Somebody Like You (39 page)

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.

S
tephen 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.”

“What 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.”

“Y
ou 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.