Identical

Sofia stepped down from the porch. She took her car key from her husband, then approached Tim and put a hand up to his cheek.

“That’s going to bruise, I’m afraid. I’ll get some ice. Anything else hurt?”

“No worse than usual,” he told her. He wasn’t really sure about his leg.

Sofia headed into the house and murmured something as she went so that the other three followed her in. The dog crashed out of the woods at that point and stood at the door with the ball in her mouth. Her tail wagged, and now and then she looked back expectantly at Tim.

“Don’t ask me, Cerberus,” he told her. “I don’t understand anything around here.”

In a few minutes, Sofia returned alone. She carried a plastic bag of ice cubes, a tub of water and a spray bottle. She washed the wound and had him close his eyes while she spritzed him with an antibacterial. Then she handed over the ice.

“Ten on, ten off,” she said. Tim got into his rental.

Sofia knelt down to peer in. “Just between us?”

“Of course.”

“You’re right.”

“I know that. Your husband’s a pretty good guy. Cass and Lidia were both in a jam. But that’s a hell of a thing for a brother to do, volunteer for prison, even if it’s only part-time.”

Sofia looked down to the gravel drive for an instant, as if the truth might be located there.

“You learn a lot about love married to identical twins. It’s not for everyone. Especially if you want to feel like you’re number one. They grow up in a world of individuals, and we all tell them to think and behave like us. But they can’t. At least not these two. Their fundamental experience is different. It’s probably the ultimate bond. The whole switch thing was Paul’s idea. He was certain Lidia would do herself in. But more than that, he just couldn’t tolerate the idea of his brother bearing that kind of trouble without him sharing it.”

“You involved, too?”

“Little by little. I suppose I was in on it as soon as I sutured Lidia. Certainly when I started falling for Paul. I came up with the idea for the nasal prosthetic. We needed a facial characteristic so prominent that it would obscure the other minute differences between them, especially the ones that would develop as they aged. And you know the saying. ‘Plain as the nose on your face.’ It’s the best way to differentiate two people’s appearance. Hilda, my anaplastologist, she must have figured it out by now, but she’s never said a word. The whole thing was manageable because they wore the prosthetic only when they were on the outside, being Paul.”

“And they just glided in and out of the facility for twenty-five years?”

“There’s a back road at Hillcrest. Whoever was out would drive up. The other one would go for a walk through the woods. Exactly as you said.”

He shrugged. All those minimum-security places were the same, outside some small town where they needed the jobs.

“Occasionally there’d be a problem,” Sofia said. “Somebody on the road. In twenty-five years, there was only one inmate who got suspicious. They did their visits in the attorney room for a while-Paul was always listed as Cass’s lawyer-and swapped clothes there, until a CO came in and found them both without shoes. He nearly wrote Cass up, but Paul told a story that Cass was hungry to try on his new loafers.

“They changed places every month usually. But occasionally it would be for a day, if one of our boys had an important game or a teacher’s conference. There were some weird times.” She rolled her large eyes. “Lots of stories.”

“I bet. And no trouble practicing law?”

“Paul didn’t know any more than Cass about practicing criminal law when he started in the PA’s office. You don’t really learn how to be a prosecutor in law school. It’s on-the-job training. And both of them picked up a lot from Sandy Stern during Cass’s case. A few years later, when Paul went into private practice, he got into a big case in Illinois and needed to be admitted to the bar there. Cass stayed in the joint for six weeks and studied, and he was the one who took the bar exam and passed it.

“So practice was never the problem. It was the details of life. They wrote down as much as they could for one another in those letters they sent every night, but I must have apologized a million times over the years for Paul’s poor memory. The hardest part was the kids. The prosthetic had to come off at night, and with it or without it, each boy could tell their father from their uncle by the time they were three. It was a big chance telling each of them the truth, when we finally did. We had this pact among the three adults that there would be no recriminations if one of the kids blew it. But they didn’t. Kids don’t like to be different, it’s the kind of thing they keep to themselves naturally. At this point, they’re grateful. They feel like they have two fathers. A lot of children of identicals will tell you that.”

“And what’s going on now?” Tim asked. “What’s the point of changing identities?”

“Paul’s had his fill of politics, Cass hasn’t. Paul is going to be happier opening that charter school. It’ll be for ex-cons and kids out of juvenile confinement, young men fourteen to twenty-six. The curriculum will go from high school through junior college, with a big emphasis on job training and internships. The notion is that the cons will teach the kids to stay straight. It’s a neat idea. And it’s the right job for ‘Cass.’” She made the quotation marks in the air. “A con teaching cons? Paul’s already talked to Willie Dixon about it and the county will fund it. And Cass wants to stay in office. So it makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

“Not for me to say. But I hope you all live in peace. You’re entitled.” Tim thought about what Sofia had said. It was a lot to take in. “How was it having your kids while they were swapping places?”

“Paul was always home when they came.” She looked Tim in the eye. “And when they were conceived. I can tell the brothers apart.”

Tim laughed out loud.

“You settled for half a husband?”

“Lots of spouses spend time apart. Think of families in the service. Besides, I was twenty-four and crazy in love. And I thought any man who loved his brother that much would love me the same way.”

“Were you right?”

She smiled a little, philosophical, as he’d expect of any grown-up.

“I think so. I think our marriage really is another reason Paul’s willing to leave public life. So we have a space to build a more normal relationship. Until February, I hadn’t lived with my husband longer than two months straight in twenty-five years.”

“Working out, I hope.”

“It’s been great, thank God. I won’t pretend we weren’t both worried. But you know, Mr. Brodie, Tim-as hard as it’s been at times, I always thought about the way you and Mrs. Brodie were while Kate was dying. And afterwards. You two really were my model. God knows, it wasn’t my parents.”

She’d surprised him. “Did it truly look that good?”

“Yes. Really good. Really solid.”

“And do you think Maria was happy?”

“I’m positive she was, Mr. Brodie. Positive. Don’t let her death take that away from you. I remember one day when I was in high school, I was over at your place, and I passed through the kitchen, and at just that moment Mrs. Brodie, Maria, lit up like somebody had turned on the power, just beamed. And I couldn’t understand and then I realized she was looking out the window at you coming up the walk. I wasn’t more than fourteen or fifteen, but I thought, That’s what I want. That.”

Tim, as often happened these days, found himself near tears.

“You couldn’t have told me anything, Sofia, that means more to me.”

She smiled. “I’m glad.” When she straightened up, she looked into the car for another second.

“I told them that you were a person of your word. That you won’t tell anyone about this part. The last switch?”

He nodded then and she leaned in to kiss his cheek. As always, she told him to say hi to Demetra.

Evon was still parked at the foot of the bridge. She jumped out of the car as soon as she saw him coming.

“Who hit you?”

“My own damn fault,” he said. He told her about grabbing Paul’s nose and getting attacked by Beata.

“Paul’s nose is real?”