Wild About Harry

by Linda Lael Miller

  Debbie gave a delighted cry, then apparently had second thoughts. "Wait a minute. You don't know him all that well."

  "I know him as well as I need to," Amy replied quietly. "And what happened to all those lectures you were handing out before I left? I think the general theme was, 'Amy, you've got to put your past behind you and get on with your life.'"

  Debbie sighed. "It sounded good in theory. Do you love this guy?"

  "With all my heart."

  "I'm coming right over. We'll go out for pizza and talk this through—"

  "I'm not going anywhere," Amy sighed. "Not tonight. I just traveled from one hemisphere to another and I'm exhausted. I'm planning to have some soup, take a bath and crawl into bed."

  "All right, we'll talk tomorrow, then," Debbie said breathlessly. "You're not going to live in Australia, are you?"

  "Only part of the year," Amy answered, half yawning the words. "Goodbye, Debbie."

  Before her friend could protest, Amy hung up.

  She could barely see to heat soup, but she knew she needed nourishment, so she made herself a bowl of chicken and stars. After eating about half of the impromptu meal, Amy stumbled upstairs, had the bath she'd promised herself, put on a cotton nightshirt and fell into bed.

  "It's about time you got home," commented a disapproving male voice.

  Amy's eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright in bed, reaching feverishly for the lamp switch. The subsequent burst of lights showed Tyler standing at the foot of the bed, one foot balanced on the antique blanket chest.

  The fact that this had happened before did nothing to ease the shock. In fact, by that time Amy had half convinced herself that she'd never seen Tyler's ghost at all.

  "What are you doing here?" she managed, staring at him, blinking hard and then staring again.

  Tyler shoved one hand through his curly brown hair and sighed. "I used to live here, remember? I used to live, period."

  Amy tossed back the covers, meaning to scramble over to Tyler and see if she could pass her hand through him, like a projection from her father-in-law's old eight-millimeter movie camera.

  But Ty stepped back, and the expression on his face, though a benevolent one, was unmistakably a warning. "Don't try to touch me, Amy," he said. "It dissipates my energy."

  Kneeling in the middle of the bed that had once been theirs, Amy covered her face with both hands. "This is insane. I'm insane!"

  "I told you before," Tyler sighed, "you're perfectly all right. Where have you been for the past week?"

  Amy lowered her hands. "You don't know? That's weird. I thought you knew all, saw all."

  "I'm confined to a certain area," Tyler explained somewhat impatiently. "And my time is running out. Where were you, Amy? And where are the kids?"

  "Ashley and Oliver are in Kansas, with your parents," she answered, worried. "And I was in Australia, with Harry Griffith. What do you mean, your time is running out?"

  Tyler turned away for a moment.

  "Ty?"

  He held up one hand. "It's okay, Amy. I knew you and Harry were going to hit it off—it was meant to be—but it's still a little hard to let go."

  Amy's throat tightened, and her eyes filled with tears. "You're telling me. Losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me, Ty. If I could have held on to you even a moment longer, I would have."

  When he turned to face her again, his eyes were suspiciously bright. He started to say something, then stopped himself.

  Amy drew a deep breath and held it for a moment, struggling to regain her composure. She adored Harry, and she knew marrying him was the right thing to do, but Tyler had been her first love, the father of her children, and saying goodbye to him would not be easy.

  "Will I see you again—someday?" she asked, clasping her hands together in her lap.

  "Our paths may cross at some point," he answered gruffly. "Whether or not we'll recognize each other is another question. Be happy, Spud."

  He started to fade.

  "Tyler!" Amy cried. "Don't go!"

  Between one instant and the next, however, Tyler disappeared completely.

  Amy switched out the lamp and cried herself to sleep, and when Harry called the next morning, her throat was scratchy and she felt as though she hadn't slept in a week. He told her he'd be back the following day, and that he loved her, but that was all Amy could remember of the conversation.

  "I saw Tyler again last night," she told Debbie, when the two of them met for pizza and salad at a restaurant near the clinic.

  Debbie took the announcement in stride, just as she had before. "Part of the grieving process, I'm sure."

  "He was really there!" Amy insisted.

  "I believe that you believe that," Debbie replied. "Tyler came to say goodbye, didn't he?"

  Amy couldn't deny that. She knew her grudging nod only confirmed her friend's theory that Tyler was some kind of subconscious manifestation.

  "Do you still love him?" Debbie uttered the question subtly, spearing a cherry tomato from her salad bowl while she spoke.

  "Tyler?" Amy searched her heart, and found a deep, sweet sadness there. "Not in the same way as before," she confessed, her voice barely audible.

  "Separation complete," Debbie said.

  "You think I'm crazy."

  "I think you're a perfectly normal woman who loved her first husband to distraction. But you're young and you're healthy and now you care for somebody else."

  Amy dried her eyes with a wadded napkin and sniffled. "Last night, you weren't quite so blithe about it."

  "I was having a personal conflict," Debbie said mat-ter-of-factly, every inch the professional. "You're my best friend, and I don't exactly relish the idea of seeing you move to Australia."

  "I told you, it will only be for half the year."

  "I'm not used to having to wait six months for a lunch date, Amy," Debbie pointed out. "This is going to create a serious gap in my social life. How do you think the kids will react to the news? And Tyler's parents?"

  Amy sighed. "Ashley and Oliver adore Harry," she said. "The Ryans like him, too, of course, but I'm not sure how they're going to feel about being separated from their grandchildren for such long periods."

  "They could visit," Debbie said practically.

  "So could you," Amy pointed out.

  Debbie beamed. "You're right. Will you introduce me to Paul Hogan?"

  "Why not?" Amy teased with a shrug. "I'll probably know everybody in Australia on a first-name basis."

  Later, Amy stopped by the supermarket to buy milk, fresh vegetables, cat food and a magazine. When she arrived home, Mrs. Ingallstadt was there, feeding Rumpel.

  "My goodness, you scared me!" the old woman said, laying one plump hand to her heart.

  Amy smiled. "I'm sorry. I should have called, but I was so tired when I got home yesterday."

  "That's all right, dear," Mrs. Ingallstadt said kindly. "You've got a very good cat here, though it seems to me the poor creature is a little on the jumpy side."

  Amy had been taking groceries from the canvas shopping bag she always brought to the store with her, but she stopped. Something in Mrs. Ingallstadt's tone had put all her senses on the alert. "Jumpy?"

  "Cats are generally unflappable, you know," the neighbor explained. "But every time I came over, she flung herself into my arms and meowed like there was no tomorrow. I could hardly get her to settle down to eat."

  If the cat had seen Tyler, that would prove he was real and not a delusion. Wouldn't it?

  "Maybe she saw a ghost," Amy said with a nervous giggle.

  Mrs. Ingallstadt didn't smile. "I used to see my Walter sometimes—after he was gone, I mean."

  Amy no longer made any pretense of being interested in the groceries. "Really? What was he doing?"

  The old lady chuckled fondly. "Cleaning out the bird bath in the backyard," she said. "I saw him on and off for about three years, I guess. Then, once I knew I could make my way alone, he stopped paying me visits."


  Pulling back a chair, Amy sank into it. "Do you think you really saw Walter, or was it just your imagination?"

  "Oh, I think I really saw him," Mrs. Ingallstadt said confidently. "I may be old, but I know when I'm daydreaming. Walter was as real as you are."

  Amy wanted to laugh and cry, both at once. Her emotions were so tangled she couldn't begin to sort them out. "Why do you think he came back?" she ventured after a few moments.

  Mrs. Ingallstadt smiled. "He was looking after me the only way he could," she said. "Walter always promised he'd stand by me, no matter what." She approached and laid a hand on Amy's shoulder. "Are you all right, dear? You look a little peaky."

  Amy couldn't tell her neighbor and friend about seeing Tyler, not then at least. But she was overjoyed to know she wasn't the only one who'd had such an experience.

  That night she made herself a salad, ate and went to bed early.

  In the middle of the morning, Harry arrived, carrying an enormous bag full of rose petals. He poured the cloud of white softness onto the living-room floor, laid Amy on top of them and made slow, exacting love to her.

  While she was caught up in the last, fevered stages of response, he gently squeezed her bottom and spoke to her in low, soothing words.

  She was drenched with perspiration when she finally lay still, caressing Harry's strong shoulders while he strained upon her and finally spilled his passion.

  "I have a bed, you know," she said much later, when he was lying with his head on her breast. She entangled her finger in an ebony curl as she spoke.

  He raised up far enough to look her in the eye. "Tyler's bed," he pointed out.

  "Ty would approve of our getting married," Amy said. She was certain of that, since Tyler had told her so himself.

  "I know," Harry agreed, caressing her intimately. "But a man's bed is sacred."

  Amy gasped as his finger slid inside her. His thumb, meanwhile, was making slow revolutions of its own.

  She used the last of her strength to rebel, to bait him. "You mean, if you—died—I couldn't bring my third husband to the tree house?"

  Harry bent to nibble at a breast that was still wet from previous forays of his tongue. "Not a chance. I'd haunt you."

  Amy's last coherent thought was It wouldn't be the first time that had happened.

  #

  Hours later, when she and Harry were eating homemade spaghetti in Amy's kitchen, she said boldly, "I want you to stay here tonight."

  The swift flatness of Harry's answer surprised her. "No."

  "We could sleep in the guest room," Amy said reasonably. She'd been alone for two years, and now that she had someone to share her life again, she didn't want to sleep solo.

  Harry shook his head. "Tyler's house," he said.

  Amy was frightened, although she couldn't have explained the sensation. "That didn't stop you from making love to me in the middle of the living room," she pointed out in what she hoped was an even voice.

  "I was desperate," Harry replied. "We'd been apart."

  "I don't believe this!"

  "Believe it. I love you, Amy, and I'm convinced Tyler would be happy about our being together. But he was one of my best friends and making love to his widow, under his roof, is not my idea of a fitting memorial."

  Now Amy understood why she was scared. Harry was going to think of Tyler every time they were intimate, and maybe it would get so it didn't matter where they were at the time.

  "Suppose I told you I'd seen Tyler," she burst out, without thinking. "Suppose I said he'd told me you and I were going to be married and have two children!"

  Harry pushed away his plate. "Then I'd say you weren't through grieving and the last thing you were ready for was a new relationship."

  The room seemed to sway around Amy; she gripped the table's edge to steady herself.

  "What's going on here?" she demanded. "Are you getting cold feet?"

  "If anybody's entitled to ask what's going on, love, I am!" Harry roared, throwing down his napkin and shooting to his feet. "Are you over Tyler or not?"

  Amy was stunned. Although she'd seen anger snapping in Harry's blue eyes, she'd never heard him yell before. She'd never even imagined him yelling. "Yes, I'm over him," she said in a small, stricken voice.

  "But you've seen him?"

  Amy wanted to say no, but she couldn't lie. Not to Harry. So she didn't say anything at all.

  Harry bent and kissed her angrily on the mouth. Amy didn't know if he was mad at her or himself.

  She followed him to the front door and stood on the step, watching him storm down the walk.

  "I love you, Harry," she called after him.

  "I love you!" he shouted back.

  That weekend, he and Amy went to Vashon Island together, to get the lighthouse ready for occupancy. They washed windows and walls and bathtubs all day Saturday, and made love in front of the fireplace most of the night. On Sunday they chose furniture from the showroom of an exclusive Seattle department store.

  Sunday evening, Amy broiled steaks for dinner, and they ate at the picnic table in her backyard.

  She wanted to ask Harry to stay, but she didn't because she knew he'd say no. He'd been his old self at the lighthouse, but once they were back in Seattle, he acted as though Tyler were looking over his shoulder.

  They indulged in a passionate kiss, there in the backyard, and Harry helped Amy carry the debris from their meal into the house. He rinsed their plates and utensils, and she loaded the dishwasher.

  When that was done, Harry said good-night, promised to call the next day and left.

  Amy was brewing a cup of decaf when Tyler put in another one of his appearances.

  This time he was sitting at the kitchen iable, his chin propped in one hand.

  Amy set the coffee aside so she wouldn't spill it. "I'm not supposed to be here, actually."

  "Then why—?"

  "You're pregnant," he said, looking and sounding as pleased as if he'd accomplished the deed himself. "I just thought you might like to know that."

  Instinctively, Amy put both hands to her flat stomach. "I can't be pregnant," she said. "I took precautions."

  "Precautions don't mean diddly where The Plan is concerned," Tyler replied blithely. "It's a girl. Dark hair, blue eyes. She'd going to run Harry's company someday."

  Amy felt dizzy. She'd barely come to terms with her feelings for Harry as it was.

  "Tyler, I'm imagining you. You're not here and I'm not seeing you!"

  "I hope not," observed a third voice.

  Amy whirled to find Harry standing in the kitchen doorway. The expression in his eyes was bleak, resigned, and Amy knew he couldn't see Tyler.

  "Do something!" Amy ordered Tyler frantically. "Show yourself, make a sound, tip over the table—something!"

  "It's no use, Spud," Tyler said with a philosophical sigh. "Nobody can see or hear me but you. And the cat, of course. To show myself to Harry would take so much energy that I'd probably short out or something."

  Amy turned to Harry. "He's really here," she cried. "Harry, I swear I'm not having delusions—Tyler is right here!"

  Harry looked sad. "It's obvious that you're not ready for a new marriage, Amy." He collected his sweater, which he'd left draped over the back of a chair. "I'll call you sometime."

  "Harry!"

  "Now I know why they told me not to come back," Tyler muttered.

  "Oh, shut up!" Amy yelled. She'd finally found happiness, and it was walking out the door.

  Harry paused on the front step. "Do you want me to call your doctor or something?" he asked.

  Amy bit her lower lip, held back all the fevered denials and angry defenses that rushed into her throat. It was too late now, Harry had heard her talking to someone he couldn't see or hear, and he thought she was in the midst of some emotional crisis.

  "I'll be fine," she managed to say.

  Harry got into his van, closed the door and drove away.

  The next day Ashley and Oliver retu
rned from their trip, bearing gifts from every tacky souvenir shop between Seattle and Topeka, or so it seemed. Amy was delighted to see them; they were, at the moment, her only viable reasons for not going crazy.

  "That's a pretty ring," Oliver told her that night, when he'd had his bath and his story, and she was tucking him into bed.

  Amy looked at the diamond engagement ring she would have to return and sighed. "It is pretty, isn't it?" she said sadly. "I only borrowed it, though."

  "I missed you a whole bunch, Mom," Oliver confided. "A couple of times I even thought I might cry." He whispered the final word, lest it fall on enemy ears. Ashley's, for instance.

  Amy kissed her son on the forehead. "I missed you a whole bunch, too, and I did cry," she said.

  "I know," Oliver replied. "Your eyes are all red and swelly, like they used to be after Dad died."

  "I've got some problems," she told the child honestly, "but I'll work them out, so I don't want you to worry, all right?"

  "All right," Oliver agreed, closing his eyes and settling into his pillow with a sigh. '"Night, Mom."

  Amy went on to Ashley's room. Her daughter was sitting up in bed, busy writing in her diary.

  "I guess that trip to Kansas must have been pretty exciting," Amy said gently, standing near Ashley's ruffly, stuffed-animal-mounded bed.

  "It was," Ashley beamed, "but I'm glad I'm home. What did you do while we were gone, Mom?"

  Amy kissed the little girl's warm cheek. "That's a long story, baby," she answered gently. "But someday I'll tell you all about it."

  She switched out Ashley's light and left the room, and in the hallway Amy touched her stomach again, wondering.

  If she was about to present Ashley and Oliver with a little sister, as Tyler claimed, she'd be doing that explaining sooner rather than later.

  8

  * * *

  Amy waited a full week for Harry to reach out and touch someone—namely, her. When he didn't, she tracked him down by calling the Ryans and asking for his office address and telephone number.

  After summoning Mrs. Ingallstadt to look after the kids, Amy jumped into her car and set out for downtown Seattle.

  Harry's investment firm was housed in one of the swanky, renovated buildings overlooking Elliott Bay. Clutching her courage as tightly as she clutched the handle of her purse, Amy took an elevator to the nineteenth floor.