A Bride In Waiting

Sara stood for a moment studying the room with its plush white carpet, accented by colorful throw rugs. A red phone and a computer peeked from disorderly piles of paper on a rolltop desk. A white telephone—did Analise even have a private phone line?—sat on a nightstand next to a large bed with a white-eyelet spread almost hidden by bright throw pillows and stuffed animals. On one wall a large television stood guard over videotapes scattered casually around it. An elaborate stereo with compact discs in shining disarray occupied a corner, while an entire wall of built-in shelves was filled with books, photographs and assorted music boxes. In one corner, as if occupying a place of honor, a battered doll with remnants of red hair reclined in a doll carriage.

It was a comfortable room, one where Sara immediately and irrationally felt at home though she’d never lived in, or even visualized living in, such a room. Maybe it was the music boxes, something she’d have loved to collect if she’d had the money, or maybe—

“That doll looks a little like Analise,” she said, more to herself than to Lucas.

“Not really. Analise is much taller and has more hair,” Lucas teased.

Sara laughed. “I meant, she looks like a doll I used to have, a doll named Analise.”

“Really? That’s odd. I mean, it’s an unusual name. What an odd coincidence that you named your doll Analise when you look so much like her.”

“Yes, I guess it is.” She picked up the doll and studied it curiously. “I have no idea where I heard the name. I saw that doll in the store and decided her name was Analise and I absolutely had to have her. Probably because she had red hair like me.” Or because she reminded me of a twin sister I remembered only on a subconscious level? “We never had much money and we moved a lot, so I didn’t get many toys. I understood and usually didn’t complain, but this time I kept after my mother until she bought me that doll. Then I hung on to her until we moved to Iowa when I was nine. Somehow she got lost in that move, and I felt as though I’d lost my best friend.”

She returned the doll to its carriage and smoothed its dress then turned back to Lucas.

He stood in front of the door like a sentinel, arms crossed over his chest, feet braced wide apart. “Seems pretty normal you’d feel that way if you moved around a lot. Making new friends is hard.” He looked and sounded as if he knew from personal experience, and she recalled that he’d mentioned he’d moved back to town six years ago. But he didn’t pursue the topic. Instead he inclined his head toward the shelves. “There’s a picture of Analise—” he grinned “—the real one, not your doll.”

Sara walked over and picked up the eight-by-ten color portrait. At first she was disappointed. From all the confusion of identity, she’d expected to feel as though she were looking into a mirror. “I can see a resemblance,” she murmured, “but...I don’t know. She’s different. Prettier.” However, the more she stared at the picture, the more she saw of herself—her eyes, her mouth, her nose.

Her sister?

Her twin sister?

Lucas came up behind her, his breath, warm on her neck, and took it from her. “Resemblance, hell. She’s not any prettier than you are. The same hairstyle, a little makeup, a big smile and it’s you.”

Sara moved a step away from Lucas’s compelling nearness and picked up another picture, this one of Clare, Ralph and Analise, obviously taken a few years earlier. “Analise looks so happy.”

“She is happy. Nothing’s ever happened to make her sad.”

The tone of Lucas’s voice drew Sara’s attention. She looked at him closely, beneath the polish, the perfect haircut and expensive clothes, to the pain tucked away at the very back of his eyes. She could see it as clearly as she saw his face. Maybe it wasn’t that obvious to everyone, but she knew what to look for. To her chagrin, the added dimension made him even more attractive, tugged at her more surely than his hand on her arm in the church.

She had to get out of this house and away from these people before she lost complete control of her senses.

“Analise, why aren’t you in bed?”

Sara whirled to see Clare standing in the doorway holding a tray with a bowl of steaming potato soup. In spite of everything, the smell made her mouth water and her soul relax. Her favorite comfort food as well as Analise’s.

Another similarity.

Clare handed her tray to Lucas. “You can’t wear that dress,” she said as she crossed the room to the bed. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’ll put on that nice robe your aunt Wilma sent you.” She turned down the bed and plumped the pillows then looked at Sara. “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Just go in the bathroom and change into something.”

Sara spotted a door at one end of the room and bolted toward it. With any sort of luck, it would lead not to the bathroom but to another dimension.

The door revealed a huge walk-in closet crammed full of brightly colored clothes. Clare was going to think her daughter was really sick if she didn’t even remember which door led to the bathroom.

Sara looked around desperately and finally spotted a pale pink quilted object that might be a robe dangling from a shelf in the back. She retrieved it, took a deep breath and returned to Lucas and Clare.

Clare smiled. “Why, thank you for humoring me, dear. Now I can tell your aunt Wilma you wore the robe.”

Sara stole a glance at Lucas. He smiled, his eyes twinkling, and tilted his head toward a door at the other end of the room.

Analise’s bathroom looked as though it had come straight out of the pages of a magazine. A huge gray marble Jacuzzi with shiny brass hardware dominated one side of the room with a matching vanity across the other. Someone had apparently cleaned this room as nothing but soft mauve towels and perfume bottles were in evidence.

A pale, frightened face stared back at Sara from the well-lighted mirror, a face that bore little resemblance to the vibrant, beautiful Analise in the picture Sara had seen. For a fleeting moment, she thought how lucky Analise was to have all these material things as well as two loving parents and an attractive, caring fiancé whose touch could create tantalizing tingles.

She shoved those thoughts aside. Envy never helped anyone. Certainly not envy of someone else’s fiancé.

She peeled off her clothes and put on the pink robe. No wonder Analise didn’t want to wear it. The fabric was scratchy and much too warm for this time of the year, plus the garment was large and bulky. But she wouldn’t have to wear it for long, just long enough to eat some soup and get out of there.

As she turned to go, she saw hanging on the door a brightly patterned silk robe of red swirled with green and purple. She couldn’t resist smiling. Even from what little she knew of Analise, this robe seemed perfect for her. She touched the soft fabric, letting it slide through her fingers, and felt a curious connection with the missing Analise.

Lucas had promised that she could meet his fiancée if she did this favor for him, and they’d gone way beyond “favor” at this point. However, she was no longer sure she wanted to meet her look-alike. She was intimidated by everything to do with this woman she’d never met, this woman who might be her sister.

She looked at herself again in the mirror. There were differences, but she looked more like Analise than Analise looked like Clare and Ralph. Ralph had dark brown, almost black, hair and hazel eyes, and Clare had blond hair, blue eyes and a small, uptilted nose. No red hair and green eyes or strong, straight nose.

Analise could very well be adopted, too.

Analise could very well be her twin.

Sara straightened her shoulders. Whatever the cost, she had to meet Analise, had to know if they were related.

She left the bathroom, closing the door behind her, and went to sit on the bed.

“Omigosh!” She shot up, then reached behind her and pushed experimentally. “It’s a water bed!”

“Analise, will you stop being silly and sit down,” Clare demanded.

Sara lowered herself uneasily onto the unreliable surface, and Clare handed her the tray.

Sara took a tentative taste of the soup. “It’s wonderful!”

“Good,” Clare approved. “As soon as you finish eating, you take a nap. I’ll come wake you in plenty of time to get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

“I’ll stay with her for a while longer,” Lucas said, coming to sit on the side of the bed.

Clare leaned over and brushed the wisps of hair back from Analise’s face then kissed her forehead. Sara closed her eyes and tried not to enjoy the maternal gesture that belonged to Analise, not to her. But again, as at the wedding rehearsal, it was hard to keep in mind that this was all make-believe.

“Very well, Lucas,” Clare said. “You can stay with her, but don’t keep her awake.”

The older woman bustled to the door, and Sara realized for the first time that Analise’s parents seemed to have no problem with leaving her alone in her room with Lucas. Did that mean they knew and approved of Lucas and Analise...well, of their doing things married people did?

Lucas and Analise were engaged, and in this day and age, that sort of thing was accepted. There was no reason for her to feel that swift surge of...what? Pain? Envy?

Whatever it was, she refused to acknowledge or indulge it.

Clare paused at the door, looked back and sighed. “This will probably be the last time I get to take care of you,” she said wistfully. “I don’t suppose you want me to tuck Sara in with you this one last time?”

Sara’s fingers clutched the tray in her lap convulsively. She heard Lucas gasp. What on earth was Analise’s mother saying?