Resurrecting Harry (4 page)

The gruff man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Thank me by doing the job I hired you to do.”

Erich returned the pot to the warmer. The clank of glass hitting the metal reminded him some things are fragile and need a gentle hand, like forging a relationship with Bess. Pushing too hard and too fast would only cause any chance of success to shatter. He was a stranger in her eyes and needed to remember that.

As he untied his apron, he heard Will say to Bess, “I asked them about your furnace. The guy they recommended is out of town for a week.”

“Oh dear,” she replied. “I really didn’t want to take Gail up on her offer. She and Martin have done too much for me already, but I’m running out of options.”

That god-forsaken furnace. And Gail Cooper?
If there were two things Harry could count on it was that old thing breaking down, and that wolf in sheep’s clothing taking advantage of the situation, but he knew an opening when he saw it. “I know my way around a furnace, Mrs. Houdini. If you’d like, I can take a look at it.”

She sized him up with curiosity. The scrutiny might have offended some, but it filled him with pride. She remembered Harry’s lessons about the cheats and liars and wasn’t going to walk down any blind path. “That’s just what I need, for you to blow up my house.”

Even with her refusal, he couldn’t help but laugh. She may be dead serious, but then she didn’t know it was really Harry she refused and chastised. “The house I used to own had a dinosaur of a fuel oil furnace, Mrs. Houdini. I spent more hours than I care to mention repairing it. And look. Not one burn or scar.”

He offered his hands as evidence. Bess continued to stare at him without speaking, weighing his offer and considering her choices. After a long pause, she said, “Thank you, Mr. Welch, I just don’t think so.”

“They’re waiting for you across the street,” Will reminded him once again.

Erich thought better of defying his new boss for a third time, so with a short nod, he stepped away. Once outside, failure crept around him like a heavy blanket. Harry had experienced hardships, but winning over Bess had been simple back then. Sure, she had been tenacious, but never so crass. Their love had a way of pitting them as a team against the world. No wonder she raged skepticism against strangers. Without him, she must feel so alone.

Still, her fire warmed him, even if she meant it to burn.

Erich worked the problem over in his mind. Changing tactics, a skill he’d fine tuned throughout his life, now came easily. He’d have to first focus on Will. Keeping his job was paramount in order to have any connection to Bess, no matter how slight.

At the hardware store, he pulled open the door as he turned back toward the diner, wondering if Bess would even be there when he got back. The small boy with the red ball caught Erich’s eye.

The toddler bounced his prized possession against the brick building, catching the toy as it rolled back, repeating the game over again. The door handle slipped from Erich’s hand. The tot’s exuberance demanded his full attention, something he hadn’t allowed himself to give while in Bess’s presence. Erich recalled countless memories of nieces and nephews and brothers and sisters. Only the innocent could enjoy something so simple.

Again the ball ricocheted off the walk and against the building, but this time it skipped by the child and into the street. As the boy followed, Erich scanned the area for his mother to warn. Not finding her, he retraced his steps.

The child, oblivious to everything around him, chased his toy. Erich’s stomach knotted as the worse-case-scenario played in his mind. He called out, “Stop! Don’t move!”

Ignoring his scream, the toddler continued his quest. A horn sounded. A quick look up confirmed a car was barreling straight for the little one, who had picked up the ball and was now heading back toward the safety of the sidewalk. Without a doubt, the horrific scene in Erich’s head was going to become a tragic reality.

He darted off the curb and leapt to grab the boy. Both tumbled toward the opposite walk. Panicked screams erupted in his ears. Pain flashed through his side. Spitting dirt from his mouth, Erich gripped the boy tighter. “Thank Heavens!” he muttered just as a woman ripped the child from his arms.

“What are you doing to my baby!” the frantic mother cried.

“He darted into—”

“Are you okay, Joey?” She wept, cradling the toddler to his chest. “How dare you!” Her anger fell on Erich as if he had hurt the child or attempted to grab him for some nefarious reason.

He pushed himself to a sitting position, ready to defend himself, but Bess jumped between the two of them. She stretched her muscles taut, trying to look larger and more imposing than her five-foot-two-inch frame. “Him? How dare
you
? That child is just a toddler, and you weren’t watching him! Mr. Welch just saved your son and you have the nerve to accost him?”

“I-I-I-” The reality of the situation hit the woman. Anger dissolved to guilt as she broke down into sobs.

Now Bess loomed over him, offering a hand. “You’re a hero, Mr. Welch.”

Behind her, onlookers gathered, including Will. Impressing Bess hadn’t entered his mind, but her smile —
that
made him feel like the most special man in the world. He accepted her help and basked in her admiration. He wanted to lose himself in it, or capitalize on Bess having dropped her walls, but the sobs of the woman cradling her little boy kept his focus where it belonged. “Ma’am. It’s okay. He’s safe. That’s what’s important.”

She picked her head up and looked at Erich through strings of tear-soaked brown hair. “It was my fault for turning away. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Erich could see Bess’s anger crack, if only just a bit as she flipped her attention to the young mother. “You hold him tight, Miss. Children are precious.” Bess then looked back to him. “Thank Heavens for you.”

Erich braced his throbbing side and tried to mask his pain. “Any man would do the same, Angel.”

“Everyone else couldn’t be bothered,” Will said, stepping up to them. “You were the only one to notice and anticipate—”

Erich shook off the adulation and put a hand against the boy’s back while wrapping an arm around his sobbing mother. “It’s all right, Ma’am. All that matters is he’s okay.”

A stream of thank-yous poured from the woman’s mouth. Not knowing what else to say, he retreated and started walking up the block.

“Where you going?” Will asked.

“The hardware store, to pick up the cot.”

“Nonsense!” Will answered. “You go inside and have a cup of coffee. Catch your breath. I’ll go get the cot.”

With a nod, Erich started for the diner. Taking slow, deep breaths, he tried to control the fire burning in his side. Suddenly, Bess stood in front of him.

“I’ve been thinking about your offer,” she said, her eyes planted on his. “And I’ve decided to accept. If you’re still willing, can you come by after work and look at my furnace?”

“Sure thing, Angel.” Finally, his inroad! He’d be jumping for joy if not for the pain ripping him in two. Erich hobbled through the door and into the kitchen. Bracing against the sink, he pulled the shirt tales from his pants and noticed the blood stains. Lifting the fabric away, he saw that one of the stitches had split open, causing blood to ooze from the wound.

He picked up a white towel, wet one of the ends and pressed it to his stomach, swallowing the scream that pushed at his throat. The pain didn’t crush his spirit, though. Tonight he’d be in his home, with his wife. If the cost for that was a single ripped stitch, he’d pay without question.

“Damn it!” A loud clank reverberated through the dingy basement as the wrench slipped from Erich’s hands. A high-sulfur odor overpowered him. Holding his breath, he reached around the large metal box, hit the reset button and scratched the wooden stick-match against the floor. When the flame jumped to the furnace’s pilot, a sigh escaped his lips.

Even being home again could not temper Erich’s regret. Harry hated the furnace, knew it was on its last leg, yet never took the time to install a newer model. How surreal to be in his house, doing the same things he did in his past existence, but to still be a stranger to the one person who mattered the most. Once he won Bess’s heart, he hoped this new reality would feel less like a dream.

He slid his hands over his thighs and then looked down. Soot smudges now covered the dirt and the tear in the knee, a remnant from his tumble in the street. Exactly what was he supposed to wear to work in the morning?

With an idea in mind, he returned the tools to the rusty old box and carried it up the stairs. He found Bess hovering over a pot on the stove. “The furnace is fixed, Mrs. Houdini.”

She met him with a warm smile. Relief loosened the muscles of her face and neck. She looked softer, more like his loving wife. “I don’t know how to thank you, but I hope a home-cooked meal will at least be a start. Dinner is nearly finished. Please stay and eat.”

The invitation was more than he’d hoped for and made him second guess the request he’d set his mind on. Would he seem greedy? Without another option, he’d have to take the gamble. “I’d appreciate a good meal, thank you, but I was wondering if you’d allow me to use your shower. Between the soot from the furnace, the grease from the diner and the dirt from the incident in the street—”

“Oh my. Of course. Just up the stairs, you’ll find a bathroom halfway down the hall and on the left. Clean up first, and then we’ll eat. Oh, and bring me back those clothes. I’ll wash and mend them. It’s the least a hero like you deserves.”

A grin played across his lips. Praise from Bess thrilled him, but deep down it was also embarrassing. “I did what any man would, but I am grateful for the help. I’m just not sure I can accept it.”

“Why?”

Harry Houdini blush? Sure enough his cheeks were warming. “I don’t think you want me sitting around your house in the suit I was born in.”

Her mouth dropped, and her eyes opened wider. A few seconds later, her words followed in a short, choppy cadence. “Well, then, when you go back to the diner you can change. I’ll pick them up next time I come into town.”

“You don’t understand. The clothes on my back are all I own.” The whole thing might be funny, if it weren’t true. The levity of the situation drew another memory of the dire straits Harry had grown out of. By the time they’d finally found fame, he’d sworn to Bess and himself they’d never again know poverty, yet here he stood, depending on the kindness of others for his most basic necessities.

A dozen questions or more play across her face, but mere seconds later she announced her solution. “Hanging on the left side of the closet in my bedroom are some of Harry’s old clothes. Pick out two or three outfits.”

He gave thanks and rounded the corner, climbing the steps. In the bathroom, he peeled the shirt from his body and looked at the incision. Red, swollen and mangled, some bruising now framed the cut’s puffy edges. He’d have to clean the area well and try a little harder to be mindful of it.

It was all worth Bess’s change of heart, though. Cuts healed, and this one would too.

On a hunch, he opened the medicine cabinet and found Harry’s razor still sitting on the bottom shelf. Next to it was a small tube of Burma Shave. Standing in front of the sink, he rubbed the cool shaving cream against his cheeks. His reflection was such a contrast from the man he used to be, and it twisted his stomach into knots. Every so often, he’d let his eyes drift close, refusing to accept the image staring back at him.

Dark hair replaced with blond, blue eyes for his brown and that only scratched the surface. His face was thinner, longer and none of the pieces that made up his appearance seemed even close to real. No wonder Bess hadn’t been drawn to him or connected with him. He couldn’t even find a way to accept the face as his own.

In the shower, warm water soothed his flesh and the aching muscles beneath. He rolled the bar of soap in his hands. Frothy foam bubbled from the bar, dingy from the dirt it pulled from his hands, and the unmistakable powdered scent filled his head. Some things hadn’t changed a bit: same sterile tub, scrubbed clean with Clorox bleach; same soft, white Ivory soap. He wished the smile he loved still graced Bess’s lips more often, and he ached to return to her loving embrace.

Once out of the shower, he wrapped a towel around his waist and padded down the hall to the bedroom. Welcomed by the flowered scent of the perfume he bought Bess on each and every one of their anniversaries, it didn’t feel strange to open the closet and flip through the wardrobe. The pants and shirts still hung exactly as Harry left them before he and Bess left for their last trip: a series of performances that ended for him in Detroit, Michigan. Except for his stage clothes, they were nowhere to be seen. His trunk sat in the corner, covered with a thin layer of dust. Erich wondered if she’d packed the costumes in there.

He stood in his home, yet was a stranger. And though it was only tiny things — like the stage clothes — that seemed different, each change ate at him.

What to wear?
He slid his fingers down the sleeve of the blue cotton dress shirt. Or maybe he should pick the simple white one? 

“Eleven months is a long time to hold on to anything. Isn’t it?”

Erich didn’t have to look to know Jaden stood behind him at the ready to probe his psyche. “You think it’d be better if she threw my things away?”

“Not yours. Harry Houdini’s,” Jaden said, his voice cool and firm. The reminder put Erich off balance. “You are no longer that man.”

In some ways, a distinction between the two seemed absurd. Every single one of Harry’s memories breathed inside of him, as if the period of time since he’d been hospitalized and received this new body was just a long, twisted dream. In other ways, the distinction made perfect sense. Everything from Bess’s unknowing stare to an old friend treating him like a suspect stranger distanced that life, as if it had belonged to someone else.

But now — in this house — Harry’s voice screamed at him from deep inside to reclaim his life. He touched the shirts again, Jaden’s warnings bouncing around in his mind like a ping-pong ball.

“Is there a right choice?” he asked out loud, trying to remember if Bess had ever expressed a preference.

“To see you in either is going to cut her to the bone.”

“Then why did she offer them?”

“It isn’t that complicated. In your previous life, wouldn’t you have given the clothes off your back to a man brave enough to dash into traffic to save a small child? Every action and every choice she makes is dictated by what Harry would have done.”

Jaden spoke the truth. Harry would have applauded the bravery and done just as Jaden suggested. Following that gut instinct, Erich selected the light blue shirt and slipped it on, wincing at the pain the movement caused. “Why is this body marred with the incision from Harry’s surgery?”

“You like that? I thought it was a nice touch.” Jaden’s laugh sounded yet again, causing acid to bubble and press up from Erich’s stomach. The Houdini image was his hard-earned prize, and it offended him that Jaden mocked it.

“Why do I think it’s there for a reason?”

“You’re a smart guy. No one can deny you that. Everything in life has reason, value, consequence and repercussion.”

“Repercussion. Saving the child burst a stitch. Punishment for a good deed?” Erich asked, frustrated by Jaden’s typical avoidance techniques.

“Wrong. That was a consequence. Just because something is right doesn’t mean it’s always easy. Repercussion will be how it affects you.”

“Pain?”

Jaden sighed and shook his head. “Too narrow a focus. I’m rather disappointed. I expected you’d visualize the future more.”

The endless stream of riddles made Erich’s head light. He had once enjoyed games like this, but having experienced death, the frivolity seemed pointless. He started buttoning the shirt. “What comes after pain? Either healing, more pain or death? Are there repercussions to death?”

Jaden’s hand touched the center of Erich’s back. An instant flash of fire shot through his body, dragging him to his knees. His head arched back and pain contorted every muscle. Not the physical, like when the stitch had torn in two, but the pain of a heart ripping to shreds, of drowning in grief.

In his mind, the slideshow of images, like those that played during his months of death, flashed in front of him. Only this time, he wasn’t inside his own mind’s eye. He looked on from above at the scenes, but the overwhelming sense of loss and the desperate grip at hope that compelled people to visit Harry and beg for that last moment of contact with their loved ones consumed Erich and ate away at his soul.

“Any touch to another’s life alters their course. You’ve already effected a change in Bess just by being here.” Jaden’s words echoed in his mind, and Erich fought against the power coursing his body and constricting his muscles. “You haven’t lost free will, but I implore you to remember the reason you entered that body to begin with.”

The power consuming him left as quickly as it had impaled him. His body collapsed, and Jaden disappeared. An eerie silence exaggerated the emptiness, not only of the bedroom, but within him. Yes, death had repercussions. Maybe not to the lifeless body, but to everyone that person touched.

He pushed himself to his knees, trying to piece the images together with Jaden’s words and decipher his warnings. Like a robot, he slipped into a pair of black pants and started for the door just as Bess came running into it.

“What happened? It sounded like something fell.”

“Something did. Me.”

She eyed him curiously, and he searched for the right words to explain. But what logical excuse could he give? His feet wet from the shower? That didn’t make sense; the floor was carpeted. “What can I say? I’m clumsy. No harm. No foul. Nothing’s broken.” He tried to smile, hoping to ease the raw bundle of nerves he’d been since he collided with her on the street.

She nodded, accepting his excuse, but her stare lingered on his face for a moment. “I always liked that shirt on Harry, but it looks better on you. The blue matches your eyes.”

Bess then pivoted away and started down the steps as if the comment meant nothing, not knowing how much it divided him. Of course, he liked that she noticed his eyes, but Harry’s soul panged with jealousy that she looked at the smallest of detail in another man.

Oh, the irony
.
She would have to fall in love with another man to save both their lives.

***

Those eyes. That strong jaw.
Bess shook off her stare and set the bone plate in front of Erich. Her heart sank to her quivering stomach. Harry was her first, and she’d vowed he’d be her only. Yet, here
this man
sat, and a piece of her was reaching to him for no other reason than her sleeping libido had awakened.

Erich’s eyelids fluttered, and he seemed to be taking in the scent of fish, potatoes and corn. Sliding the napkin from the table to his lap, he said, “I can’t thank you enough. This is so much more than I expected to be eating tonight.”

“A man who works hard deserves a good meal, and thanks to you that little boy–” He’d asked her to put the deed out of her mind, and she should try harder to respect that. But what might have happened if Erich hadn’t been so observant and selfless?

She loved Harry, as much as any woman could love a man, but she’d never use selfless to describe him. Erich had proven himself to be self-sacrificing twice.

Is that why I find him so appealing?