Somebody Like You (12 page)

“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.

H
aley 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 there 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.

Haley wasn’t surprised that the instructor sought her out when the class was over. Lily touched her arm as Haley pulled on her gloves. Claire, who could make friends with anyone, chatted with Camilo and Feliciana, the couple expecting triplets.

“So, Haley.”

“Yes?”

“How was class for you?”

Images of trying to spell her name with her hips replayed through her head. “Interesting. Not sure I’m going to be up for that hula-hip name-spelling exercise when I’m actually in labor.”

“It’s an option.” Lily paused. “You did take my business card, right?”

Haley patted her coat pocket. “Have it right here.”

“I want you to know that I understand how you’re feeling.”

Oh. Another “I understand how you’re feeling” person.

Lily’s gentle smile hinted that Haley hadn’t hidden her reaction. “I mean, I really do. My husband died of a brain aneurysm when I was pregnant with our second child.”

Her words collided with Haley’s barricaded heart. “How . . . far along were you?”

“Not quite as far along as you are now. Five months.” Age lines bracketed her smile, and her gray eyes were clear. Haley’s heart seemed to lean toward this woman whom she’d met only two hours earlier. “I didn’t know how I was going to have a baby without Tom there with me.”

“What did you do?”

“I went from never wanting to have the baby to thinking I’d be pregnant forever.” At Haley’s soft snort of laughter, Lily’s
smile broadened. “Believe me, every pregnant woman ends up thinking that.”

“Obviously you had your baby.”

“My mom was with me when our daughter was born. I held my child and bawled for half an hour. Counted her toes. Her fingers. That’s what Tom would have done.”

“Claire’s my best friend.” Haley tucked her hands into her coat pockets. “She hasn’t had any children yet, but I know she’ll stay with me.”

“Well, if you want any more support, just know that I’m available to help you during labor too. Tuck my card in your labor bag.”

“I need to pack one first.” Haley stepped away as Claire joined them. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

As they walked outside into the darkness illuminated by streetlights, Claire was silent for a few seconds. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re thinking about?”

“Lily told me that her husband died when she was pregnant with their second child.”

“But her husband greeted us—”

“People remarry, Claire.” Other people. Not her. “Anyway, she offered to be a backup coach for me when the baby is born.”

“She does have the practical experience.”

“But Lily is not you.” As they settled into her car, Haley turned to look at the ultrafeminine woman across from her. They’d forged a friendship that ignored Claire’s fashion sense and Haley’s preference for Sam’s flannel shirts and baseball caps. “Friendship trumps experience every time.”

“Hey, some birth instructor is not pushing me out of the way that easily. I have first dibs on holding your baby—well, right after you. But if you’d like an experienced mama in the room, I’m okay with that.”

“Sure, she’s experienced. But she’s a stranger.”

“Well, let’s leave it at you’re thinking about it.”

“Thanks for covering for me today—bringing the coach’s bag.”

Claire rubbed her hands together. “It’s my job. Now start the car, will you? And turn on the seat warmers, please. I’m freezing.”

“Will do, bossy. You interested in some French fries? Buddy’s got a craving.”

“With a chocolate milkshake?”

“Of course.”

“I’m in.”