by Beth K. Vogt
thirty-two
The last time Haley had sat in Lily’s family room, she’d been a mom-to-be. Thanks to Kit’s early arrival, she’d missed the rest of the classes.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t bring Kit with you. I’m eager to see your daughter.” Lily carried in two tall amber glasses, handing one to Haley before settling next to her on the couch. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“It’s okay, Lily. I’ve turned my ringer on my phone off and forgotten about it for a day or two before—it happens. I apologize for showing up like this. Next time I’ll make sure to bring Kit. But I wanted . . . I needed to talk with you.”
Lily waved away Haley’s apology. “Is she doing well? Off the oxygen?”
“Yes. She only used it while she was in the hospital. She’s all of nine pounds, and my doctor says for being premature, she’s thriving.”
Lily moved her long gray braid so it hung down her back. “Why do I get the feeling you didn’t come here to talk to me about babies?”
Haley twisted the glass in her hands, the ice cubes sloshing around in the soda, creating tiny bubbles that fizzed and popped. “I always knew you were discerning.”
“What’s on your mind, Haley?”
“After your husband died . . . how long was it before you remarried?”
“Ah.” Lily settled back against the cushions. “I got married two years after my husband died.”
“Two years. That’s reasonable.”
“Are you asking me what’s a ‘reasonable’ time to wait until you get remarried? I can assure you, my mother-in-law didn’t think two years was appropriate. In her mind, I should have never remarried.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I really loved Tom, I would never replace him with another man. Her words, not mine.”
“Did you know your second husband before your husband died? I mean, was he a friend—”
“My first husband was a pastor.” She shook her head, a smile curving her lips. “Jerry, who I’m married to now, attended our church. He led the singles ministry. Ironic, I know.”
“How did the church feel about you two getting married?”
“Well, it really wasn’t their business, was it?” Lily shrugged her shoulders, a knowing smile playing around her lips. “Although congregations don’t always act that way. Some members were very supportive. And some . . . weren’t. Jerry told me that he would have proposed a lot sooner if it hadn’t been for all the church craziness.”
“Would you have said yes?”
“I don’t know. Back then, I thought too much about what other people thought about me. I didn’t want to upset my mother-in-law. I didn’t want to upset the church. I didn’t want to upset my little ones.” She rested her hand on her heart. “The only person I wasn’t thinking about was me.”
“Aren’t we supposed to consider others first?”
“Well, yes. But that doesn’t mean that we never, ever think about ourselves. That we never ask God what his plans are for us, for our future, our happiness.” She leaned forward, placing her hand on Haley’s knee. “Which brings us to you—and why you look so sad.”
“Is that a question?”
Lily reached for her glass and settled back against the couch. “Here’s a straightforward one: Have you fallen in love?”
“I can’t.” Haley fought against the searing tightness in her chest caused by both Lily’s question and her answer.
“Your husband’s death doesn’t disqualify you from falling in love again.”
“It’s too soon . . .”
“Love often has its own timetable. If this were five years from now, would your ‘I can’t’ be a ‘Yes, I can’?”
“No.”
“Then timing isn’t the obstacle. What’s the real reason you can’t?”
“I can’t fall in love with Sam’s brother.”
“Ah.” Lily pursed her lips. “That makes things interesting.”
“Interesting?” Her laughter was short-lived. “It makes things horribly, terribly, what-am-I-thinking complicated.”
“Why?”
“Because Stephen is Sam’s brother. His mirror twin.” Haley buried her face in her hands.
“So Stephen looks just like Sam, right?”
Haley’s words were muffled. “So much so the first time I saw him, I thought he was Sam.”
“Does he act like Sam?”
“No. I mean, they have some of the same quirky mannerisms—they both like to dip potato chips in ketchup. And Stephen drives a Mustang, which was Sam’s dream car. But Stephen is so different from Sam.”
“How so?”
Haley sat back. Closed her eyes. “Sam was always leaving me. It wasn’t his fault. It came with the job. I knew it when I married him. Sam always told me what a good army wife I was . . . I thought . . . I thought . . .”
“What?”
How did she unravel all the unmet expectations in her marriage from the longings Stephen stirred inside her? “I thought I was getting to be a girl this time . . . when I married Sam. I’ve always felt like one of the guys—following my brothers around, you know? And that was okay. I thought Sam saw me for me. But sometimes he treated me more like one of his army buddies.”
“And it’s different with Stephen?”
“Stephen . . . Stephen is here for me. He stays.”
“Go on.”
“This feels traitorous.”
“Don’t tell me about Sam versus Stephen. Just tell me about Stephen.”
“Stephen helps me. I’ve always been independent. Another consequence of having three older brothers. I learned early on not to complain. To take what life handed me. But Stephen sees past that and takes care of things . . . takes care of me. I can . . . rest with him.”
“He sounds pretty special.”
“He’s Sam’s brother.”
Lily set her drink on the coffee table and reached for Haley’s hand. “Haley, you are not choosing between Sam and Stephen; you know that, right?”
“It feels that way.”
“Sam isn’t here. You can’t choose him.” How was it that Lily’s smile eased the ache in Haley’s heart? “At one time, Sam and you chose each other. But that time is over. When we get married, we think it’s going to be forty, fifty, maybe even sixty years. But sometimes you have five years. Or three. Or less.”
“What will people think?”
“Oh, Haley—that’s no way to live your life. You’ll stretch yourself every which way but the way God is leading you if you base your decisions on what everyone else is thinking.”
Haley tried to meet Lily’s gaze, but she couldn’t. “What would Sam think?”
When Lily reached out and pulled her into an embrace, Haley allowed it, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder. “Did you and Sam ever talk about what would happen if he died?”
“No. Never.” She pulled away from Lily. “I know most military couples do. I mean, Sam showed me the insurance papers. But that was it. We just . . . didn’t talk about it. The only thing he ever said was that he didn’t worry about me. He knew I could handle everything when he was gone.”
“Well, then that still applies.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s obvious Sam trusted you. That he knew you’d make wise decisions.”
“But he never expected me to fall in love with his brother.”
“He never expected to be killed while he was on that deployment, either. The fact remains that Sam trusted you. Take things slow. Pray about your relationship with Stephen. And don’t be afraid to walk into the future God has waiting for you.”
Haley walked across the backyard until she stood at the tree caught in the tug-of-war between her and the homeowners’ association. She ran her hand along the trunk, the bark rough beneath her fingertips, bits of it flaking off and falling to the ground. When she looked up, the tree’s branches spread out against the blue sky, dark and leafless.
Lifeless.
Brushing aside a few small rocks, Haley settled onto the ground, leaning against the tree. She set Kit’s monitor nearby and placed the envelope holding the information about Sam’s death on her lap.
Was she ready to read the details? The medical what and how and why? She knew the basics: Sam had been administering aid to a small number of troops on patrol who had been caught in an ambush. A sniper shot him. He died quickly. Instantly. During the funeral, she’d insisted on a closed casket, even though Sam looked . . . fine.
She picked up the envelope, causing something to slip around inside. Their wedding bands. She opened the back flap, pulling out the simple gold rings Sam had purchased at the post exchange. She’d told him that she didn’t want anything extravagant or fancy.
Setting the envelope aside, she slipped both of the rings onto her forefinger—Sam’s ring sliding all the way on and her band stopping at her knuckle. She’d considered having Sam buried with his wedding band but then decided their son might want the ring one day. Who knew? Kit might want to give it to her husband.
She touched the brushed gold. Haley knew some people thought she took her wedding band off too soon. It didn’t matter what they thought. She took her band off when Sam stopped wearing his band. It only seemed right—and so, so wrong.
She closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of the neighbor’s just-mowed grass mixed with the hickory aroma of someone grilling dinner.
She didn’t want to read the report. Didn’t need to read it. It wouldn’t change anything. Wouldn’t bring Sam back.
Haley removed both rings, held them in the palm of her hand for a moment, then closed her fingers around them and pressed her hand to her heart.
Her life didn’t make sense. Who fell in love with twin brothers—identical ones, at that?
At first, Haley couldn’t see past all the ways Stephen reminded her of Sam. Same height. Same build. Same brown eyes. Same brown hair, although Stephen’s was long enough to touch his ears. But now she could see beyond all the physical similarities to how Stephen was so very different from her husband.
Sam was the man who always left her—who was always thinking of the next adventure even when he was with her.
Stephen was the man who always came back to her even when she pushed him away. Stephen was the man who stayed.
When it came to their relationship, Sam kept a barrier up—and she had, too.
Stephen somehow found a way past her defenses, asking her to give more of her heart, more of herself, than Sam ever had.
Sam expected her to be independent, to take care of herself.
Stephen asked her to let him help, to let him care for her.
But just because she saw the differences between Sam and Stephen—would never mistake one brother for the other—that didn’t mean she was free to love Sam’s brother. That didn’t make it right. Or wise. Or best.
thirty-three
“Is this what you’re planning on wearing to the memorial?” Claire picked the dark plum sheath off the bed.
“I thought so.” She continued to fold towels. “You know me and dresses—we don’t get along that well.”
“It’s just because you’ve ignored them for so long.”
“Well, David’s wife e-mailed this to me—a picture of it, I mean. I know I should probably wear black, but it’s been almost a year since Sam died.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me—or anyone else, Haley. The dress is perfectly acceptable. Are you wearing black heels?”
“Yes, the ones I bought for the funeral.”
“So . . . how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. I think I’ll have all the laundry done before I leave for Oklahoma—but if I don’t, it’ll wait for me.” She dropped the washcloth she was folding. “I need to move the loads around. Do you want to wait here or follow me to the laundry room?”
“I’ll tag along.” Claire hung the dress on the back of the closet door, following her in silence until they got to the laundry room. “How are you and Stephen?”
“We’re fine.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means we’re fine—nothing more, nothing less.” Haley hauled a load of wet jeans from the washing machine into the dryer.
“Are you going to stand there and tell me you haven’t realized Stephen Ames is at least halfway in love with you?”
“Stephen and I are friends. He helps out with things around the house. He’s Kit’s uncle.”
“Uncle Stephen loves Kit’s mama.”
Haley slammed the dryer door, pushing the needed buttons to start the machine, then started filling the washer with whites. “Enough.”
“Do you really believe the man comes down here all the time because he likes doing projects around your house?”
“Not listening.”
“Fine. Changing the subject. Is Stephen still going to the memorial service with you?”
“Yes.”
“Let me ask you this: How do you think people are going to react when you walk into the memorial service—with Stephen?”
“That’s not my problem.” The pungent odor of bleach stung her eyes.
“It is your problem, Haley—because you were married to Sam.”
Haley faced her friend. “I told Stephen I wasn’t sure about him coming to the memorial service. He needed to think about how his mom would feel when he walked into the church. She deserves to mourn her son without that kind of pressure.” She shut the washing machine, programmed the proper cycle, and then exited the laundry room with Claire following her. “That was how I felt at first. But then I thought about it. Prayed about it. And I realized Stephen has every right to be at the memorial service. And I’m thankful he’s going to be there. I want him there—as a friend. I can’t imagine going to the service without him.”
What had he just heard?
Stephen stood on the steps leading from Haley’s garage into the laundry room, the silence echoing around him.
“He needed to think about how his mom would feel when he walked into the church. She deserves to mourn her son without that kind of pressure.”
Hadn’t he and Haley talked this out a few weeks ago? When had she gone from wanting him there to considering him nothing more than “pressure”?
Sidestepping her Forester, he exited through the garage door, which had stood open when he pulled into the driveway. So much for taking off early from Fort Collins to surprise Haley, to check and see if there was anything she needed before she left for Oklahoma tomorrow.
All she needed was for him not to show up.
He backed the Mustang out of the driveway, careful not to gun the engine and alert Haley that he’d been there. He rubbed the heel of his hand against the ache in his chest. How had he misread everything between them? Despite blocking his hopes for romance, Haley seemed so open to him. They talked late into the night, sometimes until two or three in the morning. He came down on Friday nights, making dinner for them and watching a movie before going to his hotel room, and then coming back on Saturday to make breakfast and tackle the next homeowners’ association–mandated project on the list. And he always left a bouquet of daisies on her dining room table.
But none of that changed what he’d heard: Haley didn’t want him at Sam’s memorial service. She was flying out to Oklahoma tomorrow—a few days early, so she could spend some time with his mother. And then he was supposed to arrive the night before the memorial. He’d bought his ticket the day after he and Haley agreed he should attend the service—or so he’d thought.
He pointed the car north, moving into the stream of traffic heading away from the Springs. Should he still show up at the memorial service, knowing how Haley felt?
He had a plane ticket.
He had a right to honor his brother.
But the woman he loved didn’t want him there.
And to his mother he was nothing more than pressure.
As he waited for the light at an intersect
ion to change from red to green, he waged an internal debate. Why not go back and confront Haley? Hash out the whole should-he-go-to-the-memorial-service-or-shouldn’t-he one more time? He activated his Bluetooth, drumming his fingers on his steering wheel, then grabbing the wheel when his phone rang in his ear.
“Hello?”
“You ready to talk serious business plans?” Jared’s voice was a splash of verbal cold water.
“What are you talking about?”
“My friend Joe is in.”
“In?”
“He’s ready to invest in our business.”
Stephen eased through the intersection. “Did you inform Joe that our business is still in the planning stage?”
“I let him know he’s getting in on the ground floor.”
“Basement.”
“Details. He’s in town. We’re meeting tomorrow night for dinner, which I hope ends with a handshake and him writing me—us—a big, fat check. Can you get here?”
Could he get to Oregon? Yes—if he skipped Sam’s memorial. And maybe that was the best thing for everyone.
“Let me see what I can do. I’ll call you back.”
Stephen voice-dialed Haley, continuing his trek back toward home. He fought against the hope that she’d give him some reason to turn the car around.
“Hello?”
“Haley, it’s Stephen.”
“How’s my daughter’s favorite uncle?”
How honest should he be? If he knew one thing about Haley, it was that she liked things straight up. “I’m rethinking a few things.”
A moment of silence greeted his statement. “Meaning?”
“I don’t know how else to do this.”
“Do what? Stephen, what is going on?”
“I was at your house earlier.”
“What? When?”
“I drove down tonight—wanted to surprise you, see if I could help you get ready for your trip to Oklahoma tomorrow.” Now came the hard part. “I heard you talking to Claire.”
“You heard me talking to—”
“Telling her that I shouldn’t come to the memorial. That it would upset my mother.” He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. “I thought we’d talked this out, Haley.”
