedroom, Kit’s cries bounced off the walls. Her daughter was eight pounds of furious.

Haley’s head swam when she leaned over Kit’s crib.
Breathe. Breathe.
She could do this. If she took it slow—and ignored the fact that slow-motion movements made Kit madder and madder—she could do it. She could change Kit’s diaper even if her hands shook. Moments later, Haley leaned against her pillows, settling Kit against her, and picked up the bottle. “All right, all right . . . Mommy’s here. Here. Right here.” It took her daughter several minutes to vent her frustration in shrill cries and finally relax enough to take the bottle.

She didn’t know how long she’d dozed off, waking only when Kit fussed against her.

“Think you’re ready to go back to sleep, sweetie?” She snuggled Kit against her shoulder. “Ready for a nap?”

Ten minutes later, she admitted defeat. Who was she kidding? Kit was wide awake, ready to be entertained after a long nap. Couldn’t her daughter see that Mommy was not up to this? The living room seemed a hundred miles away, but that’s where Kit’s play mat was, and that was her best chance of keeping Kit happy.

“There you go . . . Mommy’s just going to lie down right here next to you.” She turned on the Baby Einstein Takealong Tunes and then pulled a cushion off the couch and rested it
underneath her head. Thank God her daughter wasn’t crawling or walking yet.

What was that?

Where was she?

Where was Kit?

Haley raised her head off the pillow. She was on the living room floor. Pressure weighed her head down, and her eyes were hot. She turned her head and found Kit asleep on her blanket.

Thank you, God.

Her phone played music, alerting her to an unwanted phone call . . . Now where was her phone? She crawled across the room and pulled herself up on her knees, grabbing her phone just as it stopped ringing. Whoever was calling her, it had better be important. She hit redial.

“Hello?”

She knew that voice. Haley shook her head.
Ouch.
That hurt. Okay . . . she’d been fooled before. That was not Sam. There would be no more phone calls from Sam. “Hello.”

Wow—where had her voice gone while she was sleeping?

“Haley?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Stephen. Are you okay?”

“I’ve got a virus or something—no big deal.” She lay back down on the floor. There. Better.

“How long have you been sick?”