My Duplicated Husband novel · Chapter 11 of 24

Chapter 11: The Brother

I sat up in bed, pulling the sheet to my chest.

"He had a crooked left pinky," I said. "A burn along his right forearm. He started wearing long sleeves in July."

Lorne didn't say anything.

I watched his face change in the moonlight.

It went through shock, then disbelief, then a slow, terrible understanding.

"The pinky," he said hoarsely. "Rory broke his pinky in a bar fight in Kodiak when he was twenty. It healed bent."

"Who is Rory?"

"My brother."

The word dropped into the room.

"You have a brother?" I said.

"A twin. Eleven minutes older."

His laugh was a dry crackle.

"He left for the crab boats the week we turned twenty, and he wrote twice."

"He hasn't been to a family dinner in sixteen years."

"You told me he was in Alaska."

"I thought he was."

"He wasn't at your father's funeral."

"He called the night before and said he couldn't get a flight."

Lorne's hands began to shake.

"And then he came to the house, after everyone left."

"I remember a knock. I remember that I was glad."

He shut his eyes.

"I poured two whiskeys. We toasted Dad. Then it all goes dark."

I pulled him into my arms.

His whole body was jerking, silent.

"Three years," he said into my shoulder.

"I never once thought it was him. I thought it was a stranger."

"I thought it was somebody who hated me."

"It was your brother."

"He's been living in my house."

"Sleeping in your bed."

"Hitting my wife."

We held each other until the window turned gray.

At seven, a car pulled in with a squeal of brakes.

Footsteps pounded up the porch, and the front door shook under a fist.

"Lydia Marsh Penhallow, open this door right now!"

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