Somebody Like You (9 page)

Claire giggled. “You know, you could have a girl. I’ve heard of ultrasounds being wrong—”

“Don’t even suggest it. I don’t do girls—and they don’t do me. The only reason we get along is because you decided to be my friend—although I don’t know why.” She patted her tummy. “This is Sam’s son.”

“Are you having any more ultrasounds to confirm that?”

“I’ve already had two—one at my first appointment when I was sixteen weeks, just to confirm dates. And then they did what they called an ‘anatomic survey’ at twenty weeks—checking fingers and toes and his heart and other stuff.”

“And the ‘other stuff ’ indicated you’re having a boy?”

“That’s what the ultrasound tech told me—not officially, but she seemed pretty certain.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am having a boy—now stop with the
uh-huh
!”

“Fine. Do you have any names picked out?”

“No, not yet. I’ll figure something out. I’ve got plenty of time.” She realized the microwave had been beeping to let her know her dinner was reheated. “Time to eat.”

“Listen, before you go, did you select a childbirth class?”

“Not yet, but I will.”

“You keep saying that.”

“I will. I forgot. Ask me after my appointment this week.”

“You want me to go with you?”

“No need. I’m good.”

Haley stood in the middle of the kitchen holding her iPhone after saying good-bye to Claire. She would be good. She didn’t have a choice—and come April, another person
would be depending on her to make everything okay, just as Sam had.

If she paused, closed her eyes, she could still see the look of hesitant recognition in Sam’s brown eyes over three years ago when he walked up to the counter at the gun club.

“Have we met before?” Sam stood with his hands tucked in his jeans, a gray army T-shirt covered by a blue flannel shirt.

“Maybe.” Haley resisted smoothing her hair.

“You going to tell me where?”

“You’re a smart man, Sam Ames. Figure it out.” She wasn’t going to waste her time on a guy who couldn’t even remember her name. She hadn’t been wearing that much makeup at the wedding two weeks ago. A dress, yes—but that didn’t alter her appearance that much.

She walked away to help another customer who wanted to check out some of the guns on display in the glass cases. As she explained the different merits of several models, she knew Sam watched her. Every time she glanced his way, he was standing where she’d left him, a slight frown on his face. At least she wasn’t one of those women who blushed or stammered when she was nervous. Growing up with three older brothers had killed any of those outward signs of anxiety. Never let a guy see you sweat—or cry.

Ten minutes later, when the customer left, saying he’d think about the classic .45-caliber Colt M1911, Sam approached her again, his walk easy, slow. “I’d like to see that nine-millimeter.” He pointed to one of her favorite models.

“Sure thing.” She bent to retrieve the gun. “You interested in adding to your collection—or just starting one?”

“I’d like to try it out on the range today.”

“Then I’ll need some identification—your driver’s license will be fine.”

“I’ll hand over my license . . . if you give me your phone number,
Haley.” A half smile quirked his mouth, deepening the cleft in his chin.

“Remembered me, didja?” After laying the gun on the counter, she held out her hand for his driver’s license.

“Jill and Randy’s wedding. Yes, I remember you.”

She’d given him her phone number—and they’d shared their first kiss the next night after a movie.

Another beep from the microwave reminded her that the leftovers still waited for her. Memories of Sam, when she allowed them to slip past the mental barricade she’d erected, left the salty taste of unshed tears in the back of her throat. She scraped the remnants of dinner into the trash can, closing the metal lid on the aroma of Italian food with a bang.

“Whatcha say, buddy?” Was that a small kick or punch in response to her question? “How about pretzels dipped in Nutella?”

He should have asked Haley what her middle name was.

After spending an hour wrestling answers out of her, he’d go with “Stonewall.” The woman was worse than a dead end. She gave up no ground.

Stephen sat in his Mustang, a chill surrounding him, even as a deeper cold—an ache he couldn’t relieve—grew in his heart. Years of choices—things said, things left unsaid—separated him from Sam. And now, the chasm between heaven and earth.

He leaned forward, arms resting across the steering wheel, his breath fogging the windshield. He already knew his brother liked to dip his potato chips in ketchup. That Sam wanted a classic ’66 Mustang. He could have found most of the other information about Sam if he’d read his obituary. But Stephen
couldn’t do that. Let Haley Ames be casual about the word
dead
when it came to Sam. He’d been the one to fight back tears, not her.

A tornado of unanswered questions swirled inside, all the larger after spending time with Sam’s widow. What kind of woman had his brother married anyway? Honey-blond hair that scattered past her shoulders. Icy blue eyes highlighted by high cheekbones. No makeup that he could see. And no engagement ring or wedding band on her finger either. She hadn’t waited long to take off her rings. She’d huddled across the table from him in a quilted green North Face coat that looked like something a guy would wear.

Maybe it was. Maybe it was Sam’s coat. She took off her wedding band but wore her husband’s coat.
Odd.

Stephen shifted in the seat, a faint hint of moonlight filtering into the car. He couldn’t find Sam by going forward . . . and without Haley’s help, he couldn’t discover Sam’s past. She was a shaky bridge to the twelve years of silence, but he had to try. Her resistance, her silence, impeded his progress. But he couldn’t give up yet.

The doors to the white SUV next to him opened, then slammed shut in a rapid one-two-three-four beat, as a family with two preteens entered the car. Their laughter snagged at his heart, an echo of sweeter family times with Sam. What next? The thought of calling Elissa flickered through his mind. Faded. He hadn’t spoken to her since his crash-and-burn proposal in Breckenridge. The memory of that day scalded his heart.

“That’s it, then?” Stephen waited at the bottom of Elissa’s stoop.

She stood with the front door half-open. “What else is there to say? You want something more . . . something I’m not ready for. Honestly, Stephen, it’s always felt as if you’re searching for something—”

He shook his head, the words tumbling past his resolve not to expose his heart to her again. “No. No, I found what I want. Who I want, Elissa.”

“I don’t think so.” She reached out, as if to caress his face, but then pulled her hand back. “I will miss you.”

“Maybe—”

“No maybes, Stephen. They’re fraught with expectations, don’t you think?”

And that was that. And while Elissa wouldn’t leave room for maybe, he couldn’t deny the ember of hope that still burned. If he settled this thing with Sam—about Sam and himself—then maybe he could go back and make things right with Elissa.

But not tonight.

He hit autodial for his father, who answered on the first ring. “How are you, son?”

“I’ve been better.”

His father’s voice was gruff, weighed down. “I still can’t get used to the idea that we’ve lost Sam—”

“I went to see his wife—his widow, Dad.”

“What?”

Stephen opened the driver’s door, turning so that his feet rested on the bottom edge of the car’s frame, welcoming the rush of cold night air on his face. A faint scent of a coming snowfall lingered around him. “I’m sorry. You didn’t know that Sam was married—”

“No. Your mother made it clear years ago she wasn’t going to answer my questions about Sam. And I didn’t press the issue. I kept thinking there’d be time—”

“We both did, Dad. When Mom called to tell me about Sam, she mentioned Sam’s wife. So I decided to try and find her. I didn’t say anything to you because I wasn’t sure what would happen.”

“So, how did it go—meeting Sam’s wife?”

“Well, just like we didn’t know about her, she didn’t know about me.” Memories of their first meeting rushed back, causing his heart rate to accelerate. “For thirty seconds, she thought I was Sam.”

“Stephen, how horrible for you—”

“For me? I wasn’t the one seeing her de—her husband.” He opted for the abridged version of his interaction with Haley—no need to mention the armed standoff. “Despite all that, Haley—that’s her name—agreed to meet me for dinner today. In the Springs.”

“Sam was stationed in Colorado?”

“Yes. About two hours from Fort Collins.”

“Hard to believe . . .” His father’s voice trailed off. “So, what happened?”

“I survived an hour with a woman who didn’t want to look at me because I’m an exact replica of her husband. I wanted to apologize . . . or at least drape a napkin over my face.”

How could he confess the rest to his father? He’d spent so many years just being Stephen Ames that he’d forgotten what it was like to be Sam’s twin brother. The stares of his friends. The confusion.

But now it was worse. He wasn’t just Sam’s twin.

He was Sam’s ghost.

He knew his father was waiting for him to say more. “After dinner, we ran into a couple of Sam’s friends—one of his army buddies. The guy was stunned when he saw me.”

“I can imagine.”

Stephen stood, shutting the door and walking to the front of the car, leaning against the hood, cold seeping through the material of his pants. Cars moved along Powers Boulevard, headlight beams streaming past, the sounds an odd motorized acoustic background. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Do you really believe that? You had to try, son. You may still end up with more questions than answers.”

“Haley agreed to one meeting. And I got nothing.” He did a quick review of Haley’s minimalist answers. “While Sam and Haley were married, it sounds as if he was gone more than he was home.”

Hesitancy tinged his father’s words. “You could always talk to your mother.”

“I don’t think so, Dad.” The leap from a single phrase written in a Hallmark card to an entire conversation seemed as wide as the Vermont lake he’d tried to swim across when he was eight—and almost drowned.

“I could try calling her.”

“This is my journey, Dad. I’ll figure out something.”

He had to . . . because, really, he still didn’t know who his brother was. And he wasn’t willing to walk away—or to let Haley walk away. But could he convince her to talk with him again? Was there any other option?

Chaz’s words echoed through his mind.
“Your brother was a good guy. A great soldier.”

Maybe someone like Chaz, someone who had worked with Sam, could tell him more.

I
t had been good to get out of the house again. After last night’s dinner with Stephen Ames, Haley hoped the walk this morning would clear her head of the double images that haunted her sleep. At six months pregnant, she couldn’t outrun them, but she could walk fast.

Haley rounded the corner onto the cul-de-sac that harbored the home she’d moved into eight weeks ago. It sat just left of the house in the center. Would Sam have liked it? Today the gray, cloudless sky huddled over the rancher guarded by a tall, leafless tree on the left and a small porch that she’d have to paint come summer. How soon before Shelton notified her about that? Patches of leftover snow dotted the faded brown grass, and she had no idea what, if anything, would bloom in the flower bed beneath the front bay window.

She tucked her hands into the pockets of Sam’s coat as a breeze whipped past her. Exercise was good for her and the baby—or so her doctor said. But now she was ready for a nap. Resting was good, too. From what everyone said, she was going
to get precious little sleep once her son was born. She appreciated the few hours each day when she slept soundly and didn’t have to think about her life—what she’d lost and what she had to face by herself.