“Yeah. A memorial for the survivors of substance abuse. A fountain, maybe, set there at the edge of the trees on the promontory of the dune?”
“It would be. It’d be like a sanctuary, a place to think or pray…”
A place to heal, Mari added in her mind.
“I want to sponsor it,” he murmured.
She twisted around and gazed up at him. “You don’t have to—”
“I know that,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to do what you’re doing, either. Not that this compares to what you’re doing, not in the slightest. But it’s something I’d like to do, if you’d let me.”
“Of course. It’s a beautiful idea.” She put her arms around his waist and he embraced her in return.
For a few minutes, they bobbed on the blue lake and held each other fast, drinking in the rays of the new day. After a while, he leaned back slightly and put his hand beneath her chin. He tilted her face up and kissed her, chastely at first, but then, as their tastes mingled, with all the focused, fierce passion she associated exclusively with Marc.
“We’d better get going,” he said next to her lips a while later.
Looking into his gleaming eyes, she nodded. She took her own seat as Marc started up the boat again.
They returned to the same town she’d known and remembered, but thanks to Marc, Harbor Town looked a little different now in her eyes.
Due to her sleeplessness last night, Mari found herself drifting off when they were only fifteen minutes away from Chicago. When she awoke, they were driving down Lake Shore Drive with the city to the left and the deep blue lake shimmering to the right of them. She was still blinking into wakefulness when Marc turned off onto Randolph Street. He’d only driven west a half block before he pulled into the parking garage of a high-rise.
“You ready?” Marc asked her a few seconds later, after he’d parked.
Mari nodded, suddenly feeling a little giddy with the excitement of their weekend getaway. He grabbed their bags and led her to an elevator. They stopped in the luxurious, residential lobby so that Marc could collect his mail.
Mari observed with fascination the way Marc transformed from a sun-tanned, easygoing vacationer to a confident, big-city state’s attorney right before her eyes. It wasn’t a huge change, granted, and he didn’t behave any differently in the slightest. The nod of respect a few residents granted him as he picked up a package from his doorman and the wistful, backward glance one attractive, middle-aged woman cast his way allowed Mari to see this different shade to Marc’s complex character.
He introduced her to his doorman, Oscar. Oscar treated Marc with equal parts friendliness and deference and seemed to know all sorts of intimate details about Marc’s life.
“I’ve known Mari since I was eleven years old,” Marc admitted to Oscar as Mari and the doorman shook hands.
“Oh, the dirt you must have on him,” Oscar said with a wink.
Mari opened her mouth, but Marc hastily grabbed her hand and led her away. The sound of Oscar’s laughter echoed behind them.
Marc’s condo was large and featured a breathtaking lake view. It was decorated in a sparse, austere fashion that she usually associated with a busy man living alone. In Marc’s case, though, it didn’t strike her as cold, but as utilitarian and elegant in its simplicity. The only contrast to the strong lines and gray-and-beige decor was a wildflower arrangement that sat on the teak dining room table. Mari walked over to it. The huge display looked brilliant with Lake Michigan as its backdrop.
She smiled as she touched a delicate bloom. “The purple iris and yellow daisy,” she murmured in amazement. “They’re my favorite flowers. I always loved how the yellow was cheerful and the purple was so pensive. Like sun and shade,” she murmured, a smile on her lips.
She glanced down and saw a small card leaning against the vase with the words written on it in black ink, Welcome Mari.
“How did you know they were my favorites?” she whispered to Marc, who stood watching her from the head of the table.
“I once saw flowers like that pressed on the inside of one of my mother’s flower books,” he said. “On the wax covering them, she’d written, Mari’s favorites, sun and shade.”
“Your mother saved them,” she said huskily after a moment, touching a soft bloom.
“Yes.”
Once the burn of tears had eased, she glanced at him. “Thank you, Marc.”
He shrugged. “My assistant, Adrian, deserves the credit for finding them. I don’t know how that woman is able to pull off half the things she does.”
She smiled. She knew he was trying to play down the surge of emotion she’d experienced, and she loved him for that.
“Come on. I’ll show you your room,” he said.