Resurrecting Harry by Constance Phillips Read Free Book Online Page A

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