by Beth K. Vogt
“She’ll gain weight.” Stephen paused. “She has Sam’s brown eyes.”
Haley looked up from the camera into eyes identical to Sam’s. “I wasn’t expecting that. I thought all babies had blue eyes.”
“Not this little girl.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Just for a moment, it was like looking into Sam’s eyes again. I think he’d like that—knowing his child looks like him.”
“He didn’t know.”
“Of course he couldn’t know the baby would look like him—”
“No—he didn’t know about the baby.”
Stephen’s one eyebrow rose, a crease forming between his eyes. “Why wouldn’t Sam know? I mean, he was still alive when you found out you were pregnant, right?”
Why hadn’t she kept looking at the photos of her daughter, Sam’s daughter? Why didn’t she talk about what to name her or how an hours-old baby girl already faced the “I have nothing to wear” dilemma?
“He deployed. We were talking about whether he was reenlisting or not.” Haley turned off the camera, setting it on the bedside table, next to the infant sleeper. “I wanted Sam to finish his commitment and get out of the army so we could settle down somewhere.”
The words spilled out, tumbling over each other. If she kept talking, then Stephen couldn’t ask any more questions. “Right after he deployed, he called . . . told me that he reenlisted. Two more years. The bonus was too good to pass up. I was so angry . . . another two years of watching Sam leave. Another two years of putting our plans—our marriage—on hold . . . I thought I might be pregnant, but I didn’t tell him. He was all about convincing me that he’d made the right decision.”
“But why didn’t you tell him that you were pregnant the next time you talked?”
She had asked herself that same question thousands of times. “When he called the next time, I knew I was pregnant. I hadn’t seen a doctor—but a home pregnancy test was positive. I was still hurt, and I thought, Wait until you Skype. I mean, wouldn’t it be better to tell him face-to-face—or sort of face-to-face?”
“And then—”
“And then the team showed up at my door. Told me Sam was dead.” She stared at the wall, the clock still counting off seconds, minutes, hours. “I know they thought I didn’t cry because I was in shock. But I kept thinking, I need to tell him about the baby.”
The only sound in the room was the TV, which Haley had turned on low. Nothing as good as a John Wayne movie, but noise to fill the space. “I hate that Sam died without knowing about our baby. I didn’t mean for it to happen . . . You understand, don’t you?”
She waited for him to say something. Something to lift the burden from her heart.
But Stephen refused to even look at her.
His brother hadn’t known about the baby.
How awful. Simple choices—Sam’s to reenlist, Haley’s to wait and tell Sam she was pregnant—could lead to regret. How sad to realize, yet again, what waiting to communicate with someone you love could cost you.
When Sam chose to stay in the army, he was doing what he thought was right—for him and for Haley. And Stephen understood why Haley wanted to share the news via Skype. Haley telling Sam that she was pregnant wouldn’t have stopped that sniper’s bullet. No. But his brother would have died knowing he was going to be a father. And Haley could hold on to the comfort that Sam knew about the baby. Their baby.
Even as he processed all of these thoughts, another one reared up and pushed him away from Haley.
Why was she telling him about her sin of omission? Was he nothing more than a substitute for his brother? An alternate Ames so Haley could confess her mistake, express her regret, and then move on with her life—without him?
Stephen pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It was happening again—he was changing places with his brother, only no one was asking him if he wanted to be involved with the charade.
“Why are we even talking about this?” He squared his shoulders, meeting Haley’s eyes, ignoring the shadows in their depths. “You’re tired—understandably so. Don’t overreact, Haley. It’s in the past. If you’d had more time, you would have told Sam. Mistakes happen.”
Did his words cause Haley to flinch? What did she want him to say? Oh, that’s right. That he understood.
And he did. He understood how Sam could have died without knowing he was going to be a father. That all made sense.
What didn’t make sense was why he wanted his brother’s widow to see him for himself—not as some stand-in for Sam.
“I need to get back to the NICU. Check on the baby. That’s what you want me to do, right?”
“Right.”
“You need anything before I go back?”
“No.”
“I’ll let you know if anything changes. Try and get some sleep.”
“Sure.”
He left Haley sitting in the hospital bed, arms empty. Her gaze heated his back. Once the door closed, he leaned against the wall. Two women walked by in scrubs, their conversation muted. A phone rang at the nurses’ station, once, twice, before being answered, and a woman’s voice said, “L and D, how can I help you?”
Stephen pressed his fist against his chest, as if he could stop the burning pressure building inside. This was absurd. This wasn’t about him. He had no right feeling anything for Haley—no right to want more. He had come to the Springs to find his brother’s widow so he could discover who Sam had become—not to become involved with her.
He closed his eyes, only to see Haley’s face appear in his mind. Sam had loved her . . . kissed her . . . been with her in the most intimate of ways. He needed to keep his distance from Haley, despite having just shared something so unforgettable with her.
“How do I do this, God?”
“Are you okay, sir?”
Stephen bolted upright, his eyes latching on to the woman with short-cropped red hair standing in front of him. “I’m fine. Just been a long night.”
“Understood. Your first?”
“Yes. No.” He rubbed his forehead. “It’s complicated.”
“Children always are. I have three.” The nurse’s calm demeanor seemed to surround Stephen. “Wait until they’re teenagers. But they’re worth everything from labor pains to late nights waiting up for them to come home.”
“I can only imagine.”
“You might want to go home and get some sleep.”
“I need to get to the NICU—she’s having some problems breathing.”
“What’s her name?”
“She doesn’t have one yet. We thought she was a boy.”
“It happens—not often, but it happens. Don’t rush picking a name. And don’t just feminize the boy name you had picked out. You’ll know when you find the right one.”
“Not sure how you’d feminize Clint Barton.”
“Hawkeye from Marvel Comics?” The nurse raised an eyebrow, reminding him of Haley’s stare-down tactic.
“Exactly.”
“Did you know there was a female Hawkeye character? I think her name was Kate. I’d have to Google it to be sure.”
“How’d you know that?”
“Longtime Avengers fan.”
“I’ll check it out. Thanks.”
Kate. Did the baby look like a Kate? Would Haley like that name? It was really her choice. But he could look up the names of Marvel superheroines on his phone—unless the staff in the NICU agreed to let him hold his niece.
nineteen
Why had she confessed to Stephen that Sam died before she’d told him about the baby? No one except Claire knew she hadn’t told her husband she was pregnant.
Haley curled up on her side in the hospital bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders. Her body ached from top to bottom—literally. No one warned her about the post–labor and delivery aches and pains. Her body was stretched out and bruised in places unmentionable—and now her heart seemed to beat with a limp. If she pushed the call button, would the nur
se be able to give her some sort of medication for that?
She’d survived childbirth.
“Sam, I did it.” The words, breathed aloud, surprised her. “I had your baby. Our baby. She’s beautiful—but I thought she was a boy. And I don’t know what to name her.”
Oh, this talking to a man gone missing was crazy.
But Sam wasn’t missing. She knew where he was, didn’t she?
Didn’t she?
She and Sam hadn’t talked about the very real possibility of his death that much. He’d shown her where he kept his insurance papers and will, explaining that he’d made her his beneficiary. Assured her that she’d be taken care of if he died.
“Don’t you worry, Hal. You’ll be fine if something should happen to me.” Sam tucked the folded papers back into the fire safe, locking it, and putting the key back in the wooden box inlaid with ivory on his dresser.
“I don’t worry about me. I worry about you.”
“Me? Why? I’m well trained—and protected by the Geneva Conventions. No need to worry.” He wrapped his arms around her. “I’ve got this—and God’s got me.”
“You believe that, Sam?”
“Of course I do.” For once no mocking half smile appeared on his face. “It’s the only way I could do what I do. And I don’t worry about you. You’re strong—and I’ve taken care of all the other things.”
“I don’t want the money. I just want you to come home.”
“I promise.”
Sam believed God “had” him. Was that why he could walk away from her and onto the plane—never looking back—each time he deployed?
But he also promised to come home. A promise he couldn’t keep.
Maybe a promise he never should have made.
She startled when her phone rang. Retrieving it from beside her bed, she saw her brother’s face appear on the screen. Talking to him was better than talking to her dead husband.
“Hey, David.”
“Hal—has the baby arrived yet?”
“I wouldn’t be answering the phone if she hadn’t.”
“Great! Mom said it was too late to call, but I told her—wait a minute, she? I thought your doc said you were having a boy.”
“And this is why—and I quote—‘the ultrasound is just a picture of reality, not reality itself.’ Believe me, I had a daughter.”
“Wow. You. And a girl.”
“Hey!” Haley had to protest, even if he was only saying what she believed.
“You gotta admit, life in our family didn’t set you up too well for frills and frou-frou.”
“Who says my daughter is going to be frills and frou-frou?”
“Point taken. How are you feeling?”
“Beaten up. Labor and delivery are grueling. But I’m more worried about my daughter. She’s in the NICU because she’s having trouble breathing.”
“Oh, wow. Mom’s going to want to get on the next plane out there.”
“No—no, convince her to wait until I find out what’s going on. I don’t know how long she’ll be in the hospital. I don’t know when I’m going home. I don’t even know her name.”
“Well, you better get on it. You know Mom, she’s gonna ask me all the basics: toes, fingers, height, weight, eye color . . .”
“Brown eyes. She has Sam’s brown eyes.”
“That’s pretty cool.”
“I think so.” Haley maneuvered onto her back. Wow. She could lie on her back again. “And she weighs four pounds, five ounces.”
“Tiny little thing, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. But not surprising since she was six weeks early.”
“Got any pictures? Mom’s going to ask about that, too.”
“Yes. The nurse took some and Stephen did, too—although I’m deleting the one where he had no right to be pointing a camera at me.”
“Stephen? As in Stephen Ames, Sam’s brother?”
“Yes, that Stephen. My friend Claire is stranded in the mountains because of a snowstorm.”
“Are you telling me that Sam’s brother was with you while you had a baby? Sam’s twin? That had to be surreal.”
“It was . . . comforting. I didn’t even think about the fact that he looks just like Sam. I mean, he does. But he’s different, too. Sam had this cocky, where’s-the-next-challenge attitude. Stephen’s quiet—like some sort of soldier who won’t abandon his post.”
“But this guy saw you . . . have a baby.”
Haley couldn’t help but laugh at the obvious disgust in her brother’s voice, followed by a quick groan of pain. Wow. It hurt when she laughed. Great. “Actually, he didn’t. He held my hands and faced away from all that.”
“Huh.” David seemed to be puzzling out that reality. “All right, if you say so. Figures you’d do the whole having-a-baby experience different from other women.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, Hal. Don’t overreact. You just had a baby.”
Haley knew when one of her brothers was baiting her, and she knew better than to let David’s teasing bother her. She was an adult now—a mother. She needed to stop reacting like a ten-year-old. Or maybe she was just too exhausted to defend herself.
“Listen, I’ll call Mom and the guys and report in. And tell Stephen I want a copy of that photo.”
“What photo? Oh, no. You’ll post that to your Facebook page.”
“Me? You’re thinking of another brother.”
“Right.”
The conversation with David allowed Haley to head to the bathroom with a little less regret trailing behind her. Her big brother always had a way of infusing laughter into any situation—sometimes inappropriately.
But even though she tried to ignore it, his comment about not being like other women stung like the first failed tries for her IV line. So she wasn’t girly-girly. That came with growing up—and keeping up—with three brothers. And Sam had fallen in love with her as is.
Had she been enough for Sam, really? If he’d lived, would he have felt as if he had settled, marrying her? That he’d missed out on a traditional, more feminine woman? Someone like Claire?
She stood in the dark bathroom, staring at her shadowed reflection in the mirror. Is this what motherhood and raging hormones did to a woman—make her doubt herself, compare herself to her best friend? The only thing she knew for certain was she didn’t have what it took to be the single mother of an only child.
Where was he?
Stephen swiped his hand down his face, muffling a yawn, stretching his back, which protested the movement. He turned his head . . . and remembered.
From where he’d stretched out on the mini-couch in the hospital room—probably put there for exhausted fathers—Stephen could see Haley, curled on her side, asleep. Her hair splayed across the pillow like spilled honey, her hand tucked underneath her cheek. She looked about sixteen years old.
Why her, Sam? Why did you marry her?
Of course, he had no way of knowing what kind of women his brother would like. Before the estrangement, they’d been young teen boys. They’d talked about girls. Sam even said he’d kissed a few, while Stephen hung back in the wings and waited for his chance to come onstage and be a part of the whole romantic adventure.
Had Sam dated a lot before deciding to propose to Haley? Were all his girlfriends the all-American, athletic, bordering-on-a-tomboy type? From what he’d seen, Haley never wore makeup. Didn’t own a dress. And was very possibly more comfortable with guys than girls.
But she must have been Sam’s type. He’d fallen in love with her. Married her.
Not that Haley wasn’t attractive. When she let her guard down, when she smiled, her eyes shimmering with laughter, she intrigued him—lured him closer—in a way that Elissa, for all her primping and posing, never had.
He pushed himself to a sitting position. Enough of that kind of thinking. He was obviously overtired.
“I’m here!”
A quick glance at his sister-in-law showed sh
e’d managed to sleep through Claire’s triumphant, albeit late, entry. He held up his hand, positioning one forefinger over his lips, as he rose to his feet. Then he motioned for Claire to follow him back out into the hallway.
Claire backed up, standing on her tiptoes, trying to see around Stephen. “But I want to see Haley.”
At least she whispered.
“You did see Haley—and she’s asleep. Let’s keep it that way. She’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”
Claire paced the hallway, unwinding a feathery purple scarf from around her neck. “And I missed it. I failed her.”
“You didn’t fail her—”
“We got here as fast as we could. We left this morning, as soon as we heard traffic was moving through the tunnel again.” There was a distinct quiver to the woman’s voice. “And I didn’t even wait for Finn to park the car when we got here—I jumped out before he came to a full stop.”
“Claire.” Stephen stood in front of her, clasping her shoulders. “Do you want to see the baby?”
“The baby!” Her eyes widened. “Can I?”
“Come on, I’ll take you to the NICU. Then we’ll come back and check on Haley. She’s only been cat-napping.”
Claire double-timed it down the carpeted hallway next to him. “What’s wrong with the baby? Is she getting better? It’s not serious, is it? Did Haley pick a name yet?”
“She had some breathing problems early on, and they think it’s because she’s premature, but they can’t be sure for a couple of days.”
“They aren’t sure if she’s premature? She showed up six weeks early—”
“That’s not what I said. They think she’s having breathing problems because she was premature, but they’re not sure if that’s the reason why. We can ask questions when we get to the NICU. And no, no name yet. Clint Barton is a no-go, that’s for certain.”
“Is she okay?”
“The baby? I just told you—”
“No, Haley. Is she okay about having a daughter?”
“Well, after the initial ‘it can’t be a girl’ battle with the doctor, I think she’s accepting it pretty well.”
“I would love to have been there—and not just to see her face when that happened.”
