Somebody Like You

by Beth K. Vogt

  “We did, Stephen—”

  “You could have told me how you really felt. I want to be at the memorial—but not by forcing myself into it.” He waited a heartbeat for Haley to say something. Insist she wanted him there. Her silence stretched between them. “And then Jared called and the business opportunity looks like it’s a go, so I think it’s best for all of us if I fly out to Oregon instead of Oklahoma.”

  There was no sound on the other end of the phone. “Did I lose you?”

  “No.” Haley’s voice inched up in volume. “No. I’m still here.”

  “The reality is—” Stephen wished the call had been disconnected. He could stop talking. Take back everything he’d said tonight. “—the reality is, I—I pushed things. Got ahead of myself. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  “I understand. Well, um, Kit will miss you.”

  “I’ll miss her, too.” His throat ached. “Listen, I know you’re probably packing, so I won’t keep you on the phone.”

  “Sure.”

  “G’night.”

  He disconnected without waiting to hear Haley’s response, yanking his Bluetooth out of his ear and tossing it on the dash. He was done talking for the night.

  Haley hauled her suitcase over to the curbside check-in desk, weaving her way through the double lanes of cars stopped in front of DIA. She deposited the bag, nodding to the young family in Broncos T-shirts who positioned themselves behind her. “Be right back.”

  Slipping her purse over her head so it was across her body, she sprinted back to Claire’s car. Her best friend had already removed Kit’s car seat and held Kit in her arms, rocking her back and forth. “Thanks for driving me to the airport.”

  “Not a problem.” Claire ducked inside the car, reappearing with the loaded diaper bag. “I don’t work until tonight. Don’t forget this. You told me it was essential to your sanity.”

  “Absolutely. I think I stuffed fifty diapers in there and half a dozen bottles.”

  “It’s a two-hour flight, Hal.”

  “And I’m here two hours early. And I’ve never traveled with a baby before.” She hugged her friend. “Thanks again.”

  Claire stopped her with a quick clasp of her hand. “You never heard from Stephen again?”

  “No.”

  “Why didn’t you explain that he didn’t hear the entire conversation?”

  “Because he didn’t want to hear it.” Haley sidestepped a taxi as it skirted around her and parked, the air laden with exhaust fumes. “I don’t have time to think about this.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Claire raised her voice over the din of running car motors, honking horns, and shuttle buses shifting gears.

  Haley pretended she hadn’t heard the question. She checked her bag and Kit’s car seat at the counter and walked into the air-conditioned climate of the terminal, weaving her way through security and finally stepping onto the escalator to the train that would take her to her gate.

  While she waited for the train, she shifted Kit to her other shoulder. She should have pulled out the baby sling from the diaper bag so her hands would be free, but now she’d have to wait until she was at her gate.

  Her phone vibrated in her purse but there was no way she’d get to it before it switched over to voice mail. Probably Miriam wanting to double-check her arrival time. But it might be Stephen, calling to say he was sorry. That he was still coming to the memorial. Maybe.

  Haley detoured to the restroom, waiting behind two other moms for her turn to use the changing table. After changing Kit’s wet diaper, she sifted through her overpacked diaper bag and found the Peanut Shell, sliding it over her head. Before settling Kit into place, she retrieved her phone.

  Miriam.

  She waited until she was at the gate, Kit snug in the baby sling, before listening to the message. As she suspected, Miriam had left a message asking about her flight. A quick phone call reconfirmed her arrival.

  Haley stared straight ahead. The continual stream of people heading for their gates or going in the opposite direction after arriving at the airport blurred into a moving mass of colors. She was on her own. She’d expected that for the flight to Oklahoma. But the thought of Stephen being at the memorial had comforted her . . . strengthened her.

  She’d been foolish.

  She’d made the mistake of relying on a man instead of relying on herself. Two men. And both of them were Ameses. At least with Stephen she discovered the mistake early enough to recover from her emotional misstep. And it wasn’t as if her heart was completely engaged. With Sam, she’d spent three years waiting. Hoping.

  She was on her own. She’d go to Oklahoma. Get through the memorial service. Come home. And she’d forget about Stephen Ames and his waiting-to-kiss-you-again promises.

  thirty-four

  Stephen stretched out along Jared’s couch. “We got a lot accomplished today.”

  “We?” Jared handed him a cold bottle of Killian’s before settling into the chair across from him. When Moses, his Great Dane, walked toward Stephen, Jared motioned for the dog to lie down. “I did all the talking. You nodded your head appropriately—or inappropriately. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  Stephen eyed Moses, who was inching toward him from his prone position on the carpet. “Does your dog want my Killian’s?”

  “He just wants attention. Ignore him.”

  “Kind of hard to ignore when you’re being stared down by a hundred-and-fifty-pound dog.”

  Jared snapped his fingers. “Moses! Come here. Lie down.” Once the dog settled at his feet, he focused on Stephen again. “So, back to you. Can you explain the whole ‘present in body but absent in mind’ act during dinner?”

  “Distracted, that’s all.”

  “I knew that—the blank stare clued me in. You could have agreed to start a snow cone business.”

  Stephen clasped his hands around the glass bottle. “I got off track.”

  Jared waited for him to continue.

  “I went to Colorado Springs to find out more about my brother—not to fall in love with his widow.”

  Still no reaction from his best friend—or Moses. Did the dog ever blink?

  “You’re not going to tell me how stupid I am?”

  “I think you’re beating yourself up enough. I’m not going to throw in a few punches of my own.”

  Stephen saluted him with his beer. “Thanks for that.”

  “So, I take it Haley isn’t interested in a relationship with you?”

  “No. I thought I could wait. Be patient. I planned on going to Sam’s memorial service with her.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I heard her talking to her friend Claire about how my being there was going to stress out my mom—how she tried to convince me not to come. I thought we’d hashed that all out and she understood why I wanted to be there.”

  “Did you talk to her about what you heard?”

  “Yes. And then I told her I thought it was best if I didn’t come to the memorial and that I’d decided to go to Oregon for business.”

  Jared shook his head. “Do you think you’re in a soap opera?”

  “Of course not.” Stephen did a double take. “What do you know about soap operas?”

  “I dated a woman—very briefly—who watched every soap on network television, thanks to the miracle of TiVo. One key element? People don’t talk things out. Lots of misunderstandings. Kept the story lines going for months.”

  “I know what I heard—and there was no cheesy background music.” Stephen held his hand up, halting Jared’s reply, when his iPhone vibrated. “Stephen Ames here.”

  “Stephen? Where are you?”

  “Dad?” Stephen sat up. “I’m at Jared’s—in Portland. Why?”

  “Because I’m in Oklahoma, checking into the hotel that I thought you were staying at while you’re here for the memorial service tomorrow. But then I’m told you’re not registered as a guest.”

  “Wha
t are you doing in Oklahoma?”

  “Gina and I talked about it—prayed about it—and I’m attending the memorial service tomorrow.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Sam was my son. I’m not going to make a scene. I’ll sit in the back and slip out when it’s over. But I am going to be there. Now, you want to tell me why you’re not here?”

  How was he supposed to explain why he wasn’t there?

  “You are coming, right?”

  “I was, but—”

  “I can’t think of a single reason why you wouldn’t be here.”

  “Haley doesn’t want me there.”

  “I find that hard to believe—and even if that’s true, the real question is: Do you want to be here?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  All the reasons he wanted to be in the church tomorrow burned in his chest. “Because I want the chance to honor Sam. I want . . . to say good-bye.”

  “Then stop talking to me and start looking for a flight that will get you here in time for the service.”

  “But what about Haley?”

  “You’ll sit in the back of the church with me. We won’t attract attention.”

  Stephen picked up Jared’s phone where it lay on the coffee table. It was after eight. “I’m going to try, Dad. I’ll keep you posted.”

  thirty-five

  “You look nice.” Miriam stood in the bathroom doorway watching Haley as she brushed her hair, debating whether to leave it down or pull it back in a ponytail. Miriam had tried to convince her to curl the ends, but Haley wanted to feel normal today—as normal as she possibly could while she sat through the memorial service.

  “Thanks.” Haley let her hair fall around her shoulders. Normal was not fussing about her hair. “Is Kit still asleep?”

  “Yes—I just checked on her.”

  “Which means she’ll be wide awake during the service.”

  “I’ll take care of her.”

  “No, no. I’ll sit on the end of the aisle and slip out if she gets noisy.” No makeup. A sniffle redirected her gaze to her mother-in-law, who dabbed at her eyes with a wadded-up Kleenex. “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Of course.” Miriam’s lips, painted a soft coral, trembled. “A lot of Sam’s high school friends will be there today. His teachers. They planted a tree in his honor in the school courtyard, did I mention that?”

  “Yes. It’s a lovely way to remember Sam.” She smoothed the front of her dress. “Ready to go?”

  Except for the sound of Kit’s soft coos from her car seat, Haley and Miriam rode in silence to the church. They were a good forty-five minutes early, but a few cars were already in the parking lot.

  The midmorning sun warm on her back, Haley shifted the diaper bag to her shoulder, adjusting Kit’s pale pink pleated dress and sweater, hoping it was appropriate. What should an infant wear to her father’s memorial service? Miriam had wanted Kit to wear a bow in her wisps of blond hair, but Haley vetoed the idea. Adding the bow seemed too festive—and today was not a celebration. She rested Kit against her shoulder and followed Miriam into the dim foyer, where a few people milled around and an honor guard stood off to one side.

  “Why don’t we go ahead inside the church?” Miriam moved toward the sanctuary. “I’m sure they reserved seats for us.”

  “That’s fine, Miriam.”

  Haley inhaled the faint scent of fresh flowers mixed with the air-conditioning. Several people had already chosen their seats for the service. Two men in dark suits sat on the far end of the last row—and one of the men was Stephen.

  What? Why was he here when he said he wasn’t coming?

  Miriam’s attention seemed to be focused down front on a large framed photograph of Sam in his camouflage uniform. Next to the photo was a table set with a bouquet of red poppies and white roses, what she could only assume was Sam’s high school letter jacket, and his senior photo. Haley waited until Miriam was ready to find their assigned seats. No need to rush today.

  Front row on the right. Haley settled into the padded wooden pew, sliding the handwritten RESERVED FOR FAMILY sign to the end. As she took Kit from her, Miriam nodded toward the photo of Sam.

  “I always liked that photo—the military one—don’t you? He looks so young and handsome.”

  “Yes.”

  “He loved being in the army, didn’t he?” She settled Kit into her lap. “It made him so happy.”

  “Yes, he did. It did.”

  If only she could tell her mother-in-law not to talk.

  Haley had survived Sam’s funeral by not talking—except for the needed yes and no and thank you. The fewer the words, the less she’d had to delve into the whirlpool of shock and grief that swirled into a frightening numbness. Haley was months past shock, and even the grief was abating. But today she still needed to sit in silence.

  She closed her eyes, listening for a faint echo of Sam’s voice telling her, “You can do this, Hal.”

  Nothing.

  Instead, Stephen’s voice—so like his brother’s and yet so different—slipped past her defenses. “I pushed things. Got ahead of myself. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

  Why would he say that and go AWOL instead of driving her to the airport, leaving her to scramble to find alternate transportation, and then show up today?

  One thing was certain: he didn’t want to be here with her.

  Once the service started, her mother-in-law stopped talking—and began crying. With one arm cradling Kit, she wrapped her other arm around Haley’s waist and leaned against her, the tears trailing down her face to her neck, wetting the collar of her black dress.

  For Haley, the music, the words of comfort, even the memories of Sam spoken by some of his high school friends were muted. Was Kit going to start crying? Would Miriam ever stop crying? How was Stephen holding up?

  As she took her seat before the succession of speakers—the mayor, Sam’s wrestling coach, one of his teachers—Haley searched the back of the church. Stephen still sat in the last pew, his lips thinned into a straight line, his eyes focused on her, not on the activity up front.

  Enough of that.

  She was here to remember her husband, not have her emotions twisted around by his twin brother. She would never have met him if Sam hadn’t been killed. She needed to unravel loneliness for her husband from any sort of mixed-up longings for Stephen. Somehow she had let the two brothers become interchangeable—and that was so, so wrong. It dishonored both of the Ames brothers. Lily had been right: She could fall in love again. Sometime—but not with Stephen. She’d be replacing Sam with his reflection.

  When the memorial ended with the honor guard marching out of the church, Haley closed her eyes, bracing herself to see Stephen again. She gathered up the diaper bag and took Kit from her mother-in-law, who soon became surrounded by friends. Haley couldn’t stop herself from glancing back to where Stephen and the unknown man were sitting.

  They were gone.

  She bit her lip. It was easier this way.

  Haley closed the door to the guest bedroom, breathing a sigh of relief. Off duty at last. The memorial service was over. Kit was asleep. Miriam had disappeared into her bedroom right after dinner, saying she had a headache.

  The house was quiet. And it wasn’t her house, so there wasn’t any dirty laundry to deal with or bills to pay or letters from the homeowners’ association to open or dishes to load in the dishwasher. She had nothing to do except relax.

  Relax.

  Did she know how to do that anymore?

  She could watch TV. Or lounge on the couch and flip through one of the many magazines Miriam subscribed to. Or maybe soak in the tub. Claire said a long soak in the tub always relaxed her.

  A knock at the front door halted her decision.

  Or she could answer the door. It was probably another flower delivery for Miriam. She’d add the bouquet to the assorted arrangements set throughout the living and dining rooms, filling them with an
overwhelming floral scent, and then go take her long soak.

  A tall, broad-shouldered older man with a full head of gray hair stood on the stoop—no bouquet, not even a single flower in sight. In the dim light, he looked familiar. “Can I help you?”

  “You’re Haley Ames, correct?”

  “Ye-es. And you are . . . ?”

  “I’m Joe Ames—Sam’s father. And Stephen’s father, too, of course.”

  Haley’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “You were at the memorial today with Stephen.”

  “I was. We left just before it ended. I didn’t want to create any tension with my ex-wife.”

  “But you’re here now.” Haley bit back the “Why?” She was tired of fighting with Sam’s relatives.

  “I wanted to meet my son’s wife—to meet you.”

  They stared at one another in silence for a few seconds. Haley caught glimpses of Stephen—and Sam, of course—in their father’s build, the cleft in his chin, the timbre of his voice. She offered her hand, hoping he saw past the tears in her eyes to the smile on her lips. “Won’t you come in? I think Miriam’s asleep. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Sam’s father moved into the foyer, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your evening.”

  “No, not at all. I’m glad you stopped by. Wait right here.”

  When she reappeared a few moments later, Kit rested in her arms, her eyes opening and closing, as if she wasn’t certain if she was supposed to be awake or asleep. “This is your granddaughter, Katherine Elizabeth. I call her Kit.”

  “Kit.” Joe Ames reached out his hand and caressed the bits of blond hair that feathered across Kit’s head. His eyes were wet, and a single tear ran down his weathered cheek.

  “Stephen told me how he and Sam were named after Marvel superheroes. Kit’s named after a female Hawkeye. I thought I’d continue the family tradition.”

  “I like that.” The man never took his eyes off his granddaughter. “She has the Ames’s brown eyes.”