by Beth K. Vogt
The two of them faced off across the expanse of the garage. Was the man going to argue with her? That’s what Sam would have done—challenged her until he’d backed her into a corner and then kissed her until she gave in or forgot what the argument was about.
But his brother tucked his hands into his pant pockets. Nodded. Offered the faintest hint of a smile that tugged at her wounded heart. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome”?
She hadn’t asked Stephen Ames to bring her baby—Sam’s son—a gift. And she hadn’t asked him to hang the unwanted toddler swing in the tree—just the opposite. And the man had no right organizing her boxes.
She wasn’t about to thank him for intruding in her life.
Before she could think of a reply, he was gone. He didn’t gun the motor of his Mustang as he backed out the driveway. Didn’t grind the gears or peel out of the cul-de-sac. He even tossed a wave in her direction.
seven
Haley hadn’t expected Skyping with her family to make her homesick.
Of course, she’d called on a Wednesday, the night her mom put on a huge pot of taco soup—enough for her adult sons, her “daughters-in-love,” and her grandchildren. She issued a no-pressure, open invitation—and whoever could make it was welcomed with her mom’s hugs and her father’s corny puns.
Haley bit into her reheated Papa John’s six-cheese pizza. Yeah . . . didn’t quite match her mom’s homemade soup, thick with browned hamburger, kidney beans, chopped onions, and taco seasoning. Topped with sour cream, shredded cheese, and crushed Doritos, it equaled a taco in a bowl.
“Hey, Hal! How’s my little sister?” David’s face appeared on-screen.
“I’m your only sister.”
“Yeah, yeah—always talking back to your big brother.” David’s grin reminded her of all the times he’d teased her growing up. “So, what’s up? How’d I manage first place in the Skype queue tonight? Mom’s waiting for her turn.”
Haley adjusted the laptop screen, centering the computer on the dining room table. Now that she had a chance to talk to her brother, how did she begin? “Is Mom around?”
“No—you want me to go get her?” David half-rose from his seat, his body blocking the screen.
“No! Wait. I need to talk to you privately.” She waited as David sat down again, still unsure of how to recount everything that had happened. If she’d learned one thing from her three brothers, it was to say things straight-up. No melodrama. “So I found out that Sam has an identical twin brother.”
David’s eyebrows rose, even as his mouth hung open. “That is a sick joke, Hal.”
“I’m serious. He showed up at my house a few nights ago—I thought he was a ghost.”
“What did the guy want?”
“He wanted to find out about Sam—they’ve been estranged for a dozen years.” She wiped her hands on her sweatpants, surprised that they were trembling. “I pulled a gun on him and told him to leave.”
“Attagirl, Hal. So that’s it, then?”
“Not really. I finally agreed to talk to him, and he’s come by once more. But I think he’s figured out that there’s no sense in showing up here anymore.”
“You’re okay?”
Her brother didn’t need to know about her sleepless nights. “Yeah. Do you think I did the right thing?” She held her breath, waiting for David’s answer.
“You’re a big girl, Hal. It’s your decision to make. Obviously Sam didn’t want to have a relationship with this guy, so you don’t have to either. Pray about it. If yes is an option, no is an option, too.” David leaned back in the rolling desk chair. “You’re telling Mom and Dad, right?”
“I have to.” The thought of relating the story of Stephen Ames’s appearance one more time dragged her down like a water-filled parachute. It would have been easier to talk to everyone face-to-face—but who knew when she’d get home? For now, Skype had to suffice for connecting with family. “She’ll worry.”
“She’s our mom—it’s what she does. But you know she prays more than she worries.”
“You’re right.”
“I always am.”
And just like that, David had her laughing.
She could still see him tackling the fifth-grade boy who’d hassled her for the first half of the school year. She’d done everything she could think of: confronted him, avoided him, told her parents, told the teacher—but the boy kept on bullying her. David, who was already a freshman in high school, showed up the day the guy actually grabbed her and pushed her around.
David sat on the guy’s chest, ignoring the fact that the kid was sniveling and begging for mercy. “You touch my sister again, and I will pound you into the dirt. Got it?”
He walked her home, telling her to stop crying and to not tell their mother what had happened. Right before they got to their house, he stopped her. “Listen, Hal, I had your back today. But I won’t always be there. You’re a Jordan. You’re tough. Don’t let guys like that get to you. You’re not some sissy-girl.”
David was right. She knew the Jordan family rules: No tears. No tattling. Keep up or go home. From the time she was a toddler, her three brothers had insisted she adapt to their pace—or not tag along. And she’d have done anything to be with David, Johnny, and Aaron.
The next time a boy hassled her, she decked him. She ended up in the principal’s office—but her brothers applauded her. And to this day, the No tears rule still worked.
“Hey, Hal, did I lose you?” David knocked on the computer screen.
Haley shook her head, dispersing the memories. “No . . . I’m still here. Go ahead and put Mom on. Just do me a favor, please.”
“What?”
“Help her adjust the computer screen. Last time we Skyped I talked to the lower half of her face the whole time.”
Sam.
Just the whisper of his name through her mind—no image—scattered the slim façade of sleep.
Haley pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and kept her eyes closed. Opening them would allow reality to destroy the last remnants of rest. Reveal all the stark changes in her life.
The bare taupe walls of the bedroom of the house she’d bought using the life insurance money she received . . . because Sam was dead.
She’d sit up in the bed, push herself to her feet, and walk toward the bathroom . . . and not be able to resist looking over her shoulder and seeing the other side of the bed. Unslept in. And no reason to count the days until Sam’s deployment ended.
One toothbrush by the bathroom sink. Just her face in the mirror. Sam wouldn’t be in the shower, the scent of his musky soap-on-a-rope lingering on the steam.
Haley squeezed her eyelids tighter.
God, I know you said you’d bring good out of this.
But when?
I know that I have to be patient . . . but if I could get even a small glimpse of the good in being alone. In being pregnant—alone. In doing all of this—today, tomorrow . . . all of the tomorrows piling up in front of me like a lifelong train wreck—alone.
Haley lay in the bed. Waited. The only sound her breathing.
Come on, God. Say something.
She hadn’t asked why exactly. She wasn’t even asking for that all-encompassing peace that passes all understanding.
I’m tired of swinging between numb and overwhelmed, God. Isn’t there something in between? Where’s the firm ground? Aren’t you supposed to be the stability of my times? Some unseen enemy tore my life out of my hands . . . My heart is mangled . . .
Stop.
Haley opened her eyes.
Walls. Floor. Ceiling.
Reality.
In the midst of the brutal starkness, she still believed in God . . . and she wasn’t asking for more from him. To have more—and then have it destroyed—was too cruel.
It was good to be up early after another night in a Springs hotel. To be outside, catching the first glimpses of the blues and pinks of the sunrise in the ever-lightening
sky overhead. Stephen leaned against the hood of his car, the air filled with a bite of frost. The parking lot dug out of a steep Manitou hillside filled up with people intent on getting an early start hiking the Incline. Maybe he should have taken up Chaz’s invitation to hike to the summit, but Stephen wanted to talk about his brother, not gasp for oxygen while he ate Chaz’s dust. He hadn’t even been certain Chaz would return his call when he’d left a message for him at the battalion. They’d talk. Chaz would brave the Incline, and that would be the end of this attempt to find out more about his brother.
It was only seven in the morning and the parking lot was almost full, hikers already tackling one of the most popular trails in the area. He’d never understood the attraction of scaling the wooden ties left over from a cable car that used to take tourists up the side of the mountain. But from the number of people heading up the Incline with backpacks and water bottles or CamelBaks, he was in the minority.
“You sure you don’t want to join me?” Chaz appeared on Stephen’s left.
“Hey. I didn’t see you pull in.”
“I had to circle to the far end of the lot to find a parking place. So, are we talking here, or are we hiking up?”
“If you’re okay with it, we’ll talk here.”
“No problem.” Chaz settled his CamelBak on the asphalt beside Stephen’s Mustang. “Man, it still gets me how much you look like Sam.”
Stephen ran his hand through his hair. Same song . . . “Hope it doesn’t bother you too much.”
“Nah. I’ll get used it . . . and it’s not like you’re moving to the Springs or anything. No offense, man.”
“None taken.” He might as well get to it. “Haley told me Sam was a medic.”
“He was the best. He stayed calm in some bad situations. He saved a couple of guys after a firefight in the mountains in Afghanistan. Nothing ever fazed him. When he was on duty, he was all about the job. He got hit by shrapnel once taking care of somebody. He took care of it himself and wouldn’t let us report the incident for a Purple Heart.”
Stephen tried to bring into focus the blurred image of his brother. It was as if each word Chaz spoke dialed some virtual microscope so that his understanding of Sam became clearer. “Were you with him when . . . when . . .”
“No.” A quick shake of his head stopped Stephen’s question. “We played cards the night before. I think he won just about every hand.” Chaz stood beside Stephen, mirroring his stance by leaning against the car, crossing his arms over his chest. “Some of the troops on the patrol told me that he’d just started an IV on a wounded soldier after dragging him out of the line of fire. A second later, Sam went down. He landed right next to the guy . . . never said anything . . . The guy Sam rescued survived. They made sure the sniper didn’t.”
Chaz turned away, his back straight, shoulders tight, and cursed under his breath. He took a deep breath before facing Stephen again. “What else do you want to know?”
Something loosened deep in Stephen’s chest. His brother hadn’t suffered. He hadn’t let himself dwell on the what and how of Sam’s death—could barely say the word died in the same sentence with his brother’s name. “Thanks for telling me that.”
“Everybody liked Sam. He was easygoing, always ready to have fun. Wasn’t afraid of anything. He and I did our first free-fall jumps together.”
“I didn’t know Sam skydived.”
“We both went through airborne training at Fort Benning. When we ended up out here, he talked me into some civilian free-fall classes. We did about a dozen jumps together. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t try.” Memories seemed to hold Chaz silent as their escapades pulled him into the past, away from Stephen. “We were all surprised when he and Hal got married.”
“Really? Why?”
“Nothing against Hal. She’s great. But Sam was all about dating a girl three, maybe four times and then moving on, you know? Nothing serious. And we figured that’s the way it would go down with Hal. And then the next we know he’s marrying her. One of the guys even joked around and asked if Hal was pregnant. We had to pull Sam off of him.”
“Sam had a temper?”
“Not really. I mean, you deploy enough times, you can be a bit edgy. But Sam kept a tight lid on things. He loved the army. Said he liked the security of the regular paycheck and the bonuses. Loved being deployed. Some guys sat around and moped. Not Sam. He was the guy who stayed focused. Reminded us why we were there. Found a way to make us laugh.” Chaz stopped, staring up at the Incline. “He’s missed. A lot.”
“Did Sam ever talk about family?”
“No. He wasn’t much of a talker. And when it’s all about the mission, you don’t ask questions.”
Chaz’s answer didn’t surprise him, even as it burrowed deep into the ache inside his chest. “Listen, I know you need to get going.” He stuck his hand out, shaking hands with the other man. “Thanks for this—for telling me about Sam.”
Chaz shrugged into his CamelBak. “No problem.”
“Have a good hike.”
“Always do. Sam used to tear the Incline up. Never knew anyone who could keep up with him.”
Chaz strolled toward the trailhead. It was as if the man had handed him a half dozen puzzle pieces, each one showing him a new facet of his brother. But when he tried to assemble them, there were huge gaps that left an incomplete picture.
eight
Haley wanted to go home—but escape was impossible with the grip Claire had on her hand.
If Haley allowed her emotions to have their way, she would abandon the childbirth class and go lock herself in the house, sit on the couch with a bowl of mint chocolate-chip ice cream covered in chocolate sprinkles, and let the tears flow while she ate until the spoon clanked on the bottom of the dish. And she’d keep the container nearby for seconds and thirds—and cry some more.
“Let go.” Haley leaned close to her friend, tugging her hand away. “I can’t feel my fingers.”
“Then stop looking at the front door like you’re going to bolt.” Claire whispered her warning through her lip-glossed smile, even as she released Haley’s hand with a warning don’t-go-anywhere pat.
“I’m staying.”
What choice did she have? Sam’s son was arriving in less than three months, and she needed to learn all the tricks to survive labor and delivery. Faking it wasn’t an option. She had the “making babies” technique down, but birthing them? Other than that it involved pushing at the end, not a clue.
The ebb and flow of voices seemed to hedge Haley in as other couples—each the appropriate husband-and-wife set—followed the instructor’s request to introduce themselves and say when their baby was due. A twentysomething couple who should have been stamped “Too adorable to live.” A soft-spoken couple in their late thirties who looked a bit stunned to be attending the class. A Latino couple who were expecting triplets. Triplets. When the wife announced it, the husband grinned, even as his skin paled. Only she and Claire were the odd women out. Who knew what the other class members thought about them?
Claire’s nudge drew a too-loud “What?” from Haley.
Her friend repeated her whisper-through-a-smile performance, speaking out of the side of her mouth. “Are you going to introduce us?”
“Oh. Sure.” Haley focused on the instructor, Lily, who looked more like a yoga teacher in her black leggings and long white blouse accessorized with a flowing, multicolored scarf. Best to just say it. Fast. Pretend she was reading the ingredients on the side of a box of cereal. “I’m Haley Ames. This is my friend Claire O’Dea. She’s going to be my coach for labor and delivery, because my husband, Sam, was killed in Afghanistan about five months ago.”
Haley braced herself for the murmurs that followed the seconds of silence. She didn’t catch what they said. Probably “Oh no!” or “I’m so sorry.” That’s what people usually said. While the direct delivery was easiest for her, it left other people groping for some sort of adequate response.
As if ther
e was one. If she had been on their side of the conversation, she wouldn’t have known what to say, either.
Lily took control, welcoming everyone and turning their attention to the handouts. “The first thing I’d like to do is have each of you show us what you packed in your coach’s bag.”
Haley looked around the room. Coach’s bag? Had there been instructions on the website about assembling, much less bringing, a coach’s bag? She’d brought two pillows, but only because Claire told her to, and she wasn’t even sure why she needed those. But it seemed as though everyone else had gotten the message, as they unzipped small duffels or backpacks.
“I forgot—”
Claire touched her arm. “I’ve got it right here. I am the coach, after all.”
Right. Claire was the coach. Haley was the mom-to-be.
“All right, Claire.” Lily turned toward them. “Do you want to show us what you brought to help Haley during labor?”
“Absolutely.” Claire opened the purple floral Vera Bradley messenger bag that Haley had assumed was one of her many purses. “I brought a CD I made of some of Haley’s favorite songs—she’s a country music fan. I’m willing to tolerate some Keith Urban and The Band Perry while she’s in labor. I also brought some of my favorite lotion, because, well, I have no idea if Haley even uses lotion. It’s almond scented.”
Within five minutes, a pile of coach’s supplies lay at Claire’s feet: a bright red sock with two tennis balls in it to help with back labor; a brush, just in case Haley wanted Claire to brush her hair; a tiny stuffed bear to use as a focal point; some John Wayne DVDs.
Haley picked up The Comancheros. “Movies, really?”
Claire shrugged. “Well, you’re hoping and praying for a quick labor . . . but just in case.”
The next two hours consisted of the other coaches revealing what they’d packed in their bags—a two-pound bag of peanut M&M’s? Why hadn’t Claire packed that?—and then the moms-to-be resting on their sides while their coaches learned how to massage their shoulders, lower backs, even their feet.