Take a Chance on Me (30 page)

He let the dozer idle there, shaking, rumbling, the truth touching his bones.

He’d been blaming Jensen because it felt easier than looking at himself. Seeing his own sins.

Oh, Felicity. For a moment, he let her walk into his mind. Saw her smile at him. The times when she’d sat behind him, massaging his tired shoulders, or called his cell phone just to hear his voice. The times she’d put Tiger on the line, prompting a
da-da
from his tiny son.

Felicity, waiting for him to come home that first year, decorating their tiny cabin, nearly setting the place on fire cooking his favorite meal.

Yeah, he should have loved her. Maybe if he hadn’t been so angry . . . angry not only at Felicity but at himself. He’d betrayed himself, the man he’d wanted to be.

His conversation with his mother the night Tiger fell from the bunk nearly a month ago rushed back at him.

Is there forgiveness for someone who kills another man’s wife?

I hope so, for your sake.

Maybe she had been talking not only about Jensen but about Darek as well.

Unforgiveness had destroyed his life—or at least his marriage. Unforgiveness had worn a hole of anger nearly clear through him.

Maybe he was a little like the peat fires, his life turning to ash under the surface.

In fact, forgiveness is not optional.
His father’s words clung to him like a burr. But maybe it wasn’t. Not if he wanted to heal. Not if he wanted to learn how to live—really live—again.

Not optional.

Not optional for Felicity. For Jensen.

For himself.

He stared out into the night, the eerie glow of fire against the darkness, setting the sky aflame.

For Ivy.

Please, Darek. . . . Trust me.
Ivy’s voice. Small. Pleading.

If he were honest with himself, maybe he’d have done the same thing in Nan’s shoes. In Ivy’s. Taken a closer look to make sure Tiger was safe.

He didn’t know what had happened, but maybe . . . maybe he should at least stop to listen. To hear the truth.

Yes, if he hoped to start again, let God seed something new in his life, he’d have to let Him turn over the burning soil, lay Darek bare.

Confess. Repent.

“I’m sorry.” It felt weak, even untrue, so he shut off the motor. Let the dozer die. Listened to the wind through the mesh of the cab.

“I’m sorry.” He stared up at the eye, dusty against the night. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . . Oh, God, I blew it. I really . . .” He closed his eyes. It still felt so . . . trite.

On your knees.

He heard his father again, and for some crazy reason, it seemed right.

So he climbed off the dozer. Walked around to the front, where the moonlight glinted off the scoop. And there, in a puddle of reflected light, he knelt.

The earth was soft beneath his knees, the smell of it raw and honest. He pressed his hands into it, bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And suddenly the heat, always simmering so deep inside that
he’d barely noticed it anymore, rushed out of him, pouring out in the wake of his words. It shook him with its power, the freshness that swept in behind it, like a dousing of more than water. Of life, maybe. He made a sound like a whimper. Like a child, afraid.

Or maybe relieved.

Yes, oh yes. Relieved.

He lifted his gaze, found the eye. “I never mean to hurt Felicity, Lord. But she was right. I was selfish—am selfish. I’ve hated Jensen, and I . . . I hated Felicity. Or at least I didn’t love her as I should have. I didn’t cherish her. . . . I betrayed her, Lord.”

He sat back on the earth, tugged the handkerchief from his face. Drew off his goggles. The smoke bit his eyes, making them water. “Please forgive me,” he whispered.

The wind shifted in the trees. He drew his hand through the dirt, picked it up, let it fall through his fingers. “I want to be a better man, Lord. I want to forgive. Please, show me how.”

Show me how.

Darek wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just listening to the wind gathering in the trees, trying to hear something—anything.

He laid a hand against his chest. The hole, the dark raging inside—it had vanished. Instead, there was just a scar of some old ache. An imprint of sorrow. But for the first time, it seemed, he could think. He saw Felicity holding Tiger on the sofa. Saw Jensen standing beside him at his wedding. Saw Claire smiling at him from beside Felicity, her gaze landing on Jensen.

Yes, maybe those two were meant to be together.

And he saw Ivy. Sweet Ivy. Holding Tiger on her lap. Rescuing Darek from himself at the art show and standing up for him in front of Kyle.

Ivy, holding on to him, molding herself to him. Belonging to him.

She hadn’t turned on him. That thought took root.

Whatever happened, she’d been trying to protect him.

Trust Me.

He heard the words, but they weren’t Ivy’s.

The smoke had scoured the eye from above, but it was still there. Even if he couldn’t see it. It would always be there. Even if he lost Tiger, the resort . . . Ivy.

The thought of her swept in and filled the raw, still-healing places. Warm. Perfect.

Thank You. Thank You for Evergreen. For my family. My son. My faith . . .

Thank You for Ivy.

Tomorrow he’d find her. Listen to her. Tomorrow they’d figure out how to get Tiger back. And then, maybe . . . maybe he’d figure out how to tell Ivy that he loved her.

Yes, loved.

Darek smiled at that, something goofy he was glad no one could see. He got up and was circling back around the dozer when he saw a light jag across the road, quick, as if someone was running.

“Hello?”

“Darek!”

“Over here!”

Casper came into view. “You got a call from Jed. He says the wind’s turned. The fire is headed away from Junco Creek.”

“That’s good, right?”

“Dude—it’s headed right for Evergreen Lake, and it’s coming fast.”

YOU WANT TO LOOSEN
the roots, not break them.

Perhaps it was her grandmother’s scent in the afghan or the leather softness of the recliner, the embedded history in the paneled walls of the cabin or the taste of her past—stories and laughter and the sense of home—that dredged up the memory. But Claire settled right into the dream, almost feeling the touch of black soil between her fingers, her grandmother beside her, handing her impatiens to repot.

They stood at a picnic table around the back of the house, the lake bright and inviting as it lapped the shore, round planters filled with potting soil ready for the flowers her grandmother had purchased from the nursery in town.

“They’re all nice and snug in their baby planters, so we have to replant them without shocking them.” Grandma ran her fingers
into the roots, lightly loosening them. Then, with her other hand, she held open the hole she’d created in the soil and gently set the flowers in.

Beside her, Claire did the same, digging her fingers into the roots, scraping them loose, then settling the spray of buds into the planter. She worked the soil around in it.

“Not too tight, but enough to make it feel snug. You want the roots to spread out into the new soil, take hold.” Her grandmother rested her hands over Claire’s, her touch strong, exactly the right pressure.

“Now we water.” She handed Claire the watering can and Claire sprinkled the pots.

“Oh, more than that, honey. They need a good, long drink. They’re thirsty after their trip from the nursery. A good gardener always keeps her plants well watered.”

Thirsty indeed. Claire didn’t know when she’d transitioned from the dream to reality, but she lay there in the darkness, the wan fingers of moonlight pressing in through the cabin curtains, across the tweed, plaid-patterned sofa, then across the floor to the recliner. Her grandmother’s voice faded with the dream.

Claire sat up and realized she’d fallen asleep in the recliner. In high school, how many times had she come home to see her grandfather asleep here, her grandmother on the sofa, knitting, waiting up for her?

She’d been thirsty after moving to Deep Haven from Bosnia. Thirsty for friends. Thirsty for safety. Thirsty to know that she could heal—that she
would
heal.

Claire got up, went to the bathroom. Her face felt sticky, puffy. She hadn’t remembered crying herself to sleep, but maybe. She didn’t have to turn on the light to know the layout of the room, the
picture of her parents on the counter, the embroidered wall hanging of the John 15 verse—
“Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing.”

She washed her hands, then made her way to her bedroom. Even once she moved into town after graduation, she’d spent many nights here, relishing her grandmother’s cooking, then nursing her in the days before she passed.

Claire lay on her quilt, the anger from the evening before now a distant echo inside. The spray of the lilac towering outside her window traced a shadow on the ceiling. The smell of smoke saturated the air—a faraway campfire, maybe.

She could almost hear Felicity’s laughter as she tucked in beside Claire on the double bed, whispering what-ifs about Darek. Felicity had loved the eldest Christiansen boy for so long, sometimes Claire wondered if Felicity became her friend just so she could get closer to him. But in those early days, Claire didn’t ask questions.

And then Jensen showed up in her life.

She could still see him, standing on her dock in his cutoffs, his shirt flapping in the wind, grinning at her.

How many times after Darek left and Felicity fell asleep by the campfire did Claire and Jensen wind down the night hours talking, their hands propping them up as they stared at the stars?

She’d loved Jensen since that first summer, maybe.

You do that. . . . Coax things back to life.

No, Jensen had coaxed her back to life. Jensen and her grandparents and even Felicity and Darek.

In fact,
God
had coaxed her back to life. With this place. With this life.

Maybe God
was
kind. Because in the aftermath of her devastation,
He’d wrapped her in this safe place. With these safe people. And for ten years, she’d remained. Healed. Grown stronger.

Her words to Angie Michaels filtered back to her.

I’m not hurting them. I’m pruning them so they’ll grow better.

Maybe God had used these years to prune her, to heal her so she could bear fruit. She wasn’t a disappointment or a failure. She simply needed time to bloom.

She remembered what she’d told Jensen:
I would love to open a nursery in town, maybe do private landscaping.
Maybe Jensen hadn’t betrayed her. What if he’d helped set her free?

It didn’t mean that she could trust him, but perhaps she didn’t have to hate him. Three years of hating Jensen had eaten her alive.

She just had to let him go.

Because she was staying in Deep Haven. And maybe selling the house was for the best. She’d needed this place, but God had healed her. Strengthened her. And now He was giving her the chance to create something new—she could open her own nursery with the money her grandfather gave her. Turn the gardens of Deep Haven lush and beautiful.

Quietly coax things back to life.

Remain in Me and produce much fruit.

That command didn’t say
leave
. It said
stay
. And if God wasn’t sending her anywhere, then she didn’t have to go, right?

Claire rolled over, pulling the quilt over her. Maybe first she’d stay
here
a little longer, scouring up the courage to tell her parents.

“There’s only one answer, Darek.”

His father stood over the kitchen table, looking at the map
Casper had rolled out, tracing the line of fire as relayed to Casper by Jed, still at the fire camp. He pointed to a pasture west of the Gibson place. “There’s a natural fire break here, but if the fire runs west of Evergreen Lake, what’s to keep it from turning south?” He looked at Darek, raised an eyebrow. “There’s no other choice.”

“Dad, if I don’t finish cutting this line around our property—”

“And let’s say you do. Then what? By the time you start working on the other line, the fire might be too large. You won’t be able to set a back burn in time. The fire will overrun the line and not stop until it hits Lake Superior. You need to start now and cut in to Thompson Lake. Then you and all the fire crews can concentrate on burning everything north, starving the fire before it gets to Deep Haven.”

“And Evergreen Resort?”

His mother stood in her bathrobe, her arms folded over her chest, her mouth a tight line.

His dad glanced at her, back to Darek. “We trust the Lord for His protection. I’ve heard you mention at least once that the best thing for Evergreen Resort would be to set a torch to the old cabins and rebuild.”

“I wasn’t serious, Dad.”

“We might not have a choice. But the truth is, we can’t hold on to something so hard that it destroys everything else we love. Like our town. We have to trust the Lord to save us, Son, even if it means that He has to burn away the old.”

Darek stepped away from the table. He was probably littering dirt along his mother’s wooden floor. He stared out at the lake, the dawn spreading across it like flames. “Okay. I’m going to head over to the pasture behind Gibs’s place, start cutting in a line.” He turned. “Casper, you get on the horn to Jed, tell him to send a
crew down to the line. We’ll need to set a back burn as soon as I have the fire line built.”

He waited for some smart remark like “Roger that, Captain,” but Casper only nodded.

“Mom, you pack up and get out of here. I don’t know how fast this fire is coming, but you and Gracie and Amelia need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving without your father,” Ingrid said.

“Casper and I are going to wet down the house, Ingrid. And I don’t want you anywhere near danger.”

“Thank God Tiger isn’t here,” Ingrid said. She glanced at Darek. “I’m sorry, Son, but I’m just glad he’s safe.”

He hadn’t exactly seen it like that, but maybe right now he could be thankful his son, so prone to getting underfoot, lost, or hurt, was safely asleep at his grandmother’s house.

Small glimpses of grace, perhaps. But after that moment in the dirt, when the burn inside him had finally, truly died, Darek intended to hold on to glimpses of grace.

“I’m taking this walkie,” Darek said. “Keep me posted. Stay safe.”

He took off down the road, back to the dozer left by the fire road where the property line crossed the Gibson place. He’d take the dozer down the road, then cut in behind the Gibsons’ and start by laying a line across the pasture. Then he’d tackle the forest.

He could use some help. Like someone with a chain saw. Someone who knew how to work with him. Someone who had fire training.

Someone like Jensen.

He climbed aboard the dozer, fired it up.

He’d nearly killed his best friend that summer when Jensen abandoned Darek in Montana. Not abandoned, but . . . Yeah,
abandoned. Just like Jensen had abandoned Darek when he moved to Minneapolis—even if he hadn’t had a choice.

Jensen had missed all those moments Darek shared with others. Like days upon days of backbreaking, honest work, hiking into the mountains to mop up a fire, watching it burn itself out, embers glowing in the darkness. He’d missed seeing the aurora borealis while sleeping under the stars in Washington State, swimming in a glacial lake in Montana.

Jensen’s friendship felt closer than his brothers’, and yet . . .

Yes, Darek missed him. Maybe if he hadn’t been so angry about Jensen leaving—so selfish—he wouldn’t have so easily wooed Felicity into his arms. Wouldn’t have taken silent pleasure in winning her heart away from Jensen.

He owed Jensen an apology. But they were so far beyond that now, he hadn’t a clue how to fix it.

Dawn turned the field to shadow and fire, and as he came into it, the smoke cleared long enough for him to see the low red ball on the horizon, spilling out to melt away the darkness.

He lowered the scoop and began to plow the earth, furrowing it down to bare soil.

Please, let this be enough to push back the fire.

The truth would set her free to love.

Ingrid’s words fueled Ivy as she stood on Nan’s doorstep, balancing two coffees, breathing out the last of her sanity.

Talk about a breach of ethics.

But Ivy had been up all night, pacing through her decision, and she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t try.

God’s not impartial. . . . God operates almost entirely on emotion—love.

It had taken her a trip down to the beach, where the waves combed the shore under the moonlight, to scroll through her life and discover that, yes, God might have shown up a little. Like rescuing her from her mother. And giving her a warm bed, even if not a family. Putting Daniel in her life to believe in her, and then . . . and then Darek. Tiger. Ingrid and the entire Christiansen family.

Maybe it was time to give Him a chance.

She’d let that truth sink into her heart, let herself believe.