Someone Like You

Beside his shrouded windows hung a lone spider plant, its fronds green despite being watered rarely. He should just let it die, yet once in a while something about its droop made him lumber to the kitchen for a glass.

A loud buzzing sounded. She was here, not fooled at all by his phone screening. He swore under his breath and limped to the door. Some things never quit...like MaryAnne. Plus, she was his sister, and he wouldn’t ignore her. Not really. Just teach her a lesson...as in...keep your word about not coming over.

“Fine,” he called into the intercom, and then pressed the button to open the automatic front entrance. “But no cleaning,” he added as he unbolted his locks and slid back the chain.

MaryAnne brushed by him a moment later and marched into his kitchen. “This place is a pigsty!”

He inhaled the aroma of tomatoes, cheese and sausage left in her wake. His stomach grumbled again, grateful to her even if the rest of him wasn’t. When would she get the message that he didn’t want people going out of their way for him?

“What are you doing?” he asked when she shook out an apron she’d pulled from her purse and tied it around her waist. “I said no cleaning.”

His sister slid her eyes his way as she flicked on the faucet. She squeezed his dish soap bottle, got only a faint mist, then uncapped it and smacked the bottom until a dribble of clear gel oozed out.

“This isn’t cleaning. It’s excavating a toxic waste site.”

“I was getting to it as soon as I finished writing a program. I’m sending the prototype to my client this afternoon.”

She shot him a skeptical look, then shoved a clean, wet plate at him. He shouldn’t have relented, but there was no denying his demanding sister. He grabbed a cloth and began drying.

“You’re always working.” She passed him another dish. The crystal necklace he’d given her for Christmas winked under the single working bulb in his light fixture. “When are you going to leave the virtual world and start living in the real one? You’ve been home for almost two years.”

Her freckles stood out against her pale, round face, making him wonder how much she got out. She worked in the family pub, at an assisted-living facility and now, at her third job, taking care of him. He ground his teeth. He wouldn’t be a burden to her or anyone.

“It’s my life, MaryAnne, and that’s the way I want it.”

She handed him a mug, disapproval twisting her mouth.

“Staying inside all the time. Never seeing anyone. That’s not living. It’s hibernating.”

He shoved the towel inside a glass. “I’m fine.”

She arched an eyebrow. “But you’re not happy.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but the denial stuck in his throat. “Have you picked out your wedding dress yet?”

She shook the sponge at him, then got to work on his counters. “You’re not getting me off track, Niall.”

“Did you go with the princess or mermaid style?” He recalled her talking about it when she’d visited over the weekend. If lasagna was his weakness, then wedding details were hers. Two could play at this game. He sent out a silent prayer that she wouldn’t quiz him on what those various styles meant. He wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference between a mermaid style or a princess style if an insurgent rebel had a semiautomatic pistol up to his head.

“Oh, it’s got a gorgeous train that’s a full five feet of lace cutouts with—” Her voice rose then trailed off. She swept boxes into a garbage bag and laughed. “You almost got me.”

When she struggled to lift the bulging sack, he grabbed it from her. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Out in the hallway, he waved to his startled-looking neighbor—Mrs. Robertson...or was it Robinson?—and pushed the trash down the chute. She blinked at him as if he were a ghost, and he supposed, to her, he was. When was the last time they’d run into each other? Six months ago?

Back inside, MaryAnne shoved his laundry into his military bag.

“Leave it, MaryAnne. Aiden needs you.”

When she looked up, perspiration glistened on her forehead. She gestured around the room. “Not as much as you do.”

He ground his teeth. MaryAnne should be picking out wedding flowers, not wasting her time on him. He coughed at the cloud of lemon-scented furniture polish she sprayed on his coffee table, and gathered up the newspapers tossed beside his couch. When his prosthetic caught on the table’s edge, he went down hard.

MaryAnne knelt by his side, but he shook off her arm and stood. “I’ve got this. Go.” He instantly regretted his harsh tone when her mouth puckered. “Sorry. Look. Pick out china patterns and stop worrying about me. I want you to be happy.”

Her eyes glistened. “I am. Do you know how lucky we are to have you home in one piece?”

He flinched at her phrase, and she turned bright scarlet. “I just mean I’ll never take you for granted. After almost losing you...” She cleared her throat and hurried to the kitchen. “I’m not giving up on you,” she added over her shoulder.

The tap turned on then off, and she returned with a glass of water for the spider plant. Light flooded the room when she raised the shades, and he blinked until his eyes adjusted. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day you’d least expect an ambush. His mind returned to the day of his accident, and he whirled from the windows. “Close the shades, MaryAnne.”

“This plant’s never going to thrive without sun.”

“Don’t you get it? Nothing thrives in here.”

She pressed her cheek against his back, her arms slipping around his waist. “Then it’s time I got you outside.”

“I’ll see you next week on the Fourth of July.”

“Uh-uh. Not soon enough. You’re going out tomorrow.”

“Why? I had groceries delivered this week.”

A familiar smile played on MaryAnne’s face as she ducked under his arm and faced him. It was the kind of expression she wore whenever she’d sneaked medicine into a spoonful of jelly for him. Whatever she had up her sleeve, it wasn’t going to be good.

“A friend needs you, Niall. I spoke with her when she visited the assisted-living facility yesterday.”

“I don’t have any friends,” he said drily. Did she think he had some secret social life? His closest relationships these days were with the pizza delivery people.

Her smile widened, and unease twisted through him. He was in real danger when she looked this disarming.

“Kayleigh Renshaw.”

The name hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. Kayleigh. His rescuer’s younger sister and the best friend he’d ever had.

They’d once been as close as family. Guilt rolled through him at the loss he’d cost her. Worse, he was under orders not to speak about the classified mission, the reason he’d avoided her since Afghanistan. How could he see her and not tell her what had happened? If she knew the truth, she wouldn’t want to see him anyway—she’d hate him.

“Tell her I’m too busy.”

“She just lost her fiancé and her job.” MaryAnne smoothed back his overgrown bangs like a mother fussing over a child. “Kayleigh needs you to cheer her up, Niall. Remember how tight you two were?”

He couldn’t forget if he tried. And he’d given it his best shot these past two years. But putting Kayleigh out of his mind was impossible. Then again, what if she really did need help? He’d already stolen so much from her.

He pictured Kayleigh’s flashbulb of a smile, her bright eyes and the giggle that’d bubbled up even at the worst of his jokes. Only, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d said, or heard, something funny. He’d come to her rescue when her parents had split and she’d needed comfort, distracting her and keeping her spirits up. But he wasn’t the hero in anyone’s story. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry. The answer’s no.” He pulled down the shade, plunging his apartment, and life, back into comforting gloom.

MaryAnne planted fists on her hips. “I promised her that you’d see her. Maybe give her some tips on jobs in the software market.”

He swept a duster over his end tables, then plugged in the vacuum cleaner. “I do contracting work from home. I don’t have those kinds of connections.”

“She looks miserable, Niall. Please. Help me keep my word to her, and I’ll promise to keep mine with you.”

He sighed.

“Which one? That you won’t call every day? Bring food twice a week, clean my apartment when it’s fine the way it is?”

MaryAnne snorted. “This is also your office, not a barn. I made a reservation for lunch tomorrow at Five Leaves.”

He rubbed his jaw stubble. “I’m not the right guy for this. Better cancel it.” A restless feeling overtook him, and he wondered, despite himself, if he wouldn’t like to see Kayleigh. Even if it was just to reassure himself that she was all right.

MaryAnne’s eyes crinkled. “What’s the harm in a meal with an old friend?”

He held in a bitter laugh. If she knew the truth... But it was a secret he had to bear alone, the weight of it dragging him to dark places. And that was without the added guilt of a woman’s friendship that he didn’t deserve.

“Out of the question.” He flicked on the vacuum, hoping its hum would convince MaryAnne to leave. He didn’t want to be rude. She meant well. But she needed to focus on herself instead of him—and now Kayleigh.

The vacuum shuddered to a stop, and he glanced up at MaryAnne. She twirled the end of the cord. “She was your friend. Meet with her. Plus, I promise I won’t come by for a week except to drop off your laundry.”

He drummed his fingers on the handle. Save him from pushy women. Fine. He’d see Kayleigh. He owed her that much. More, really, but it was all he could give.

“Two weeks and no laundry,” he countered.

MaryAnne lightly whipped his arm with the cord. “A week and a half, and that’s my final offer before I bring her here myself.”

He glanced around the cramped space, pulse thudding, and threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ll go. But I won’t be able to help her. If you see her tonight, tell her that.”

“Tell her yourself,” MaryAnne called, lugging his laundry out the door before he could stop her. “Twelve o’clock tomorrow!”

Niall stared at the spider plant. What would he say to Kayleigh after shutting her out for two years? How could he face her, knowing her brother’s death was his fault?

He didn’t have a clue.

CHAPTER THREE

SLIGHTLY OUT OF breath, Kayleigh rounded the corner onto Bedford Avenue the next day and sidestepped a man wheeling a box-laden dolly. When the humid air blew her frizzing hair in her face, she shoved it back behind her ears. She’d been too excited to see Niall to waste time straightening it, and now she wished she had. At least she’d worn her favorite sundress and lipstick. Appearances had never mattered to them before, yet somehow, today, she cared about how she looked.

“What’s the hold up? Move it, buddy!” a cab driver shouted at a truck blocking traffic. He laid on his horn, and several beeps behind him filled the air. When she passed the road-rage scene, the moist, fresh scent of laundry exploded from a dry-cleaning business as a well-dressed man exited with bagged garments.

Ah, Brooklyn. She would have missed this dynamic borough if she’d married Brett and moved to his condo. Her neighborhood might not have the Upper East Side’s ease of access to Manhattan, but it vibrated with life, with the rumbling of overhead trains, the rattle of store owners opening security gates around the corner from gentrified streets and the ever-present noise of screeching tires, car horns and booming speakers.

Something about Brooklyn’s clamoring fervor made her more conscious of the thud of her heart, the rasp of her breath and the heat of her skin. It made her feel alive, vibrant and brimming with possibilities...such as reconnecting with Niall Walsh.

When MaryAnne had called her with the lunch date, she’d had to hear it twice. It seemed unreal, but here she was, moments away from seeing her friend again, and she couldn’t be more elated...or nervous. Did he really want to see her, or had MaryAnne twisted his arm? If he’d called her, she’d feel more certain.

Too anxious to sleep, she’d spent most of last night imagining how their lunch would go—what she would say, what he would do.... Would their old friendship rekindle or would they sit awkwardly like strangers? He’d always been her rock, strong and considerate when her world had fallen apart. Her mind flashed back to the summer she’d turned thirteen, when her parents had divorced.

“You’re taking me out of camp and making us move upstate on parents’ weekend?” she’d demanded when her mother had called the day before she and Kayleigh’s father were supposed to visit her at Otter Creek.

“Well...I...ah—” Her mother had cleared her throat, then seemed to take a long gulp of something before finally saying in a rush, “Your father and I are getting a divorce.”

“A what? Why? You and Daddy are happy.” Her heart had taken flight in her chest and beat against her ribs trying to escape. How could this be? They’d never fought like her friends’ parents. It didn’t make sense.

“We’re just not compatible,” her mother had said with a breathy sigh.

Kayleigh had turned her back on her inquisitive camp director and cupped her hand around the phone and her mouth. “What does that mean?”

“Your father and I don’t get along. I’m sorry, but we’re getting divorced.”

“And why didn’t you figure this out before you got married?” Her voice had risen, anger and fear lancing through her. Her artist mother and stockbroker father had always seemed like a mismatch, but they’d made it this far. Why break up? And why call now instead of waiting to tell her when camp ended? When Kayleigh was home, in familiar surroundings, better able to process the devastating news?

It had felt as though the world had reversed its spin, and everything she’d assumed about her life and family was wrong, her faith in both broken.

“We rushed into it. Please understand.” Her mother’s voice had turned pleading. “If we’d taken more time, maybe this could have been prevented.”

“What about Chris and me? Don’t you care about us? How we feel?”

“Of course we do. We’ve waited to tell you until now so that you’d enjoy the first part of the summer with your camp friends and have the second half to get used to your new home. It’s what’s best for you. You trust me, don’t you?”

Speechless, Kayleigh couldn’t imagine what to say. How could she trust her mother after this? Dropping the phone, she’d raced outside to discover Niall waiting beneath a pine tree. His eyes had searched hers, and he’d taken off after her as she’d dashed down to the beach, needing to be near water. Its undulating surface and calm blue depths had always soothed her restless spirit.

His shoulder had brushed hers as they’d sat on the dock, their feet swinging. Although he hadn’t spoken, his quiet, steady presence had reassured her in a disintegrating world.

“They’re divorcing, and they didn’t give us any warning. Not even a hint,” she’d said at last, her harsh voice startling a mallard that took flight, squawking.

“I’m sorry, Kay. That really sucks.” Niall had unclenched her hands and held one in his own. Despite her anguish, she’d felt a shimmer of pleasure at his touch.

“I hate them.” She’d chucked one of the rocks she’d scooped up on her run to the navy water, glad at the loud splash it’d made. “They only care about themselves. Not me and Chris. Mom’s moving us upstate tomorrow, and I don’t even get to say goodbye to my friends.” She looked into his large brown eyes. “Except you.”

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.

Kayleigh chucked another rock, farther than the last. “We don’t have a choice, because my parents made it for us. According to them—” she’d made air quotes “—they ‘know best’ and need to separate because they don’t get along.”

He’d used the bottom of his shirt to wipe away the angry tears flowing down her face, his touch gentle, his soulful eyes full of concern.

“You said they didn’t spend a lot of time together.”

She’d swallowed hard, recalling that her mother had often disappeared into her studio behind their brownstone. “If they didn’t want to be together, then they shouldn’t have gotten married. I’m never going to be like them. Never getting divorced.”

He’d pulled her head to his shoulder and rested his cheek atop it. “Lots of people do.”

“Not me.” Determination had gripped her. “And I know how to make sure of it. Can I borrow your notepad and pen?”

Niall had reached into his shirt pocket and pulled them out. No matter how much he was teased, he’d always carried them around to jot down ideas.

“Are you writing them a letter?” he’d asked. The bright afternoon sun brought out the lighter brown strands in his dark hair and a fleck of gold in his eyes. Funny that she’d never noticed it before. A fluttery feeling took her by surprise. This was Niall, she’d reminded herself. A good friend. Practically a brother. Nothing more. Yet suddenly it’d been hard to look him in the eye.

She’d pulled the pen from between her teeth. “I’m making a list for myself. Traits for the perfect man. That way, if I follow the list, I’ll marry someone I’m compatible with. Guaranteed happiness. No surprises. You should make one, too.”

Niall’s eyes widened. “No. It’s not necessary. I—”

Her hand had fallen on his tensing biceps. “Please, Niall. I need to get my mind off my parents. Plus, you should find the right person someday, too. We can share our lists after, okay?”

Yet somehow they’d only gotten around to hearing her list—all fifty traits and her rationale for each. They’d talked until curfew, not wanting to waste a minute before her mother and brother, who’d been away at football camp, arrived the next day and separated them. It hadn’t been until he’d stood beside her car, her bags in the trunk, that a thought had struck her.

“You never shared what was on your list.” Her flip-flops had traced a figure eight in the sandy soil. For some reason, she’d felt self-conscious. When she’d peered up at him, his eyes had slid from hers.

“There wasn’t much to read.” He’d rubbed the back of his neck and shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“I’m going to miss you,” she’d blurted, then dropped her eyes when his startled gaze had met hers.

“Me, too. But we’ll call and see each other when you visit your dad in Brooklyn. I—” But whatever he’d been about to say had been lost when her mother had laid on the horn and Chris had given them a wolf whistle out the window, making her blush. They were just friends, yet somehow it’d felt as if they’d outgrown that term the night before, sitting by the lake.

“I’d better go. Goodbye.” Too embarrassed to hug him in front of her family, she’d simply waved and dashed to the car. As they’d backed out of the drive, she’d noticed Niall swiping his eye, as though he’d gotten something in it.

It was one of her most vivid memories, along with holding his hand during his father’s funeral the following year. They’d gone through so much together. Maybe now, at last, they’d talk about what’d happened in the war and comfort each other.

And that’d happen in minutes. Her nerves jittered. Would he be the way she remembered or different, the distant loner MaryAnne had described? It was hard to imagine.

She peered down the row of bagel shops, pizzerias and hair salons. Beyond them, she spotted Five Leaves’s glass-and-dark-wood exterior and blew out a nervous breath as she quickened her pace.

The old-fashioned gilt letters Oyster Bar caught the noonday sun, gleaming above Five Leaves’s oversize door. She stepped inside the air-conditioned space, the briny scent of seafood transporting her to Coney Island, where she and Niall had gone on so many adventures as kids. In a moment she’d see Niall again, and the thought made her shiver in nervous anticipation.

“May I help you?” A young woman wearing all black, her hair in a slick ponytail, stepped from behind a small podium.

Kayleigh’s eyes followed the hostess’s down to the run in her nylon, and she tucked one leg behind the other. “I’m here to meet a man.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and her nose piercing twitched. “Anyone in particular? There are quite a few at the bar.”

Kayleigh felt her forehead bead and started again. “His name’s Niall Walsh. He’s got dark hair...” Her voice trailed off. Did he look the same after his time in the army? She imagined his tall, wiry form and boyish handsomeness.

“She’s with me,” a husky voice interrupted her. She whirled, shocked into silence at the powerfully built man looming beside her. He’d definitely filled out from his military days. Her eyes flicked to his left leg, but not so fast that he didn’t catch her glance, his lips firming in a straight line. Warmth crept into her cheeks. She hadn’t wanted to make him feel self-conscious, but she’d gone and done it anyway. Not the best start to their reunion.

“It’s good to see you, Niall.” She searched his eyes, a jolt of familiarity zipping through her veins. The deep brown depths held the gold flecks she could count by heart, his lashes so thick they’d look girlish if not for his angular, masculine features. He’d always had high cheekbones, but now there was sharpness in his face, as if someone had chiseled out his firm, square jaw and the prominent brow that gave proportion to his strong nose and full lips.

His chestnut-colored hair was no longer clipped short, but layered lightly across his forehead and ears. He’d transformed from the young, earnest man she’d known to a handsome stranger. She flushed despite the steady stream of cool air blowing from an overhead vent. MaryAnne should have warned her about this change. It was doing something funny to her stomach.

“Shall we?” He held out his arm, and she took it, feeling awkward. Once she would have flown into his arms, and he would have swung her, laughing. But those days seemed distant, out of reach. Hopefully, they’d loosen up over lunch. She’d lost so much since she’d last seen Niall—Chris, her job, Brett. She wondered about Niall’s losses and knew the past few years must have been very difficult for him.

They ambled through the nautically decorated restaurant, navigating a maze of dark wood tables. Kayleigh forced her racing thoughts from the man beside her and surveyed the scene. The room resembled the inside of a ship with a wood-slatted ceiling, a brass railing along the oak bar and fishing nets and lures dangling from the walls.

Locals dressed in shorts, tank tops and flip-flops jabbered around them, their voices competing with a Jimmy Buffet tune. She hoped they wouldn’t have to shout to hear each other. There was so much she wanted to say.

She peeked at Niall’s stern profile. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. But this was Niall. The boy she’d beaten in a bubble-blowing contest when they were eleven, the teen who’d taught her how to parallel park, the high school senior who’d celebrated with her when they’d been admitted to the same college, the young man who’d promised to write her every day from Afghanistan and then had stopped communicating with her altogether.

In crisp khakis and a white polo shirt that showed off his coloring and broad shoulders, Niall looked great. He was pale, probably from staying indoors as MaryAnne mentioned, but handsome. It felt as though she looked at him through the shifting lenses at an eye doctor’s office. One minute she saw him as her old pal, and the next she glimpsed an unfamiliar man with experiences and secrets she no longer knew. How strange to feel as if she was meeting him for the first time.

He pulled out the curved wicker back of her chair before taking his seat across from her.

“It’s good to see you,” she began, her voice sounding strained. Niall’s steady gaze was making it hard to concentrate. She hadn’t expected to feel this nervous and tongue-tied around him. “I hope you’re not here because MaryAnne forced you—”

“Let’s order, shall we?” he cut in, and flipped open his menu, Kayleigh dismissed. He could have been a drill sergeant rebuking a private.