Two Much Alike

by Pamela Bauer

  What he didn’t expect when he planted that kiss on her lips was that her mouth would be so soft and incredibly sweet tasting. Or that she’d whimper—not with anger but with pleasure—as he coaxed her lips into a response.

  As if she suddenly realized what was happening, she pushed at his chest with her hands. He immediately let her go.

  “Do you still think I’m your husband?”

  “Ex-husband,” she said quietly, then walked around him and sat down on the bench he’d vacated only a few minutes ago. She sighed as she rested her head in her hands. “I don’t know what to think. I wish I could go to sleep and wake up and put this whole day behind me.”

  “What bothers you most? That your son thinks I’m his father or that you’re not sure I’m not?”

  She lifted her head to look up at him. “They both bug the hell out of me.”

  She stared across the lake at the outline of pine trees. “Either you’re a good liar or fate has played a terrible trick on all of us.”

  He ignored the little voice in his head that said, You’ve been lying about who you are for two years, and told her, “It’s fate playing a nasty trick. I’m not a liar.”

  She didn’t look at him, but stared out at the lake. “I’d like to believe that.”

  “So why don’t you? Because I happen to look like your ex-husband?”

  “It’s not just how you look,” she answered. “It’s a lot of things.”

  “You mean the tattoo. Lots of men who’ve been in the Navy have the very same tattoo in the very same place,” he insisted.

  “You like cheese sandwiches toasted, not fried. You use a straight-edge razor, not an electric shaver. The shower curtain hangs inside the tub, not out. You keep your garbage under the sink.” She enumerated the points on her fingertips.

  “And so do millions of other people,” he argued.

  “When is your birthday?”

  “It’s in November.”

  He pulled out his wallet, removed a plastic card and handed it to her. “Here’s my license.”

  She frowned. “You don’t have the same birthday.”

  “Because I’m not him,” he said, taking the fake ID from her. “You’re going to doubt the government?” he asked, waving the license in front of her.

  “What was your mother’s name?” Before he could respond, she flapped her hands and said, “No, don’t answer that. You could easily make up a name.” When he chuckled sarcastically, she looked at him. “Well, it’s true. You could make up all kinds of stuff. It’s much more difficult to prove you are somebody than to prove you’re not.”

  “I shouldn’t have to prove anything,” he said. “And maybe I’m the one who should be suspicious of you. You were married to this guy, you had three children with him, yet you tell me you can’t recognize him.” He didn’t like putting her on the defensive, but if this issue didn’t get resolved soon, his father’s safety could be in jeopardy.

  “Maybe if he had been a devoted husband and father who actually spent time with his family instead of sailing around the world, I wouldn’t have so much trouble remembering what he looked like,” she said, not bothering to hide her bitterness.

  “Or maybe it’s convenient to forget what he looked like,” he suggested.

  She jumped to her feet and confronted him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He shrugged. “Come on, Ms. Harper. You expect me to believe that you can’t look at me and not know if I’m your husband?”

  “Ex-husband!” she bellowed. “For your information, Mr. Joe Smith—” she punctuated his name with a grittiness “—the reason I don’t know is that I erased the man from my memory and if I could have erased him from Alex’s memory, I would have done that, too.” She stepped closer until her face was only inches from his. “He’s a deadbeat. A loser. Pond scum. And another thing,” she continued. “Just so you understand. I sure as hell don’t need a man to take care of me or my kids. I can take care of them and myself just fine.” Without giving him a chance to utter another word, she bolted for shore.

  Joe watched her hurry away, thinking how foolish he’d been to make their encounter so confrontational. Instead of easing the tension, he’d widened the chasm of suspicion between them. Not a wise thing to do, considering that if she didn’t believe he wasn’t her ex-husband, one of the first stops she could make when she left tomorrow morning was the sheriff’s office.

  He had no choice but to go after her, to convince her that he wasn’t this deadbeat Dennis Harper. He needed to make sure her son didn’t do something foolish, like call the authorities.

  He caught up with her as her bare feet hit the sandy shore. “Frannie, wait!” he begged, placing his left hand on her right arm.

  “What are you going to do? Kiss me again so you can show me how unlike you and Dennis are?”

  He let her go. “If I kiss you again it won’t be because I want to prove anything,” he said, surprised by the emotions she managed to arouse in him. When it looked as if she might head toward the house again, he said, “I’m sorry. I won’t touch you. Just give me a few minutes. Please.”

  Her whole body relaxed.

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” His tone was apologetic, his hand still warm from where it had touched her flesh. “This hasn’t exactly been a good day for me, either. Four people I’ve never seen before in my life arrive at my home and accuse me of being their deadbeat father and ex-husband.” He made sure he prefaced husband with ex. “Do you think we can go back to the part where you called me Mr. Smith?”

  She looked as if she was going to say no, but then slowly she nodded. “It would give me great peace of mind if you were Joe Smith,” she said, her voice weary.

  “Then have some peace of mind,” he said quietly. “You saw my driver’s license.”

  The look she gave him told him she knew that it wouldn’t be difficult to get a fake ID. “There are just so many eerie coincidences. Even your dad calls my son Joe and refers to me as your wife.”

  “Because he’s not well. You’ve seen how easily confused he is about things.”

  She nodded. “Does he have Alzheimer’s?”

  He shook his head. “No. He suffered a head injury in an accident.” He explained as briefly as possible what had led to his father’s dementia, concluding with “One minute he’s as sharp as a tack, the next he’s confused.”

  “So you’re saying that the only reason he says Alex looks like you when you were his age is because of his confusion?” She lifted one brow.

  “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “What about his attitude toward me? When I said my name was Frannie, he acted as if that’s what it should be. He said I was your wife,” she said. “Even you flinched when he said that.”

  “Yes, I did.” He didn’t want to have to tell her, but knew that if he was going to convince her to leave the next morning and not make any trouble for him, he had to be honest. “What you saw on my face at that moment was probably the same thing I saw on yours when you first saw me at the wood pile.” He hesitated, then said, “My ex-wife’s name is Frannie. Actually, it was Frances. The only person who called her Frannie was my dad.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “No. I know it’s another crazy coincidence.”

  She pushed all the hair away from her face, revealing exquisite bone structure. “This is too bizarre.”

  “She was from Virginia Beach. We were married nine years before we divorced,” he added, as if that would convince her that he was telling the truth.

  “Do you have pictures of her?”

  He shook his head. “We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

  “Do you have any children?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Then, when your father said his grandbabies were…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but they both knew to what she referred.

  “My wife had two miscarriages.” What he didn’t tell
her was that during one pregnancy she’d carried twins. Even he had trouble comprehending that coincidence. “So you see, Frannie, there are logical explanations for the similarities you think you see in me and your ex-husband.”

  She eyed him pensively, as if weighing the evidence he’d presented against what she knew to be true. Not for the first time Joe noticed what a lovely picture she made, standing there in the midnight-blue darkness. It was important that he convince her he wasn’t her ex-husband—not only for her son’s sake, but for his, as well. He didn’t want her to look at him as if he repulsed her.

  “Think back to when you first saw me, Frannie,” he pleaded. “Sure, you were shocked to see someone who looked so much like your ex-husband, but didn’t your instincts tell you right then and there that I wasn’t him?”

  It was a long time in coming, but finally she said, “Yes.”

  “Trust those instincts, Frannie.”

  “I do trust them.”

  “And?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  She straightened her back, smoothing her curls away from her face in a nervous gesture.

  “I know you’re not Dennis,” she admitted, looking not at him but out at the water.

  He felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  She looked at him then, her eyes holding his for several seconds before she said, “I’m sorry…for everything that’s happened today.”

  Again, she looked frail and vulnerable. He had to fight the urge to take her into his arms and hold her close. “You only did what you thought was best for your children.”

  She rubbed her hands across her arms, as if she were cold. “Yes, well, it’s done with now. I’m going to try to get some sleep so we can leave as soon as possible in the morning.” She muttered a good-night and started back toward the house.

  He would have liked to invite her to sit for a while on the dock so he could find out more about her, but he knew it was foolish to even think along such lines. The less he knew about Frannie Harper the better. The last thing he needed to do was compromise his and his father’s future because of his infatuation with some woman.

  WHEN FRANNIE WOKE the following morning, she was alone in the bed. She heard nothing but the buzzing of a chain saw in the distance.

  She glanced at her watch and saw it was after eight. Normally she awoke every day at six. Yet it didn’t surprise her that she’d slept in this morning. She’d been awake half the night, haunted by what had happened in the past twenty-four hours—especially what had happened in the hour before she’d gone to bed.

  Any doubt she’d had that Joe Smith was Dennis had been erased with their encounter late last night. A warmth spread through her as she recalled the way he’d kissed her. She’d wanted to act outraged by his boldness, but the truth was that he had proved his point. The moment his mouth touched hers, she’d known she’d never shared such an intimacy with him before.

  And never would again, she told herself. Today she’d leave this house and try to forget all about the crazy events of yesterday.

  Yet could she forget? She still didn’t understand how two men could look so much alike and not be related. If Arlene hadn’t told Frannie that Dennis’s twin brother had died as an infant, she would have suspected that Joe Smith could be his twin. She remembered her mother saying that every person had a double. Could that explain Joe Smith’s incredible likeness to Dennis Harper?

  One thing Frannie was sure of was that explaining to Alex that Joe wasn’t his father would be difficult. She couldn’t very well say, “I’ve kissed him, Alex. It’s not him.”

  After pulling on her clothes, she grabbed her purse and headed for the bathroom. A look in the mirror confirmed what she already knew. She’d had a restless night. Dark circles rimmed her eyes, and any number of wild creatures would have been happy to use her tangled hair for a home. She dug in her purse for a comb, then dragged it through the snarls, grimacing as she tugged. After washing her face and hands, she squeezed a dab of toothpaste onto her finger and did her best to scrub her teeth.

  When she’d finished her grooming, she sighed at her reflection, wishing she could bestow a healthy dose of confidence on the uncertain woman staring back at her. She took a deep breath, then went to find her children. A quick peek in Joe Smith’s room told her they weren’t sleeping.

  As she passed the living room, she saw Luke. He sat on the Admiral’s lap, his thumb in his mouth, while the silver-haired man read to him from his favorite book, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Frannie chuckled to herself, thinking how appropriate it was that Emma had brought it along.

  As she stepped into the kitchen she saw Emma at a small wooden table in the breakfast nook eating a bowl of cereal. “Where’s Alex?” she asked.

  “He’s outside with Dad watching the guys cut up the trees,” Emma answered.

  Frannie sighed. “He’s not your father.”

  “Alex thinks he is.”

  “Well, Alex is wrong. You do believe me, don’t you?”

  To Frannie’s relief, she nodded. “I think so. He doesn’t talk like Dad.”

  “No, you’re right. He doesn’t.” Frannie glanced out the kitchen window to see her son. “What guys are out there?”

  Emma shrugged. “Some guys who came over in a truck. Luke wouldn’t eat breakfast.”

  Frannie stepped back into the living room. “Luke, aren’t you hungry?”

  The three-year-old craned his neck to look at his mother. “I’m reading.”

  The Admiral turned, too, and smiled. “Good morning.”

  She returned the greeting and the smile. “Looks like it’s going to be a nice day,” she said, glancing to the windows where the morning sun pierced the panes of glass.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful day. Luke and I are going to go outside as soon as we’ve finished this wonderful story.” He lifted the book. “Oh, and he needs to eat some breakfast, too, don’t you, Luke.”

  The little boy nodded vigorously, then sank back against the old man’s chest and waited for him to continue reading. Except for an uncle who occasionally stopped by, the three-year-old didn’t have any male role models in his life. Frannie’s parents had divorced when she and Lois were teens, her father moving halfway across the country and out of their lives. Her stepfather, Richard, was a wonderful grandfather, but working overseas meant he didn’t get to spend much time with the children.

  As Frannie glanced at the box of cereal on the table, Emma said, “Luke’s not going to want to eat this stuff. It’s got nuts and raisins in it.”

  “We can stop and get something to eat on the way home,” Frannie responded.

  The Admiral heard her and called out from the other room, “You shouldn’t start out on a journey without a good breakfast. I could make Luke some pancakes.”

  That had her son forgetting all about the book and scrambling to get down off the Admiral’s lap. “Mommy, I want pancakes.”

  “You can have some when we stop to eat at a restaurant on the way home,” Frannie promised.

  “But I want them now,” he insisted.

  “You can have a bowl of cereal.” When she picked up the box, he howled.

  “Nooooo!” He wrapped his chubby little arms across his chest. “I don’t like that cereal. It’s yucky. I want pancakes.”

  “And pancakes you shall get,” the Admiral declared, heading for the kitchen. “I’ll make them myself.”

  Unsure whether Joe wanted his father using the stove, Frannie said, “How about if we do them together? You know where everything is, so you can round up the ingredients and I can do the cooking part.”

  To her relief, the Admiral didn’t protest. Slowly but systematically, he pulled out all the necessary items from the cupboards and the refrigerator, with no indication of any memory problems or cognitive disability. Encouraged, Frannie took the opportunity to ask him questions she hadn’t asked Joe last night.

&nb
sp; “This is such a beautiful spot, Admiral. Have you lived here very long?”

  “Only since we left the Navy,” he responded. “Joe’s like me. A true sailor. Loves the water…always has, and always will.”

  “Then you’re in the right spot. There are a lot of lakes in this area,” she said, measuring flour into a bowl.

  He paused to look out at the lake. “It’s not the same as living near the ocean.”

  Emma spoke up. “Lake Superior looks like an ocean to me.”

  The Admiral smiled. “Yes, it does at times, doesn’t it. But once you’ve sailed the Pacific, nothing can compare.” A faraway look came into his eyes.

  “Were you originally from Minnesota?” Frannie asked. “Is that why you chose to come back?”

  “I didn’t choose to come here,” he answered.

  A forced retirement, Frannie concluded silently, thinking how difficult it must have been to adjust to a life so different from the one he’d known. “You’re not unhappy here, are you?”

  Again, there was that distant look in his eyes. “I should be in command. I would be if it weren’t for Joe…”

  Frannie suspected it was only natural that the Admiral would blame his son for his retirement. He probably wasn’t even aware of his diminished mental capacity. Not knowing the circumstances under which he had left his military command, she wasn’t sure of the appropriate response. She was relieved that Alex chose that moment to enter the house.

  “We’re going to be able to leave pretty soon. They’re almost done clearing away the trees,” he announced.

  That had the Admiral bending to look out the kitchen window. “Can’t see from in here. I’d better go check,” he said before slipping outside.

  “What are you doing?” Alex asked his mother, even though Frannie thought it was rather obvious that she was cooking pancakes.

  “I’m making your brother some breakfast. You want some, too?”