Wild about Harry. Linda Miller LaelЧитать онлайн книгу.
to know again.
After Oliver and Ashley had gone to camp, Amy didn’t put on a power suit and go out to network with half a dozen potential clients as she normally would have done. Instead, she wore jeans and a pastel blue sun top and pulled her heavy shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. She was in the spacious room that had once been Tyler’s study, balancing her checkbook and listening with half an ear to a TV talk show, when the telephone rang.
Amy pushed the speaker button. “Hello?”
Harry’s smooth, cultured voice filled the room. “Hello, Amy. It’s Harry Griffith.”
“I know,” Amy answered automatically, before she’d had a chance to think about the implications of those two simple words. She laid down her pen and closed the checkbook, feeling vaguely embarrassed. She wanted to say something witty, but of course nothing came to mind; in an hour or a day or a week, when it was too late, some smidgen of clever repartee would come to mind in a flash.
“I enjoyed last night’s visit with you and the children,” he went on, and Amy leaned back in her chair, just letting that wonderful voice roll over her, like warm ocean water. “Thank you for inviting me, Amy.”
Amy closed her eyes, then quickly opened them again. She needed to be on her guard with this man, lest she say or do something really foolish. “Uh…yes…well, you’re very welcome, of course.” That was really brilliant, Ryan, she added to herself.
“I’d like to return the favor, if I might. I’ve made an appointment to look at a rather unique house over on Vashon Island tomorrow, and I could really use some company—besides the real estate agent, I mean. Would you and Ashley and Oliver care to go out and offer your opinion of the place?”
Amy’s heart warmed as she thought how her son and daughter would enjoy such an outing, especially when it meant close contact with Harry. She wasn’t exactly averse to the idea herself, though she couldn’t quite admit that, even in the privacy of her own soul.
“It would give you and me a chance to discuss that business you mentioned last night.” That was the best attempt at setting up a barrier Amy could manage.
Harry sighed. “Yes, there is that. Shall I pick the three of you up tomorrow, then? Around nine?”
A sweet shiver skittered down Amy’s spine. “Yes,” she heard herself say. But the moment Harry rang off, she wanted to call him back and say she’d changed her mind, she couldn’t possibly spend a day on Vashon. She would tell him she had to clean the garage or prune the lilac bushes or something.
Only she had no idea where to reach the charming Mr. Griffith. He hadn’t left a number or mentioned the name of a hotel.
Feeling restless, Amy pushed the microphone button on the telephone and thrust herself out of her chair. So much for balancing her checking account; thanks to Harry’s call, she wouldn’t have been able to subtract two from seven.
Amy paced in front of the natural rock fireplace, wondering where all this unwanted energy had come from. For two years, she’d been concentrating on basic emotional survival. Now, all of the sudden she felt as though she could replaster every wall in that big colonial house without even working up a sweat.
She dialed Debbie’s private number at the counseling center.
“I’m going crazy,” she blurted out the moment her friend answered.
Debbie laughed. “Amy, I presume? What’s happened now? Have you been visited by the ghost of Christmas Weird?”
Amy gave a sigh. “This is serious, Debbie. Harry Griffith just called and invited me to go to Vashon Island with him tomorrow, and I accepted!”
“That is terrible,” Debbie teased. “Think of it. After only two years of mourning, you’re actually coming back to life. Quick, head for the nearest closet and hide out until the urge passes!”
Rolling her eyes and twisting the telephone cord around her index finger, Amy replied, “Will you stop with the irony, please? Something very strange is going on here.”
Debbie’s voice became firm, reasonable. She had become the counselor. “I know a crazy person when I see one, Amy, and believe me, you’re completely sane.”
“I saw Tyler again last night,” Amy insisted. “He was sitting in the backyard swing.”
“Your deeper mind is trying to tell you something, Ryan. Pay attention.”
“You’ve been a tremendous help,” Amy said with dry annoyance.
Debbie sighed philosophically. “There go my fond hopes of writing a best-selling book, becoming the next self-help guru and appearing on Oprah.”
“Debbie.”
“Just relax, Amy. That’s all you have to do. Stop analyzing everything and just take things one day at a time.”
Amy let out a long breath, knowing her friend was right. Which didn’t mean for one moment that she’d be able to apply the information. “By the way, thanks for sending your cousin Max over last night. My virtue is safe.”
Debbie chuckled. “Too safe, methinks. Talk to you later.”
Amy said goodbye and hung up. She went into the kitchen and turned on the dishwasher. Almost immediately, water began to seep out from under the door.
“Great,” she muttered.
As the rest of the day passed, Amy discovered that her normal tactics for distracting herself weren’t working any better than the dishwasher. She had absolutely no desire to contact prospective clients, make follow-up calls or update her files.
At two o’clock, a serviceman came to repair the damage Max had unwittingly done to the dishwasher. Amy watched two soap operas, having no idea who the characters were or what in the world they were talking about. She was relieved when it was finally time to pick the kids up at day camp.
The announcement that Harry had invited the three of them to spend the next day on the island brought whoops of delight from Oliver and a sweet smile from Ashley.
After those reactions, Amy could not have disappointed her children for anything.
That night in bed, she tossed and turned, half hoping Tyler would appear again so she could give him a piece of her mind. Of course, she reasoned, he probably was a piece of her mind.
When the first finger of light reached over the mountains visible from Amy’s window, Oliver materialized at the foot of her bed. He scrambled onto the mattress and gave a few exuberant leaps.
“Get up, Mom! You’ve only got four hours to get beautiful before Harry comes to pick us up!”
Amy pulled the covers over her head and groaned. “Oliver, children have been disowned for lesser offenses.”
Oliver bounded to the head of the bed and bounced on his knees, simultaneously dragging the blankets back from Amy’s face. “This is your big chance, Mom,” he argued. “Don’t blow it!”
Shoving one hand through her rumpled hair, Amy let out a long sigh. “Trust me, Oliver—while I may appear hopeless to you, I have not quite reached the point of desperation.”
The words were no sooner out of her mouth when Tyler’s accusation echoed in her mind. You’re not happy.
The assertion would have been much easier to deal with if it hadn’t been fundamentally true. Amy loved her children, and she found her work at least tolerable. She had good health, a nice home and plenty of money.
Those things should have been enough, to her way of thinking, but they weren’t. Amy wanted something more.
By the time nine o’clock rolled around, Amy had put on jeans and a navy sweater with red, white and yellow nautical designs. She wore light makeup and a narrow white scarf to hold her hair back from her face.
“Am I presentable?” she whispered