Somebody Like You Read Online Free PDF Page B

I?” Haley paced between the living room and the kitchen. She wouldn’t find what she was looking for in either place. “Sam didn’t tell me that he had a twin brother. I just wanted him . . . gone.”
    “Oh, Haley, I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I called and told Stephen that Sam was killed. I thought he had a right to know, even if they were estranged. Stephen refused to come to the funeral—said it would shock too many people if he walked into the church.”
    He’d been right about that. The strength that enabled Haley to stand, to not shed a tear, would have shattered if the man she saw tonight had walked into the church and stood beside Sam’s casket.
    “And then . . . well, it’s been four months. I thought Stephen decided to leave things be.”
    “You haven’t talked to him since then?”
    “No. We’re . . . not close. And I didn’t call him during the holidays—I just couldn’t.”
    Twilight Zone. That was it. She’d been transported to a present-day Twilight Zone . There was no other way to explain the fact that she was widowed and pregnant, and that her husband’s twin brother had shown up on her doorstep tonight, unknown and unannounced. And now her mother-in-law stated, “We’re not close,” as if she were talking about the mail carrier.
    Miriam’s voice pulled her back to the harsh glare of reality. “The divorce—it did awful things to our family.”
    “I have to go.” Haley walked over to where she’d left the blanket, picking it up and clutching it to her chest.
    “Haley, let me explain—”
    “Not tonight. Please.” Haley curled into the corner of the couch. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
    “I’m so, so sorry.”
    She disconnected without saying good-bye, but not before cutting off the sound of tears in Miriam’s voice.
    Miriam was sorry. Would Sam be sorry that the secret he’d kept from her had walked into her life, a living, breathing reflection of him?
    Secrets. How she hated them.

three

    J ust do the next thing.
    How many times since becoming a widow had Haley pushed herself forward by saying, “Just do the next thing”? The next thing. And the next. Bury her husband. Confirm her pregnancy. Move out of her apartment. Go to work. Come home. Try to sleep. Go to work the next day. She was an expert at doing the next thing. By saying that simple phrase enough times and staying on emotional autopilot, she got through each day. The not-so-funny thing was, the heaviness on her shoulders never eased.
    Not that she would complain. This was her life—and she would manage. Somehow.
    And now, here she sat at her got-it-at-a-bargain-price dining room table with Claire beside her, staring down the next “next thing,” her hand motionless on the computer keyboard. On the TV, John Wayne held a muted conversation with Jim Hutton in one of her favorite non-Western movies, Hellfighters . Why didn’t she remember to turn the TV off before Claire arrived? She’d have avoided the whole “How old is this movie, anyway? Didyou see the cars they’re driving? Their clothes?” drill. And she’d have avoided the way her best friend tried to hide her sympathy behind forced casualness. For all her kindness, how could Claire, who was more than busy with her job as a front-desk receptionist at the Broadmoor, understand the need to block out silence?
    “You have to pick a childbirth class, Haley.” Claire’s voice softened, wrapping around Haley’s shoulders like a favorite sweater. Comfortable. Never too tight.
    “I know. Why are there so many choices?” And why did she have to go sit in a class with other moms-to-be—and dads-to-be? And would anyone understand the invisible “It’s all on me” albatross hung around her neck the day Sam died? “I’m a little distracted because I got a letter from the homeowners’ association telling me that I need to edge my lawn.”
    “What? It’s January—no one edges their lawn in Colorado in January.”
    “You know that and