Somebody Like You

by Beth K. Vogt

  “And I’m Sam’s brother.”

  “I know that, Stephen.” Paula moved to the door before she spoke again. Then she paused, the door halfway open, speaking over her shoulder. “Don’t let a little thing like that stop you from loving the right woman—if you’ve found her.”

  A little thing like that.

  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.

  twenty-six

  After 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?”

  “Just today—it is still Thursday, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Is anyone there helping you with Peanut?”

  “Just me.” She needed to end this phone call. There was no way she could make it to the bathroom if she kept chatting with Stephen. “Listen, I’ve got to go—thanks for calling.”

  She tossed the phone on the ground and, with one last glance to make sure Kit was asleep, crawled to the bathroom. It looked as if that was going to be the routine for at least the next twenty-four hours—bathroom, check on the baby, bathroom, check on the baby. And repeat.

  Wait. Haley hadn’t hung up the phone.

  He could hear her moving . . . was she groaning?

  “Haley! Haley, pick up the phone!” Stephen put the phone away from his ear and looked—yep, he was still on the line, but Haley didn’t realize that. “Haley!”

  He disconnected, his fingers fisting around the phone. What should he do? He could call one of Haley’s friends—if he had any of their phone numbers. But had he thought to put Claire’s information in his contact list after Kit was born? No.

  He stared out the window, tapping the phone against his leg. Colorado Springs was two hours away. If he left now, he’d beat rush hour and be there by four at the latest. No time to waste.

  Every driver between Fort Collins and the Springs played defensive lineman, blocking him from getting to Haley’s. And then there were the rubberneckers slowing down to look at the three-car pileup on I-25, stalling things even more. But even with the delays, Stephen forced himself to pull into the Safeway parking lot.

  The first snowflakes started falling as he ran into the grocery store, grabbed a cart, and dashed through the aisles. Tossed in a twelve-pack of ginger ale. Added a twelve-pack of Sprite. Sprinted several aisles over and tossed in a box of saltines. Stood with his fingers drumming on the cart handle and tried to remember what his stepmother fed him when he was sick. Soup. He needed chicken noodle soup. In the soup aisle, he swept half a dozen cans off the shelf, the cans clattering into the cart and just missing crushing the box of crackers. As he moved on down the aisle, he grabbed a few cans of beef vegetable because he was going to have to eat something, and knowing Haley, he’d be lucky if there was anything more than mac and cheese in the house.

  He added a roasted chicken and some celery and carrots and an onion. Canned soup was one thing—once he got Haley and Kit settled, he’d start a pot of good, old-fashioned soup like Mama would make. Well, like he could make.

  Kit.

  He headed for the baby-product aisle. Tossed in diapers, guessing the appropriate size. Wipes. Added a little plush tiger because, well, he was her uncle and why not?

  Wait.

  Was the baby sick?

  He wheeled the cart over to the pharmacy, waiting while a portly man with a single tuft of white hair on the top of his head discussed a long list of prescriptions with the pharmacist. After five minutes, the pharmacist tossed a smile at Stephen, who could do nothing but shrug. He had to ask the question, despite the minutes quite literally ticking away before his eyes on the clock hanging on the wall behind her.

  When the man finally shuffled off with two bags of medications, Stephen moved forward, vowing to up his bran intake and decrease his simple
sugars.

  “Do you have a prescription?”

  “No. A question.” He drummed his fingers on the handle of the cart again, trying to remember how he’d rehearsed the question in his head. “What do I do if a baby is sick?”

  “Is she running a temperature?”

  “I don’t know. Her mom is.”

  “Well, just because the mom is sick doesn’t mean the baby will get sick, too. How old is the baby?”

  “Two months.”

  The pharmacist looked at him, glanced at his left hand, as if trying to determine whether he was some clueless husband.

  “I’m the baby’s uncle.” Oh, great. The “uncle.” “My brother—the baby’s father—was killed in Afghanistan.” As if the woman needed all this information. “I just talked to my sister-in-law—” Could this get any more convoluted? “—and I found out she’s sick.” He moved the cart back and forth. “I’m bringing her supplies, and I was wondering what I should take for the baby.”

  “Oh. How sweet.” A smile transformed the woman’s face from suspicious to compassionate. “Make sure your sister-in-law stays up on fluids. Tea, water. And you might want to get some Pedialyte just in case the baby does get sick.”

  “Pedialyte?”

  “Let me show you where it is.” She came out from behind the counter and led him several aisles over. “Pedialyte is good for preventing dehydration in babies.”

  By the time he got to the self-checkout line, almost half an hour had elapsed. He passed a display of bouquets. He’d almost forgotten the no-frills flowers.

  The snowfall was increasing when he left the grocery store, and by the time he pulled his Mustang into the driveway the roads were starting to slick up. He grabbed a bag of groceries and half walked, half slid to the garage, punching the code into the keypad, depositing the bag of groceries just inside. He made two more quick trips to the car and then closed the garage door.

  He shucked off his wet shoes in the laundry room, doing a visual sweep of the living room as he carried in the groceries. The house was still. Quiet. “Haley?”