“Agreed.” Allison leaned back and gave a sigh of relief. “I wish all job interviews could be this easy.”
Mari laughed. “Having people you trust make recommendations makes a big difference. Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you have any recommendations for a clinician—someone to run educational, support groups and do individual therapy? He or she would also need to be comfortable giving public presentations.”
“I do know someone. I don’t know if she’ll take the job, but she’d be perfect. Her name is Colleen Sinclair and she lives here in town.”
“Colleen?”
“You know her?”
“Yes. We were friends…once,” Mari said thoughtfully. “I wonder if she’d consider it.”
“I can speak to her about it, if you like,” Allison offered.
Mari remembered Colleen calling out to her at Jake’s Place the other night. What had occurred next out in the parking lot had thrown a damper on any hope she’d had that she and Colleen might possibly resume their friendship.
Still… Mari thought the opportunity seemed too good to pass up without at least exploring the possibility. She wanted the best people working at The Family Center, and Colleen not only had the right credentials, she had the personal experience of dealing with the ramifications of substance abuse. Colleen was a survivor.
“I’d like to talk to her about it myself, actually. I happen to know she’s busy with her son’s birthday party today, but I’ll try and contact her tomorrow.”
Allison had needed to hurry to get back to her current job at the hospital, so Mari was alone when she exited the bustling restaurant. The bright sun blinded her as she stepped from the dim interior.
A petite woman plowed into her. Both fumbled to stop a plastic container from falling on the sidewalk.
“It’s all right. I’ve got—” The older woman stopped talking when she glanced up at Mari.
“Brigit.” Mari blinked. She hadn’t stood this close to her in years. Marc’s mother had aged extremely well. Mari’s tongue felt numb with shock. “I’m sorry. The sun blinded me there for a moment.”
Mari nodded nervously at the container. “That must be Brendan’s birthday cake. He and his sister came to visit me yesterday. They’re such lovely children—”
Abruptly, Brigit stepped around her and marched away without another word, her spine ramrod straight.
Ice poured into Mari’s veins. She stood there on sunny, muggy Main Street, her skin tingling and her limbs starting to tremble. The unexpected encounter with Brigit Kavanaugh had a profound effect. She’d dreaded running into her, and now she had…in the literal sense.
In Mari’s younger years, Brigit had always been so warm toward her, so welcoming. Neither of Brigit’s daughters had been interested in her hobby of wildflower collection, but Mari had come to share Brigit’s passion. They had gone on several jaunts together in the local meadows, searching for elusive flowers they’d earmarked in Brigit’s Wildflower Field Guide.
Now, Brigit refused to speak with her and apparently loathed her, Mari thought as she recalled the cold, furious expression on Brigit’s face. Having someone look at you with something akin to concentrated hatred wasn’t an experience Mari was used to having.
Especially when that someone had once been a friend.
She sat down on one of the chairs outside Kate’s Ice Cream Parlor for a moment until she regained her composure to walk back home. All the while, one thought kept circling in her mind.
Marc wanted me to attend that family party.
She stood and crossed Sutter Park. Children shouted gaily from the playground.
She should focus on what she needed to accomplish in Harbor Town. She should finish her mis
sion and get out of here. It all made perfect sense.
Or at least she’d thought it did, until she climbed the steps to her house and made her habitual glance up Sycamore Avenue to the Kavanaugh house. The vision of Marc staring down at her as she awoke rose in her mind’s eye.
I was thinking about all the nights I missed watching you while you slept.
Longing tore through her, so sharp it stole her breath.
Marc and Liam were the only two people remaining that evening after Colleen and Brigit took a horde of Brendan’s friends and Jenny to Kate’s Ice Cream Parlor on Main Street. They sat at the kitchen table, covered with half a dozen pizza boxes, plastic cups, a half-eaten birthday cake, soda bottles and an array of toys and party favors. They’d volunteered to clean up, but neither brother seemed too anxious to get started.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something,” Marc said. “You’ve lost weight. You look like crap.”