Take a Chance on Me (25 page)

When Darek called and invited her over to the resort, she’d had no idea it meant she might be adopted.

Adopted.

Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. “Do you do this every week? Have a campfire?”

“Or something.” Ingrid poked a marshmallow onto the end of her fork. She wore leather mules, jeans rolled up at the ankles, a flannel vest over a Deep Haven Huskies hockey T-shirt. “I like to have the kids come home at least once a week to check in, see how they’re doing. Of course, with Casper staying at the lodge for another week—”

“Maybe two, Ma,” Casper said from across the fire, where he sat on a bench, appearing mesmerized by the flames. “I have to fix the bike—I’m waiting on a part.”

“You didn’t break my motorcycle, did you?” Darek said, now wiping Tiger’s face with a napkin. He only succeeded in smearing marshmallow goo into the dirt on his face.

“
My
motorcycle,” Casper said. “It cried in relief when you gave it to me.”

“That Kawasaki and I have fond memories together. Like many trips out to Montana and back.”

“Exactly my point. You wore it out.” He picked up a stick. “It needs a new muffler, maybe a timing chain. I want to work on it a bit before I head down to the Keys.”

Tiger turned in Darek’s arms. “I wanna ride on the ’cycle, Daddy!”

“Daddy doesn’t ride the motorcycle anymore, champ.” Darek was still trying to corral Tiger’s hands.

“Then I want to ride the dozer! Please!”

“The dozer?” Ivy asked.

Darek finally had his son’s hands captured in front of him. He looked up. “I took out the old bulldozer to widen the logging trail around the property. Just to get rid of any extra wood fuel.”

“It’s because he likes to drive heavy machinery,” Grace said. “Don’t let him lie to you.”

“Me! I’ll drive the dozer!”

Darek caught Tiger’s eyes. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“Do you really think the fire could come this far south?” Ivy asked.

“It could,” Casper said. “I was talking with Jed today. He says they are bringing in four type-two crews, two more hotshot crews, and three Beavers for transport.”

“Beavers?”

“Floatplanes,” Darek said. “Jed said they’ve got a virtual tent city set up on 153, just east of the fire. There’s a couple hundred fire personnel hunkering down there. Jed’s letting the pilots and some of the supervisors bunk in the cabins, but pretty much everyone’s on the line now, twenty-four hours a day.”

“Really? They fight through the night?”

He smiled, twirled his marshmallow in the flame. “There’s something about watching a fire at night, the glow against the blackness. It’s alive, and it sees you—”

“You’re scaring me, Dare,” Grace said.

“I guess you have to see it. But there’s an eerie magnificence to fire, especially in the woods at night. The line of fire simmering in the darkness, the trees like torches. And it hums and crackles. Like I said, alive. It’s almost magical.”

“Except that it can kill you,” Amelia said.

“And burn down your home,” Ingrid added.

“But . . . it couldn’t really come all the way here, to Evergreen, could it?” Ivy asked again.

Silence.

“It could come all the way to Deep Haven if it isn’t stopped,” John said. “Fire does what it wants if it’s not contained. It can consume anything and takes no prisoners.”

Ivy watched the campfire flicker, sparks dissolving into the darkness.

“But don’t you worry, Ivy. Evergreen Resort knows how to survive,” John said quietly. “Like the flood back in ’87. And about ten years ago, three cabins were destroyed by the blowdown. Don’t worry. No forest fire is going to wipe us off the map.”

“Owen called, by the way,” Ingrid said. “He was worried about the fire. I told him that Darek had cleaned up around the resort.”

“Darek and
Casper
, sheesh,” Casper said, rolling his eyes for effect.

“Darek cleaned up?” Ivy asked.

“I thought I’d widen the logging road around the property. It’s just a precaution, but we have about three miles of property back into the woods and, well, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

“Such a Boy Scout,” Casper said.

Darek threw a marshmallow at him.

“Eden’s working on an article about the fire, hoping to pitch it to her editor,” Ingrid said.

“Poor Eden,” Grace said. “It’s tough to work so hard for a degree and then be relegated to the obits.”

Ingrid’s marshmallow was browning to a beautiful amber. “See? Our weekly campfire keeps us connected. Checking in with each other’s lives. A family.”

A family.

Ivy wedged her hands between her knees, wishing she’d brought a jacket.

Tiger moved over to Ingrid. “Can I have your mellow, Gran?”

Ingrid laughed. “I think you forgot to eat the last one, kiddo. It’s all over your face. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She glanced at her husband as if hoping he’d be willing to take her fork.

“I’ll take him to the house,” Ivy said. She held out her hand. “C’mon, Tiger.”

Indeed, he was covered in marshmallow—her hand glued to his as they made their way to the house.

“I like you,” Tiger said, looking up at her. “Are you going to be my new mom?”

Oh. Uh . . .

She scrambled for words, not sure how to answer. Thankfully, the dog emerged from the deck where she’d been hiding/digging/chasing squirrels, and Tiger let go of Ivy’s hand to race after her.

“C’mon, Tiger!” Ivy said as she reached the deck. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

“Oh, he’s a boy; he’ll never be clean.” Ingrid came up behind her carrying the potato salad bowl and leftover hot dogs. “I think
my boys spent their formative years covered in leaves, dirt, and woodchips.” She winked and headed toward the house.

Tiger came running up, and Ivy held open the door for him. Ingrid was piling dishes into the dishwasher. Ivy grabbed a rag and wiped Tiger’s face, his hands.

As she rinsed the rag, she saw Tiger head out the door, back to the fire pit. “I’m going to have an ’venture,” he said as he went outside.

“I’m glad you came tonight, Ivy.” Ingrid was still loading dishes. “You’re good for Darek.”

She was?

“I haven’t heard him laugh like that for . . . well, for years.”

Ingrid closed the dishwasher and began to fill the sink with hot water for the dishes that couldn’t fit. She picked up a sponge and a cup. Ivy grabbed a dish towel.

“He changed after he married Felicity. I think he realized that just because you make one mistake doesn’t mean you should make a second. But he had to make his own decisions. I think he thought we expected him to marry her, but we just wanted him to take responsibility for his action. Marriage only made things worse. He puts such pressure on himself.”

She handed Ivy the cup. “That’s why it’s so good to see him loosen up.” She met Ivy’s eyes. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Ivy gave a little laugh. “Yeah, well, I used to be the best little scullery maid in the foster system.”

A tiny frown crossed Ingrid’s face. She turned back to the sink. “How long were you in the system?”

“I had fourteen homes altogether, from the time I was nine to eighteen. Thankfully, the system also helped pay for college, along with my grants, so it turned out okay.” She set the cup on the counter.

“Fourteen. Wow. I thought the system tried to adopt kids into homes.”

“I wasn’t adoptable.”

Ingrid glanced at her, frowned again.

“Oh, it’s not like they didn’t try. But . . . it never worked out.” She took the next cup from Ingrid’s hand and began to wipe it. “I realized pretty early that the foster care system is like a business. The families gave me a bed and food, and I gave them a paycheck. I was a commodity, worth a little more every year.”

Ingrid stilled. Drew her hands from the water, dripping with soap. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be at all. You’re not a commodity, Ivy. You were a little girl who needed a mom and a dad and a family. To be loved and hugged and cherished.”

Ivy’s eyes began to burn, and she let out a laugh, anything to loosen her breath. “No. It was fine. I was fine. It worked out just . . . fine. I didn’t need any affection. It wouldn’t have been real, anyway.”

She looked away, blinking, put the cup on the counter.

But Ingrid didn’t move. Water from her hands dripped onto the wood floor. “No, it
wasn’t
fine. You should have been cared for. Loved. You should have been adopted into a family.”

Ivy looked down, glanced at the open door. She should check on Tiger, see if he made it back to the fire pit okay.

Her voice sounded small as it emerged. “I did fine on my own. I learned to fit in, to not make trouble—at least until they figured out I didn’t belong, and then, well, I adapted. Learned to fit in somewhere else.” See, the terrible rush of heat had passed. She reached for another cup, but Ingrid caught her hand in her wet one.

“You don’t have to learn to fit in here, Ivy. Just be who you
are. That’s enough for us. And it’s enough for God. You’re not a commodity to Him. You’re His precious child whom He loves.”

It was back, the tightness in her chest, the burn in her eyes, and now . . . Oh no, she had to look away because her face had begun to crumple. She wanted to say it—
No, God doesn’t love me
—but it felt too . . . raw. Pitiful, maybe. She blinked, trying to shake it all away.

“Oh, my sweet girl. I’m so glad God brought you to us.” Then Ingrid reached out and pulled Ivy close, into her flannel embrace.

And Ivy didn’t know what to do. Because it just felt so . . . so . . . Aw, shoot, Ingrid had such a tight grip on her, was holding her like she really meant it, and Ivy couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop herself from tucking her head into Ingrid’s shoulder, from covering her face with her hand, from letting the tiniest hiccup of sound escape.

And then she was crying. Really crying and not sure why. She just couldn’t stop this terrible, ugly rush of emotions that bubbled up and out of her. She came out of herself and could hardly believe that, indeed, she was holding on to Ingrid, weeping, and becoming an awful mess right there in the kitchen.

Ingrid kept holding her. Not shushing, not becoming uncomfortable with the tragedy of Ivy’s emotions, just holding her. As if Ivy belonged there after all.

So she closed her eyes and let herself feel Ingrid’s embrace, breathing it in. Just breathing.

She finally hiccuped back a breath and pulled away, pressing the dish towel to her eyes. She might even have a bit of a runny nose.

“Sorry,” she said, removing the towel.

Ingrid nodded, her eyes so much like Darek’s—blue, compassionate. She caught Ivy’s face in her hands, now dry, although a little cold and wrinkly. “No sorrys. You feel free to come and get a hug anytime. Or maybe I’ll just come after you with one.” She winked.

Ivy smiled, not sure what to do with that.

Ingrid turned back to the sink, running more hot water. Dumping in the hamburger serving platter.

Ivy stood there, wrung out.

“There you are.” Darek came in through the sliding-glass door. He held a jar of pickles, the bag of marshmallows. “Where’s Tiger? I wanted to show him the northern lights.”

“The northern lights are out?” Ingrid said, grabbing a towel.

“Isn’t he with you?” Ivy said at the same time.

Darek froze. Then he set down the pickles, the bag.

“I cleaned him up, and he went back out to the lake. I saw him—”

“He didn’t come back,” Darek said.

Ingrid set down the towel, said, “He was playing with Butterscotch. Maybe he’s with her.”

Darek disappeared out the door. “Tiger!”

Ivy ran after him into the yard, while Ingrid went out the front door. The air smelled thicker with smoke, but maybe that was just the campfire. In the darkness, the hover of orange flames on the far horizon seemed more ominous, as if Mordor might be just beyond the trees.

“Maybe he’s at the cabin,” Darek said and took off down the trail.

Casper and his sisters had come up from the fire—John also, carrying a flashlight. He handed it to Casper. “Check the other cabins.”

“I’ll see if he’s in Butter’s doghouse,” Grace said.

Amelia headed toward the lodge. John went around the back. Ivy could hear Tiger’s name called in the air.

How could she have lost Darek’s son? So much for fitting into the family.

If she ever needed fate to be on her side . . .

Or . . .
You’re not a commodity to Him. You’re His precious child whom He loves.

Okay, if God loved her—really loved her—then . . . then He’d help her think.

Think.

Once, when she was about ten, she’d wandered away from her foster home, following a labyrinth of alleyways, dreaming up the families living inside the homes.

I’m going to have an ’venture,
Tiger had said.

What was an adventure for a five-year-old? A motorcycle?

Or maybe . . . the dozer.

Where had Darek said he’d left it? On the old logging road around the property? She’d seen a rutted trail across the road from the parking lot when she drove in.

In the wan light, she headed toward the lot, hoping to find John, but it was empty. Still, she spied the trail and ran toward it, feeling the ruts of freshly churned-up dirt.

“Tiger!”

She didn’t want to think of what might happen if they didn’t find him, if they called in search and rescue. Especially with the CPS file sitting on Jodi’s desk.

Her career would be over. At least in Deep Haven. Worse, Darek might lose custody of his son.

But that all paled against the reality that in these woods . . . “Tiger!” She picked up her pace, saw the dozer in the distance, a dark hulk against the darkness.

She reached it, found her footing, and climbed up to the cab, yanking open the door. “Tiger?”

Empty. She stared into the darkness, her heart sinking, her breath catching up to her.

And then she heard the sniffles. She closed the door, climbed down. Listened.

They came from the front of the dozer, near the scoop. She moved around the side. “Tiger?”

There he sat, his hands scraped, a raw place on his skin where he’d scuffed it hard on something. She couldn’t see the full extent of his injuries, but he seemed more scared than hurt.