Somebody Like You (37 page)

Stephen stood holding the phone after Haley hung up. His hand hovered over the keypad. Why not call her back? Suggest he drive down to the Springs and make dinner for them? Knowing Haley, she would scrounge up a bowl of Cap’n Crunch.

Anything was better than sitting in his apartment, sifting through the too-few memories of Sam. Sketching and resketching a tree house.

How did he celebrate his birthday—their birthday—without Sam? He’d done it for a dozen years, but then he’d known Sam was somewhere, eating a slice of cake and a huge serving of ice cream, celebrating his birthday without him, too.

But now . . . now he couldn’t reach his brother if he wanted to.

And he did.

The difficulty in life is the choice.

He’d stumbled across the quote by Irish novelist George Moore several years ago, typing it in the yellow virtual notepad on his iPhone.

Was the difficulty in making the choice—or living with the consequences of the choice? Being estranged from Sam was some bizarre emotional version of a phantom limb. How did doctors explain it? A leg or arm is amputated—but a person feels as if the limb is still a part of the body. But it’s not. An itch—with nothing to scratch. Pain that can’t be eased.

He may have stopped talking about Sam for a dozen years—but he’d never stopped thinking about him. There was the ache of missing his brother—the knowing that Sam was still there.
Somewhere. Even believing he’d made the right choice—though he sometimes mourned the cost.

Memories skulked around the edges of his mind, but Stephen ignored them. He would not remember birthdays of the past, filled with shared laughter, shared presents, shared cake and ice cream. Which left him with the stark, unrelenting solitude of this birthday. He’d let his dad’s phone call go to voice mail and left his mother’s annual birthday card unopened on his desk. He might as well open it, read the usual “Happy birthday, love, Mom” inscription, and then let it get lost in a pile of papers on his desk, until he found it several weeks later and threw it out.

When he retrieved the envelope and settled into his chair, Stephen noticed it felt heavier than her usual birthday cards. What had his mother sent him? He slit the envelope open with the edge of his silver letter opener, pulling the contents out and depositing them onto his desktop. A birthday card. A couple of photographs. And a piece of folded, lined school paper. What was all this?

He opened the card first, surprised that his mother had actually written a message inside the front cover. He’d left a brief voice mail saying he would be attending Sam’s memorial—but hadn’t heard back from her.

Dear Stephen,

I was going through some old books the other day, putting together things to give to the church garage sale. I found something tucked into a copy of
My Side of the Mountain
that I thought you should see.

Happy birthday.

Love,

Mom

Stephen picked up the first picture, recognizing the photo of him and Sam sitting with their dad around the campfire during one of their family vacations. Curls of smoke obscured their faces. They’d enjoyed learning how to build a fire and lighting it with one match. Roasting marshmallows for s’mores. Falling asleep in the tent after hiking and swimming.

In the second photo he and Sam were standing, arms slung across each other’s shoulders, celebrating winning some of their middle school wrestling matches. Same height. Same grin. Same dark hair slick with sweat. Those were fun times. Exhaustion and elation, all shared with Sam.

On to the piece of paper.

Would he see a penciled math equation? An English essay? When he unfolded the paper, he read the words
Dear Stephen
.

His brother wrote him? When? There was no date at the top of the page. Stephen skimmed the scrawled lines that filled only about a fourth of the page.

Dear Stephen,

I’ve thought about writing you a few times. While I was at basic training. When I graduated from army medic school. But I didn’t know what to say. It’s hard to figure out how to get past the silence. It’s not that I don’t want things to change. I just don’t know how to change them.

Stephen heard his brother’s voice as he reread the too-few lines of the letter. There was no way to determine when during the estrangement Sam had written to him. He stared at the words until they blurred.

He’d written Sam a letter.

Sam had written to him.

Both letters went missing. Stephen had no idea if Sam ever
received the letter he wrote, and now he held Sam’s partial message. And there was nothing he could do about either one.

Both of them wanted to fix the problem that separated them—and both of them failed at figuring out how to get past the invisible barrier.

He teetered somewhere between regret and acceptance. Somehow he had to learn to shoulder his choices—the good and the bad—and keep living. He’d gotten what he’d wanted so long ago: he was just Stephen Ames. No
and
. But he’d never imagined the so-called freedom costing this much.

Stephen folded the letter, holding it in his hands. “Happy birthday, Sam—and thanks.” Maybe if they’d had more time, he and Sam would have figured out a way back to each other. He had to believe that. They had both wanted to—they would have found each other again . . . and forgiven one another.

T
he 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.”