Read Online Somebody Like You by Beth K. Vogt - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beth K. Vogt
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do.”
five
W hat had she been thinking?
As Stephen crossed the parking lot, Haley took her first full breath in over an hour. Sitting across from Sam’s brother had forced her into some sort of macabre, eyes-wide-open nightmare.
Her husband’s smile.
Her husband’s cleft chin.
Her husband’s broad shoulders and strong hands.
She could overlook Stephen’s hair, which wasn’t trimmed military-regulation high and tight, the way Sam preferred it. But everything else, including the voice, was Sam.
And then, the man sitting across from her would do something different. Something that would shatter the illusion.
Trying to stand when she entered the restaurant? Walking her to her car, even though she assured him that she was perfectly safe? Guys didn’t do that anymore. Sam never did that.
Using his right hand, when Sam had been left-handed.
Eating two huge servings of the unlimited house salad afterdousing it in creamy Gorgonzola dressing. Sam would have scorned the vegetables and focused on the bread basket.
“Sam, why didn’t you tell me you had an identical twin brother?” Her question broke the stillness of the car, returning her to the present and the reality that she was sitting in a parking lot, freezing. Time to go home. She could reheat her dinner, pay bills, maybe start another DVD to help her fall asleep.
Less than ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of her home. Why had she bought it? Did she even want to be here a year from now? So many people had told her, “Don’t make any major decisions during the first year after Sam’s death”—and she hadn’t. Except for buying this house.
Oh . . . and having a baby. But that decision had been made before Sam died.
Her phone jangled and she answered, knowing it was Claire, checking on her. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We had dinner. He asked questions.”
“And?”
Tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder, she opened the door and entered the darkened house. Found the remote for the flat-screen TV and turned it on, restarting Hellfighters , adjusting the volume to low. “And I realized how much I don’t know about Sam.”
“Don’t say that—”
“It’s the truth.” Moving to the kitchen, she tossed her Styrofoam container of leftovers on the brown, faux-granite counter, shrugging out of Sam’s coat and hanging it on the back of the bar chair. “You know Sam; he wasn’t much of a talker. A kidder, yes. A competitor, yes. A talker, no.”
“Could Sam’s brother tell you how the two of them got separated?”
“The parents divorced. Initially they were both with Miriam—until the dad got remarried. Then Sam picked his mom and Stephen picked his dad. Some kind of awful Parent Trap twist.” She opened the lid of the white Styrofoam container, dumping the lukewarm trio of entrées onto a plate and covering it with a paper towel. “I told Stephen if he needed more information about Sam to ask his mother, but I’m not sure that will happen.”
“Why not?”
“It’s pretty obvious Stephen is closer to his dad.” She kicked off her brown, fur-lined boots and padded over to the refrigerator, pulling out a Sprite. “But I am not responsible for patching up things between Stephen and his mother.”
“Have you told Sam’s mom that you had dinner with Stephen?”
“Just got home.” She placed her leftovers in the microwave, programming it to reheat. “I’ll call her later. She was talking about going to a Gold Star Mothers meeting last week—the group for moms who’ve lost a son or daughter in service to the country. I’ll have to see how that went.”
“What about you?”
The soda hissed as she popped the can open. “What about me what?”
“Have you considered going to a Gold Star Wives meeting?”
“No. They’re not for me. I don’t do that yadda-yadda sisterhood stuff. You know that. I’ve got to figure this out on my own.”
“You might appreciate being with other women
five
W hat had she been thinking?
As Stephen crossed the parking lot, Haley took her first full breath in over an hour. Sitting across from Sam’s brother had forced her into some sort of macabre, eyes-wide-open nightmare.
Her husband’s smile.
Her husband’s cleft chin.
Her husband’s broad shoulders and strong hands.
She could overlook Stephen’s hair, which wasn’t trimmed military-regulation high and tight, the way Sam preferred it. But everything else, including the voice, was Sam.
And then, the man sitting across from her would do something different. Something that would shatter the illusion.
Trying to stand when she entered the restaurant? Walking her to her car, even though she assured him that she was perfectly safe? Guys didn’t do that anymore. Sam never did that.
Using his right hand, when Sam had been left-handed.
Eating two huge servings of the unlimited house salad afterdousing it in creamy Gorgonzola dressing. Sam would have scorned the vegetables and focused on the bread basket.
“Sam, why didn’t you tell me you had an identical twin brother?” Her question broke the stillness of the car, returning her to the present and the reality that she was sitting in a parking lot, freezing. Time to go home. She could reheat her dinner, pay bills, maybe start another DVD to help her fall asleep.
Less than ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of her home. Why had she bought it? Did she even want to be here a year from now? So many people had told her, “Don’t make any major decisions during the first year after Sam’s death”—and she hadn’t. Except for buying this house.
Oh . . . and having a baby. But that decision had been made before Sam died.
Her phone jangled and she answered, knowing it was Claire, checking on her. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. We had dinner. He asked questions.”
“And?”
Tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder, she opened the door and entered the darkened house. Found the remote for the flat-screen TV and turned it on, restarting Hellfighters , adjusting the volume to low. “And I realized how much I don’t know about Sam.”
“Don’t say that—”
“It’s the truth.” Moving to the kitchen, she tossed her Styrofoam container of leftovers on the brown, faux-granite counter, shrugging out of Sam’s coat and hanging it on the back of the bar chair. “You know Sam; he wasn’t much of a talker. A kidder, yes. A competitor, yes. A talker, no.”
“Could Sam’s brother tell you how the two of them got separated?”
“The parents divorced. Initially they were both with Miriam—until the dad got remarried. Then Sam picked his mom and Stephen picked his dad. Some kind of awful Parent Trap twist.” She opened the lid of the white Styrofoam container, dumping the lukewarm trio of entrées onto a plate and covering it with a paper towel. “I told Stephen if he needed more information about Sam to ask his mother, but I’m not sure that will happen.”
“Why not?”
“It’s pretty obvious Stephen is closer to his dad.” She kicked off her brown, fur-lined boots and padded over to the refrigerator, pulling out a Sprite. “But I am not responsible for patching up things between Stephen and his mother.”
“Have you told Sam’s mom that you had dinner with Stephen?”
“Just got home.” She placed her leftovers in the microwave, programming it to reheat. “I’ll call her later. She was talking about going to a Gold Star Mothers meeting last week—the group for moms who’ve lost a son or daughter in service to the country. I’ll have to see how that went.”
“What about you?”
The soda hissed as she popped the can open. “What about me what?”
“Have you considered going to a Gold Star Wives meeting?”
“No. They’re not for me. I don’t do that yadda-yadda sisterhood stuff. You know that. I’ve got to figure this out on my own.”
“You might appreciate being with other women
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