“Mom says you and Dad were buddies,” Oliver announced, once the salmon and potato salad and steamed asparagus had been dealt with. He was looking expectantly at their guest.
Harry put his hand on Oliver’s wiry little shoulder. “The very best of buddies,” he confirmed. “Tyler was one of the finest men I’ve ever known.”
Oliver’s freckled face fairly glowed with pride and pleasure, but in the next instant he looked solemn again. “Sometimes,” he confessed, with a slight trace of the lisp Amy had thought he’d mastered, “I can’t remember him too well. I was only four when he…when he died.”
“Maybe I can help you recall,” Harry said gently, taking a wallet from the hip pocket of his slacks and carefully removing an old, often-handled snapshot. “This was taken over at Lake Chelan, right here in Washington State.”
Ashley and Oliver nearly bumped heads in their eagerness to look at the picture of two handsome young men grinning as they held up a pair of giant rainbow trout for the camera.
“Your dad and I were seventeen then.” Harry frowned thoughtfully. “We were out in the rowboat that day, as I recall. Your Aunt Charlotte was annoyed with us and she swam ashore, taking the oars with her. It was humiliating, actually. An old lady in a paddleboat had to come out and tow us back to the dock.”
Amy chuckled, feeling a sweet warmth flood her spirit as she remembered Ty telling that same story.
After they’d had some of Harry’s cake—they completely scorned the éclairs—Amy sent both her protesting children into the house to get ready for bed. She and Harry remained outside at the picnic table, even after the sun went down and the mosquitoes came and the breeze turned chilly.
“I’m sorry I didn’t make it to Ty’s funeral,” he said, after one long and oddly comfortable silence. “I was in the outback, and didn’t find out until some three weeks after he’d passed on.”
“I wouldn’t have known whether you were there or not. I was in pretty much of a muddle.” Amy’s voice went a little hoarse as the emotional backwash of that awful day flooded over her.
Harry ran his fingers through his hair, the first sign of agitation Amy had seen him reveal. “I knew the difference,” he said. “I needed to say goodbye to Tyler. Matter of fact, I needed to bellow at him that he had a hell of a nerve going and dying that way when he was barely thirty-five.”
“I was angry with him, too,” Amy said softly. “One day he was fine, the next he was in the hospital. The doctor said it would be a routine operation, nothing to worry about, and when I saw Ty before surgery, he was making jokes about keeping his appendix in a jar.” She paused, and a smile faltered on her mouth, then fell away. She went on to describe what happened next, even though she was sure Harry already knew the tragic details, because for some reason she needed to say it all.
“Tyler had some kind of reaction to the anesthetic and went into cardiac arrest. The surgical team tried everything to save him, of course, but they couldn’t get his heart beating again. He was just…gone.”
Harry closed warm, strong fingers around Amy’s hand. “I’m sorry,” he said.
One of the patio doors slid open, and Amy looked up, expecting to see Ashley or Oliver standing there, making a case for staying up another hour. Instead, she was jolted to find cousin Max, complete with coveralls and toolbox.
Amy was horrified that she’d left the man kneeling on the kitchen floor throughout the evening, half his body swallowed up by an appliance that didn’t even need repairing. “Oh, Max…I’m sorry, I—”
Max waggled a sturdy finger at her. “Everything’s fine now, Mrs. Ryan.” He looked at Harry and wriggled his eyebrows, clearly stating, without another word, that he had sized up the dinner guest and decided he was harmless.
In Amy’s opinion, Max couldn’t have been more wrong. Harry Griffith was capable of making her feel things, remember things, want things. And that made him damn dangerous.
“Mr. Griffith was just leaving,” she said suddenly. “Maybe you could walk him to his car.”
Harry tossed her a curious smile, gave his head one almost imperceptible shake and stood. “I’ve some business to settle with you,” he said to Amy, “but I guess it will keep until morning.”
Amy closed her eyes for a moment, shaken again. She knew what that business was without asking, because Tyler had told her. This was all getting too spooky.
Harry was already standing, so Amy stood, too.
“It’s been a delightful evening,” he said. “Thank you for everything.”
His words echoed in Amy’s mind as he walked away to join Max. It’s been a delightful evening. She wasn’t used to Harry’s elegant, formal way of speaking: Tyler would have swatted her lightly on the bottom and said, Great potato salad, babe. How about rubbing my back?
“You’re making me sound like a redneck,” a familiar voice observed, and Amy whirled to see Tyler sitting in the tire swing, grinning at her in the light of the rising moon.
She raised one hand, as if to summon Harry or Max back, so that someone else could confirm the vision, then let it fall back to her side. “It’s true,” she said, stepping closer to the swing and keeping her voice down, so the kids wouldn’t think she was talking to herself again. “Don’t deny it, Ty. You enjoyed playing king of the castle. In fact, sometimes you did everything but swing from vines and yodel while beating on your chest with both fists.”
Tyler, or his reflection, raised one eyebrow. “Okay, so I was a little macho sometimes. But I loved you, Spud. I was a good provider and a faithful husband.”
Instinct, not just wishful thinking, told Amy that Ty’s claim was true. He’d been the ideal life partner, except that he’d thrown the game before they’d even reached halftime.
“Go ahead, gloat,” Amy said, folding her arms. “You told me Harry Griffith would turn up, and he did. And he said something about discussing business with me tomorrow, so you’re batting a thousand.”
Tyler grinned again, looking cocky. “You thought you were dreaming, didn’t you?”
“Actually, no,” Amy said. “It’s more likely that you’re some sort of projection of my subconscious mind.”
“Oh, yeah?” Tyler made the swing spin a couple of times, the way he’d done on so many other summer nights, before he’d single-handedly brought the world to an end by dying. Somewhere in that library of albums inside the house, Amy had a picture of him holding an infant Ashley on his lap while they both turned in a laughing blur. “How could your subconscious mind have known Harry was about to show up?”
Amy shrugged. “There are a lot of things going on in this world that we don’t fully understand.”
“You can say that again,” Tyler said, a little smugly.
He still couldn’t resist an opportunity to be one up on the opposition in any argument, Amy reflected, with affection and acceptance. It was the lawyer in him. “Debbie’s theory is that you represent some unspoken wish for love and romance.”
Tyler laughed.
