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 paused to 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.
“Mari.”
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.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” she asked quietly.
“Who could, on a night like this?”
Neither of them spoke as he came up the steps and sat several inches away from her on the swing.
“Hell of a storm brewing,” he murmured as lightning lit up the street clear as day for a brief moment.
“Yeah,” Mari replied shakily, wondering if he, too, thought of the similarity between this storm and that one so
long ago. Thunder rumbled in the distance. “I’m glad about it. The air conditioner just went out. Hopefully the storm will break this humidity.” She swallowed when he didn’t reply. Was this what they’d stooped to? Talking about the weather? “How was Brendan’s party?”
“He had a great time. He said to thank you for the tarts, by the way. He’d only share them with his best friend, Brian, much to Jenny’s dismay.”
She heard the smile in his voice and laughed. “I should have gotten a bag for her.”
“I think she’ll manage to survive on a week’s worth of cake and ice cream,” Marc said. “Are you interested in Eric Reyes?”
Mari started. She’d been lulled by his low, light tone. The switch in topic took her by surprise.
“Interested?”
“Yeah. Are you seeing him?”
“No…he’s just a friend. A good friend.”
She could only make out his shadow, but she saw him slowly nod his head.
“Ryan introduced me to him, years back. We’ve kept in contact, mostly by email over the years,” Mari explained.
“Ryan must have met him during the lawsuit hearings.”
“Yeah.” A gust of wind caused the porch swing to shudder, despite Marc’s firmly planted feet. She inhaled for courage. “I saw your mother downtown today.”
“You did?”
“She didn’t mention it?”
“No, she didn’t. How did it go?”