Chapter 22

22

"What?" I say. "You're what ?"

The man who looks exactly like my husband, who claims his name is Brant, still has his hands in the air. I lower the shovel, and he drops his hands.

"You're Grant's identical twin?" I say with undisguised skepticism.

"That's right."

"But that makes no sense." I punctuate my statement by digging the spade of the shovel into the grass. "Grant was an only child."

"He lied to you. He wasn't an only child. He had a brother—me."

"Still," I say. "It just seems so ridiculously unlikely. I mean, identical twins are really rare. And honestly, this all just seems like a cheap and overly convenient explanation for me seeing my dead husband everywhere. It sort of makes me want to roll my eyes."

"Well, sorry ," Brant says. "What explanation would you prefer? That Grant came back from the dead? Or maybe you're imagining the whole thing? How about if you're actually in a psychiatric hospital, and this entire marriage was completely in your head? Would that be better?"

"No, that's much worse."

"Exactly." He reaches into the back pocket of his blue jeans and pulls out a worn leather wallet. He fumbles around inside the wallet and finally pulls out an old, creased photo. "This was me and Grant as kids."

I take the photograph from his hands. It's a picture of two identical towheaded boys of about five years old, wearing shorts and T-shirts, who bear a striking resemblance to both each other and the man standing before me. It looks like it's been in his wallet for a very long time.

"This could have been faked," I say.

He plucks the photo from my hand and gingerly places it within the folds of his wallet. "So you say. But look at me, Alice. Do you really need a photograph to prove to you that I am identical to your late husband?"

Admittedly, this man does look very much like Grant. There is only one noticeable difference.

Brant notices where I'm looking and touches the side of his face, just a bit in front of his right ear, which is marked by a tiny mole about two millimeters in diameter. "It's the only difference between the two of us."

As I stare at Brant, the puzzle pieces start to fall into place. I didn't understand how Grant could have been home for dinner with me almost every night yet also had an entirely different family whose house was filled with photographs of him as a loving father. But now it suddenly makes sense.

"Marnie is your wife," I whisper.

"Yes," he says.

"But I don't understand. Why did you tell her your name is Grant?"

He clenches his teeth. "You don't understand what it was like for me growing up. Grant was always the better twin. He was always the one who everyone loved, who got the better grades in school, and then he landed an amazing job where he made a ton of money. He even has the better name between the two of us. I mean— Brant ? That's the name of the snooty rich kid in some teen movie."

I can't disagree with his last point.

"Anyway," he continues, "when I met Marnie, I thought she was the most amazing person ever. All I wanted was for her to like me. And that's why, when she asked me what my name was, I told her it was Grant. I figured eventually I would tell her the truth." He frowns. "I suppose I let it go on a little too long."

"You think?"

He drops his head. "I have made some mistakes in my life. I won't deny that."

"I don't understand, though. Why does Marnie think you're dead?"

He lets out a long tortuous sigh. "I loved Marnie—I really did. But things have changed over the years. We aren't right for each other anymore, but she can't seem to accept it, because we have so, so, so many children together. That's why, when I heard about my brother's fatal accident, I realized this was a chance for me to finally escape my terrible marriage."

I flash back to the living room of Marnie and Brant's home. I remember looking at the photographs on the walls. The two of them seemed so happy together. But I know from experience that the smiles in photographs can be an illusion.

"Was it all the children?" I ask him. "Is that what put the strain on your marriage?"

He shakes his head now. "No, the kids are great. I'm sorry about that part—I'll genuinely miss my kids."

"Did you disagree on the color of that dress?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Never mind." I frown up at him. "So, what was it?"

"It's…" He digs his heel into the soil of our yard. "It's a little painful to admit. I… I don't know you very well, and I don't want you to think less of me."

"I won't think less of you."

"Please. I don't want to say it…"

There's pain in his eyes, which reminds me of the pain I felt during my marriage. I don't know what he was going through, but I am starting to suspect it was just as bad as my own situation. Like me, he clearly needs somebody to talk to.

"Tell me. Please, Brant."

"She…" He squeezes his eyes shut. "She doesn't like Nickelback. And I…" His Adam's apple bobs. "I love them. There—I said it. Nickelback is my absolute favorite band of all time, and my own wife can't stand them."

"Brant…"

"You have no idea what it's been like." He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "We'll be in the minivan together, and ‘How You Remind Me' will come on the radio, and she'll say to me, ‘Shut that awful music off.' She says they… they're super fake, and their songs are made for… entirely commercial reasons." His voice trembles dangerously, threatening to break. "She says that… they're not even a real band . She says nobody really likes them, and there must be something wrong with me." He lets out a strangled cry. "And now you probably think there's something wrong with me too."

I blink, staring at him in disbelief. "Brant, I love Nickelback."

He gives me a wary look. "You can't possibly mean that. You're just messing with me."

"No, I do! I love Nickelback! They have such a good vibe, their lyrics are so profound, and their tunes are a perfect mix of pop and grunge. They're my favorite band."

A slow smile spreads across his lips. "I… I thought I was the only one."

"I thought I was the only one!"

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I wonder what my life would have been like if I had ended up with a different brother. I don't know Brant well, but it suddenly feels like we connect on a level that Grant and I never did. After all, we have something in common that very few people in the world do.

"I'm sorry I was following you," Brant says softly. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay after my brother died."

"I'm okay," I say. "Actually, I am more than okay. Grant was… He wasn't always good to me. As Chad Kroeger would say, living with him damn near killed me."

"Although I enjoyed the Nickelback quote, I'm really sorry to hear that." Brant reaches out to gently touch my shoulder. "Grant did have issues. We had a difficult childhood, to say the least."

"Really? He never told me that."

"Yes, it was awful." He winces at the memory. "It was all those identical-twin studies we did when we were younger."

"Identical twin studies?"

"Yes, they were endless," Brant groans. "We were constantly having our IQ tested. On one occasion, we were both given marshmallows and told that if we were able to keep from eating them for five minutes, we would get a second marshmallow. And once, they sent Grant into space, and when he came back, they tested our blood, saliva, and urine to compare them. He was only six at the time!"

That does sound rather unpleasant. Although it doesn't excuse what he did to me.

"Listen," I say, "you had better come inside the house. If you stand out on the lawn long enough, one of the neighbors is going to see you."

He raises an eyebrow. "You trust me enough to let me into your house?"

I hesitate for a split second, but then I bob my head. Even though I only met Brant today, I feel an inexplicable connection to him. I trust him. I don't think he would hurt me.

I hope I'm not making a terrible mistake.