If You Come Back To Me. Beth KeryЧитать онлайн книгу.
heal. Not just for herself or Eric or Natalie or Marc, but for anyone who had ever been impacted by the devastating effects of substance abuse.
Eric grabbed her hand as he drove. “Nat and I are right here in Harbor Town, and we’re one hundred percent behind you on this. Are you sure you don’t need any of the money from the lawsuit? Do you really think it was the best idea to transfer all of it over to a trust for The Family Center?”
“Of course I’m sure. You know I’ve planned to start this project with money from the lawsuit for years now. I never could touch that fund for anything else. It just seemed like—” she paused, trying to find the right words “—that money was meant for something bigger than me. I just haven’t had the time to get things moving until now. Besides, I’m selling the house on Sycamore Avenue. That’ll give Ryan and me a nice nest egg.”
She glanced out the window at the rows of perfectly maintained lakeside cottages. Each and every one looked to be occupied with vacationers. The population of Harbor Town swelled in the summer months.
She smiled wistfully as she watched a little girl with a dark ponytail run around the corner of a house. She’d sported a pink bikini and an inflatable green dragon around her waist.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever have the time I need to do what needs to be done,” she murmured.
Eric wiggled her hand in his before he let go. “You know what I think you need? I think you need a little fun and relaxation, Harbor Town-style.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“The Fourth of July festivities, of course. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the downtown parade.”
Mari laughed warily. “How could I forget such a spectacle?”
“Let’s go have a peek, get an ice cream, goof off. There’s plenty of time later to sit down and talk about the plans for The Family Center.”
“Eric…” Mari hesitated, hating the idea of being seen in such a public place. Marc had mentioned five weeks ago that he rarely returned to Harbor Town, but she knew that his sister, Colleen, still lived here, as did their mother, Brigit. At the thought of running into either of them—especially Brigit—dread rose.
“Mari,” Eric said gently. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Isn’t that one of the reasons you wanted to start up The Family Center, to get past the pain of our history, to make something positive come of it? You can’t do that by hiding in your house the whole time you’re here.”
Her eyes felt moist as she stared blankly out the window. Eric was right. Surely it was part of her own healing to remember not just the bitterness but the sweetness associated with the quaint lakeside community.
“All right,” she replied softly. “Let’s go to the parade.”
Mari stood next to Eric on the curb of Main Street. A boisterous crowd of locals, vacationers and day-trippers surrounded them. A trombone blared off-key, startling her. She glanced up at Eric, and they shared a smile.
A huge sailboat float, surrounded by the smiling, waving men and women of the Arab-American Business Council, followed the marching band. Harbor Town was one of many quaint Michigan towns that lined the lakeshore, drawing vacationers from Detroit and Chicago and everywhere in between. A small population of Arab-Americans had settled in many lakeside communities over the past several decades. Harbor Town was often held up as a banner example of how a minority group could not only blend with a community, but enrich and improve it. Her parents had belonged to a Lebanese faction of eastern orthodox Christianity—the Maronites. Despite the minority status of their religion among Arab-Americans, Kassim and Shada Itani had taken comfort in having others around who shared so many common cultural elements.
“Oh, look! It’s Alex Kouri,” Mari exclaimed as a distinguished man in his sixties marched past. His eyes widened incredulously as his gaze landed on her, and he waved and mouthed her name.
Mr. Kouri had been one of her father’s closest friends. Both of them had been Detroit-based businessmen who had brought their families to Harbor Town for summer vacations. Mr. Kouri and her father would frequently drive back and forth together from Harbor Town to Dearborn, Michigan, on Friday and Sunday evenings, leaving their families to idle away the hot, summer weekdays while they worked at their corporate jobs.
Mari noticed how gray Mr. Kouri’s hair had become. That’s how her father would have looked, had he lived.
She saw a woman standing at the curb, her rapt attention on Mari and Eric, not on the parade. Still as nosey as ever, Mari thought with a flash of irritation, recognizing Esther Fontel, the old neighbor from Sycamore Avenue. The woman had once ratted her out to her parents when she observed Mari sneaking out her bedroom window and down the trusty old elm tree to join Marc on his motorcycle one hot summer night. Mari still recalled how angry her father had been, the hurt and the disappointment on her mother’s face.
Until she’d turned fifteen, Mari hadn’t fully understood the impact that her parents’ ethnicity and religious views would have on her. Her brother had dated and enjoyed any number of summertime, teenage dalliances in Harbor Town. When Mari became a young woman, however, she’d learned firsthand that Ryan and she would not be treated the same when it came to dating. Especially when it came to Marc Kavanaugh.
Marc and Ryan had been close friends since they were both ten years old. Her parents had actually both been very fond of Marc, and he was a regular visitor in the Itani vacation home.
But the summer Mari had turned fifteen, everything had changed—and Marc Kavanaugh had quickly moved to the top of her parents’ list of undesirable dating partners for Mari.
Mrs. Fontel looked pointedly across the street, and Mari followed her gaze. She stared, shock vibrating her consciousness. Two tall, good-looking men with healthy, golden tans and dark blond hair stood in the crowd. Her gaze stuck on the one with the short, wavy hair. He had a little girl perched on his shoulders.
He looked just as good in shorts and a T-shirt that skimmed his lean, muscular torso as he had in the gray suit he’d worn in Chicago, Mari thought dazedly.
Her glance flickered to the right of Liam and Marc, and Brigit Kavanaugh’s furious glare struck her like a slap to the face from an ice cold hand. Marc’s stare was fiercer, though. It seemed to bore right through her across the span of Main Street.
It felt like someone had reached inside her and twisted her intestines. He’d said he only returned to Harbor Town a few times a year, she thought wildly. What were the chances he’d be here for the same handful of days she was?
She shivered despite the heat. It was Independence Day. Tomorrow would be the anniversary of the crash. Perhaps the Kavanaughs had gathered to visit Derry Kavanaugh’s grave. Why hadn’t she considered that possibility?
She jerked her gaze back to the parade, making no sense of the flashing, moving, colorful scene before her eyes, still highly aware of him watching her. He’d always been able to melt her with those blue eyes. She could only imagine the effect they had on the people he’d cross-examined in the courtroom.
Mari had certainly felt the power of his stare during that night in Chicago.
He must be furious at her for not showing up at their agreed-upon lunch, for not returning his calls…especially after what had occurred between them in that hotel room.
“Well, if it isn’t Mari Itani,” Liam Kavanaugh drawled under his breath.
Marc followed Liam’s gaze, too surprised by his brother’s statement to comment at first. He immediately found Mari in the crowd. She wore her long hair up and a casual, yellow dress that tied beneath her full breasts in a bow. The garment set off Mari’s flawless, glowing skin to perfection. Not to mention what that innocent-seeming ribbon did to highlight the fullness of her curves.
“Mari Itani?” Marc’s sister Colleen asked incredulously from behind him. “Where?”
“Stop pointing, Liam,”