A Husband By Any Other Name Read online

  Dan, Dan, Dan, he screamed silently against her mouth. I’m Dan! He inhaled a calming breath, framed her face and kissed her long and meaningfully in almost apologetic tenderness. He rolled aside, pulling her with him, and blinked away the sting of tears that threatened to unravel his sanity. Dan held her, her head pillowed in the curve of his arm. She entwined her legs with his and remained blissfully silent.

  Later... much later, he slept.

  Chapter Three

  Lorrie awakened and squinted at the bright light framing the mini-blinds. Across Tom’s empty side of the bed, the digital clock read almost seven. She rarely slept so late. But it was Saturday, and the kids had obviously entertained themselves quietly for a change.

  She took a quick shower, dried her hair, braided it down the back of her head and dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. She tied her tennis shoes and made her way downstairs. In the family room, the television wasn’t even on. She stared around the silent house in wonder.

  In the kitchen she found an explanation. A note written in Bram’s careful cursive script indicated they’d gone fishing. She threw a load of laundry in the washer, poured herself a cup of coffee from the half-full glass pot, and strolled out onto the porch. It felt quite decadent to seat herself in the wicker love seat and raise her feet to the chair she’d pulled across from her. She sipped from her cup and enjoyed the morning air and the call of the birds in the orchards.

  Her thoughts drifted back over the day before and Tom’s reactions to his brother’s homecoming. He seemed almost... stilted, somehow distanced and terribly uncomfortable with the whole thing. He did have similar moods from time to time, but she or the children were always able to pull him out of them.

  But this... this seemed different somehow. She couldn’t remember him ever having been as rough with their lovemaking as he’d been last night. Had he ever been? Maybe at first. Maybe that first time. They’d both been clumsy and awkward, and it had been over in such a hurry. Truthfully, she hadn’t been all that impressed with the whole sex concept at first. Tom had convinced her it was the right thing to do, and she’d been blindly infatuated with him, so she’d gone along.

  But the experience had been a disappointment. She’d had to wonder what everyone found so titillating about it. All she’d received from the hurried scene had been a guilt complex and a pregnancy scare. She still remembered how terrified she’d been to tell anyone, her mother... Tom. She hadn’t been sure of his feelings. All along suspicions had crept into her mind that perhaps Tom was only seeing her to please their fathers.

  She’d gone to him that spring evening, uncertain of his reaction, uncertain of the future. And he’d accepted the news without fear or blame or uncertainty. He’d shared the problem and the responsibility.

  And that’s when their relationship had changed. Tom had been adamant that they wouldn’t be intimate again until they were married. They’d foregone a big wedding because of his mother’s health and Dan’s disappearance. In the courthouse in Omaha, he’d made her his wife. And that night in a hotel in Kansas City he’d shown her what all the hoopla over making love was about.

  And each time since it had only been better and better. Marriage had made the difference, she was certain. Once he’d said those vows, Tom had done everything in his power to make her happy.

  And he had.

  Lorrie couldn’t have been happier. Well, okay, maybe one more baby would have made her a teeny-weeny bit happier, but Tom wouldn’t allow it. She’d had a rough time with Autumn, and Tom had been terrified. He’d sworn to her he’d never take a chance like that again and undergone outpatient surgery to make it a certainty.

  Since the day was so gloriously warm and fresh, Lorrie bypassed the dryer, hung the laundry on the line and waited for another load.

  Dan and Gil appeared from the side of the house.

  “I thought you’d gone fishing with the others.”

  “Nah,” her brother-in-law replied, pointing to the blue sling. “Can’t do much with this arm. I didn’t want to be a wet blanket.”

  “If Tom has enough patience for the twins and a four-year-old, I think he can handle you,” she said.

  “Yeah, well, it sounded like a father thing,” he said, and sat in one of the wicker chairs. “I don’t know if I’ve ever fished before.” He glanced up at Gil. “Have I?”

  His father nodded. “We used to fish when you and Tom were boys. You always liked it more than Tom, too. He’d get impatient and wander off, throwing rocks and chasing squirrels.”

  “He sure has patience now,” Lorrie said. “Sometimes when I watch him with the children—especially with the twins—I wish I was more like him.”

  A pained expression crossed Gil’s face. “He’s good with Bram and Jori,” he agreed.

  “Gil’s been showing me around,” Dan said. “Looks like a lot of work."

  She nodded. “From June on, we’re really busy. Did Gil show you the buildings where we hold the Applejack Festival?”

  He shook his head.

  “They’re just big barns, really,” she said. “It takes a lot of work to keep them clean and all the cider presses working. We even have a gift shop and consignment booths. Want to see?”

  “Sure.” Dan stood with her.

  “Walk with us?” she asked her father-in-law.

  He declined, and she led Dan down the gravel drive and into the back of the first building. “This is where the apples are sorted,” she explained, indicating the room full of conveyer belts with wooden sides. They paused before glass-encased rooms where vats and other machinery gleamed. "The cider’s made in here.”

  Dan’s expression showed no sign of recognition. “Clean and organized,” he commented.

  He followed her to the next barn. “We rent out the booths,” she explained, gesturing to the rows of stall-like structures. “People in the community sell and display everything from antiques and crafts to homemade jams and baked goods. We’re packed every weekend.”

  “Do you have help?” he asked.

  “Tom hires pickers,” she said. “Gil can’t pick anymore, but the rest of us work long days until the crops are in. Our families help out with the Festival.”

  “Judging from your vehicles, the house and property, it must be lucrative,” he said.

  She glanced at him. He was a complete stranger, yet he looked so much like her husband. It gave her a queer feeling in her stomach. “We’re comfortable.”

  He turned to her. “Was that rude?”

  “How are you going to find out what you want to know if you don’t ask?” Lorrie had to smile inwardly. The sentiment was one Tom used often when she was about to lose her marbles from Autumn’s ceaseless questions.

  They finished their tour and strolled back toward the house.

  “Did we see each other much?” he asked.

  She gave him her attention. “When?”

  “All those years ago,” he clarified. “Were you and I friends?”

  “Sort of,” she said. “Tom and I dated when we were all in high school. I used to mistake you for him all the time.”

  He grinned. “I can see how that happened. What would I say?”

  “You’d tell me where he was.”

  “Did a lot of people mix us up?”

  “Oh, yes. Just like they do Bram and Jori.”

  “But you can tell your boys apart?” At her nod, he asked, “How?”

  “I just know. I bathed them and fed them and rocked them and developed this—this ‘knowing.’ I just know,” was all she could say.

  “They’re great kids.”

  She smiled. “Thanks.”

  “Mommy!” Autumn’s shriek carried across the yard. She sat atop her father’s shoulders, wearing his straw cowboy hat, her fingers clutched in his thick dark hair. Tom carried two poles, and behind them Thad and the twins carried the rest of the gear. Thad was entrusted with the stringer of fish.

  “I catch-ded a fish all by myself!” Autumn cried, bouncing on Tom�
�s shoulders, the hat slipping down over her eyes. “Daddy says we can eat it for lunch. Can we?”

  They converged at the back porch. “You know I was just thinking how hungry I am for a mouth-watering—uh-”

  “Catfish,” Tom supplied, and handed her Autumn’s wet shoes and socks.

  “Catfish,” she finished.

  “Uncle Dan, do you like catfish?” Jori asked.

  “I imagine so,” he replied.

  Autumn squirmed and Tom lowered her to the ground. He took his hat from Autumn’s head and glanced from Lorrie to his brother. “Did you have a quiet morning?”

  “I did,” she replied. “Your father showed Dan around the orchards, and I just finished showing him the sorting and sale barns."

  “Want to wash Autumn up while we clean the fish?” he asked.

  “I want to clean the fish, too,” Autumn complained.

  “No, darlin’, you come with Mommy. I need help getting the rest of our lunch ready. You can help Daddy cook the fish after you take a bath.”

  “Promise, Daddy?” she asked.

  He settled his hat on his head and crossed his heart. “I promise.”

  “Come watch us clean the fish, Uncle Dan,” Bram called. “This is really gonna be cool!”

  A look passed between Dan and Tom, and Lorrie wondered at the unease she read on her husband’s face. “Come on, Dan,” he said, almost resignedly.

  The crowd of Beckett males headed toward the garage. She turned to Gil, seated in his rocker in the shade of the porch. If he noticed any of the strange vibes she’d been picking up on, he didn’t show it. He smiled in a contented manner. "It’s good to have them both here,” he said.

  She mumbled an agreement and took Autumn into the house. It was only to be expected that there would be things to work out. Dan had left for his own reasons, whatever they were, all those years ago, and Gil and Tom undoubtedly had some feelings to deal with over that. Dan’s amnesia only complicated the situation.

  Maybe he’d remember soon, and everything would get back to normal.

  A week later, Dan jockeyed the tractors alongside the tractor barn and fueled them one at a time. He had a couple of days’ worth of mowing to do in the orchards; they would be picking the fall crop next week. Just as he finished filling a tank, the hose jerked loose and spurted gasoline across the front of his shirt and jeans. He cursed and yanked the shirt off, wanting to get a good portion of the job done before the sun got too hot.

  Work usually kept his mind busy, but mowing the south orchard, he had plenty of time to think. He’d thought so damned much lately, he could barely eat or sleep. Being around Tom and living the lie he had perpetuated riddled him with regret and guilt.

  He hated the self-serving way his thoughts kept running. Tom deserved to get better. He needed help and understanding. What good were his sessions at the Med Center when everyone was telling him he was somebody he wasn’t?

  Dan ground his back teeth together in frustration and checked the swath the mower cut as he pulled it behind the tractor.

  Knowing the ugly mess his masquerade had turned into, what would he do differently if he could do it over again? Could he have convinced Lorraine to marry him if she’d known who he really was?

  He played it all over in his head, as he’d done so many times, and imagined how it could have been done had he known what he knew now—had he thought of all the complications that would follow.

  He’d never anticipated the repercussions, never imagined the tangled web he’d woven for himself. First there’d been the problem of his driver’s license. He’d simply told the examiner he’d lost his last one. The bureau had compared information, he’d paid the fine, and that had been that. Incredibly easy.

  Tom’s signature had been a snap. He’d practiced, but no one ever even looked closely.

  He’d even managed the federal income taxes by having Lorraine sign their joint return before he did and then using his own name and social security number. He’d done the filing for the orchards on his own too, so that no one else saw his signature.

  The name on his marriage document and on his children’s birth certificates was the one that tore him up.

  Dan hit the steering wheel with a fist and cut the engine. The sharp smell of freshly cut grass burned his nostrils until tears formed in his eyes.

  He could end up with nothing. No one. He’d always buried the worry of what would happen if and when Tom returned. Now he was living it minute by agonizing minute. Tom could regain his memory at any second. Each time Dan approached the house or looked at his brother or met his wife’s eyes, he wondered. Do they know? Had he remembered?

  What if he remembered this morning while Dan was mowing? What if he went home and found them all waiting? What if they all hated him now? His father. His brother. His children. His—he choked on the word—wife.

  Dan had been trying to ignore the gasoline burning through his jeans into his thighs, but the burn had spread to his crotch, and he didn’t think he’d be able to ignore that for long. He’d have to go back to the house and shower and change even if he did lose nearly an hour.

  He unhitched the mower and drove the tractor to the house. Lorraine’s laughter spilled from the kitchen as he bounded up the porch stairs. He pulled open the screen door. She turned from the sink, a smile on her lovely face. “Hi, Tom."

  The real Thomas sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in his left hand, his right arm, in the sling, resting on the oak tabletop. His gaze slid to Dan’s bare chest. “Hi, Tom.”

  “Hi.” Dan turned into the laundry room. He set his phone and keys on the dryer. It was just as it had always been: he was working his butt off while Tom was having a good time.

  “Whew, you smell!” Lorraine appeared in the doorway, one hand resting casually on either side of the casing.

  Rapidly, he stripped out of his jeans and briefs, stuffed them in the washer, added soap and twisted the knob. “You might have to wash these a second time.”

  “Tom,” she chided. “Are you going to march through the house like that?”

  He glanced down. He couldn’t have kept that gasoline-soaked fabric next to his skin a minute longer, but he probably did make for an unusual sight sporting nothing but his hat and wristwatch.

  She was grinning.

  He grabbed a towel from a stack on the dryer and wrapped it around himself. “Happy?”

  “Blissfully,” she replied, tilting her chin upward in a suggestive, yet girlish pose. He had made her happy. All these years, he’d made her happy. Dan knew it in his gut.

  But he’d done it with deception.

  He ran a glance across her glowing skin, her shiny hair, and the loving smile in her warm honey eyes. She’d been his for so long... but not nearly long enough. He never wanted to see the love in her eyes change to something else. Couldn’t bear for her to see the fraud she'd really married. The cheat. “Lorraine,” he said softly.

  Lorrie saw something in his expression that made her uneasy. “Tom?”

  He pushed past her and headed upstairs to shower and dress.

  She stared at the empty doorway for a minute, unsettled by his behavior.

  Lorrie shook off the feeling, returned to the quart of blueberries she’d been rinsing and tried to regain the pleasantness of their conversation before Tom had come in. “I think I’ll make muffins with these. Tom loves them.”

  Like the coward he knew he was, Dan stayed away from the house most of the week. He found chores to keep him busy, engines to tinker with, and insect traps to check. The family probably didn’t miss him. They had Tom to entertain them. The few times Dan did enter the house at meals and bedtime, Tom was firmly ensconced in the family unit, playing video games with the boys, checkers with Gil, or helping Lorraine set the table and finish the meal.

  Dan never approached the house without a sick, nervous fist twisting his insides. Would this be it? The final day of familial bliss? Would the hammer fall and crack his ruse wide open?
r />   Would Lorraine ever look at him again? Speak to him again? Love him again?

  One afternoon Dan leaned beneath the hood of his truck and replaced the last spark plug.

  “There you are!”

  He straightened at the sound of Lorraine’s voice and just missed hitting his skull on the open hood.

  “I have to talk to you.”

  Pulling a rag from his back pocket, he wiped his hands on it ineffectually. “What?”

  “Whatever it is that’s so pressing out here is going to have to wait.” She wore her red Husker T-shirt and a dusting of flour on her cheek.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She stopped near the front fender and peered at the engine, her loose ponytail swinging over her shoulder. “We’re having a family meeting tonight. After supper. Think you can stick around long enough?”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked again, dread gripping his vitals.

  “You’ll find out then,” she replied, and turned to leave. “You won't be late?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  She nodded and walked from the garage, her rounded backside nicely defined in a pair of washed-out jeans. He watched her go, his mind racing across all the possibilities he’d already considered a thousand times. Rationally, he told himself that if she knew, she wouldn’t be so calm.

  Would she?

  She’d be obviously upset. Angry.

  Devastated.

  Dan cleared up his mess and scrubbed his hands and nails at the steel sink in the rear of the garage. When he reached the house, Gil avoided noticing he’d arrived. He went about rolling up the garden hose as if Dan wasn’t there, but he knew his father had seen him.

  “Hi, Jori,” he said to his son on the back porch.

  Jori didn’t look up from the muddy shoes he was scraping. “Hi.”

  Mouth-watering smells wafted from the kitchen. Tom stood watching Lorraine slice a turkey. Neither of them spoke as Dan passed. Confused, he continued up to their room, showered and dressed, and returned on schedule.