The Hometown Hero Returns by Beth Kery Page B

wreck had put a stop to that.
    The crash had jolted Mari and him onto complete different life paths.
    He was more than a little shocked at hearing Liam speak aloud about a topic that had been forbidden between them through some unspoken fraternal oath. Maybe it was Mari’s presence in town, or maybe it was the threat of a storm in the thick air—the still, oppressive atmosphere not unlike that of the night of the crash—that had made Liam break the silence.
    â€œIt must have been rough, being with Mari that night,” Liam said, his voice gruff, cautious.
    Marc didn’t reply, just resumed clearing the table.
    Liam always had possessed a talent for bald understatement.
    Â 
    Mari kept herself busy that day by meeting the furniture deliverymen at The Family Center and arranging what items she could on her own. She’d dropped in on Natalie Reyes’s accounting practice and spoken to Natalie about the status of the center’s operating license and some other financial matters. They’d ended up chatting for hours. Natalie was one her favorite people—so quiet and reserved, yet so warm and giving once she accepted you into her private world. Mari knew Natalie rarely went out in public, self-conscious about the scarring on one side of her face. Mari had hoped her involvement in The Family Center would bring her out of her self-imposed confinement somewhat, but, so far, her friend remained shrouded.
    Afterward, she returned to Sycamore Avenue where she spent the better part of the evening practicing her cello.
    When she played, she entered a familiar, focused trance where she lost all sense of place and time. But, suddenly becoming aware of how hot it was, she pausedto wipe sweat off her brow, change into a button-up, thin sundress, and open up a window in the bedroom, not that it helped to alleviate the stifling atmosphere. She resumed practice.
    Isn’t the air conditioner working? she wondered a little while later. She set her cello and bow aside and went downstairs to the thermostat. “Do not tell me,” she whispered in disbelief when the air conditioner didn’t respond. In the distance, she heard thunder rumble ominously. She hadn’t noticed a storm was approaching. With her air conditioner apparently on the fritz, she welcomed the prospect of relief from the oppressive heat and humidity.
    She glanced at a clock. It was just past midnight. A feeling of sadness went through her. Now that the day was over, she realized that part of her had hoped Marc would seek her out following their bitter parting last night.
    She walked out on the front porch. A warm wind swirled, causing the porch swing to jerk and sway. Some leaves skittered down the dark, deserted street, the sound striking her as hushed and furtive. She perched on the swing. Lightning flashed over Sycamore Avenue.
    The weather reminded her of the night her parents had been killed. Funny how the realization didn’t bring back the horror of rushing to the hospital and hearing her mother and father had been dead upon arrival. Instead, another memory flashed vividly into her mind: the hot, wondrous expression on Marc Kavanaugh’s face when he’d looked down at her in his bed. She’d been naked and overwhelmed by desire.
    Mari clenched her burning eyelids tight. Grief had wormed its way into that memory over the years, transforming it from a girl’s gilded dream into a woman’s tarnished regrets.
    Tonight, the wonder of that moment had returned. She was so caught up in the poignant memory that she thought she’d imagined it when she heard Marc’s voice.
    â€œMari.”
    She opened her eyes and spotted his shadowed form standing at the bottom of the stairs to the porch. The longing she’d experienced earlier that day swelled in her chest, making breathing difficult. For some reason, the fine hair on her arms and the back of her neck rose.
    â€œCouldn’t sleep, huh?” she