Take a Chance on Me (31 page)

God had loved her enough to give her a family, and she wasn’t going to lose them if she could help it.

So she’d written the best brief of her life to DJ, outlining her actions and, most importantly, her eyewitness perspective on the events in Tiger’s life that accounted for his injuries. She’d explained Darek’s actions without prejudice, added in her firsthand experience with Nan, and finally summed up her opinion.

Yes, her opinion. But that, too, was what the law was about. A judge was supposed to be impartial, but a lawyer was supposed to be on the side of truth.

She had forgotten that, a little. An admission she put into her resignation letter. Because she couldn’t be a prosecutor and a defender. And she was about to leap so far over the line of ethics that it wouldn’t matter anyway.

But ethics and truth had parted ways somewhere in the night. And she had to live in truth. Had to live in love.

She’d left the letter attached to the brief with a note to DJ saying that he could accept if he wanted to. Or not.

She was hoping for
not
. But until she knew his decision, she was free to stand at Nan’s front door and plead Darek’s case.

So she knocked.

Please, God . . .
She’d begun the conversation last night at the lake and continued it now.
Please, God, let this go well. Please be on my side.

The door shuddered.

No, be on Tiger’s side.

Yes, that felt right.

The door opened and Nan appeared, looking down at her, frowning.

“Hi, Nan. I was hoping we could have a conversation.” Ivy held up a coffee.

Nan stared at it.

“Please? I think—”

“If you’re here to defend Darek, I’m not interested.”

Ho-kay. She kept her smile, the litigator’s face that refused to be rattled. “Actually I wanted to tell you a story.”

Finally . . . “Fine.” Nan looked behind her, then stepped out onto the porch, accepting the coffee cup. “But Tiger’s going to wake up any minute.”

“I know. And I don’t want him to be afraid or disoriented either. Believe me, I know what that feels like.” She blew out a breath. “See, I lived in fourteen different foster homes from the time I was nine years old. I remember every single morning I woke up in a new house—the fear, the strangeness. The hope that this family might want me. Might think I was worth keeping. That this might be the last time I woke up in a new, strange home.”

“Tiger isn’t in a strange home.”

“I know. And I’m thankful for that because as a child, there is nothing worse than having the hover of social services in your life.
I never knew if one day I’d come home and discover them waiting for me. Or coming into school. Or meeting me off the bus.”

“If we had custody of Tiger—”

“Seriously, Nan. Have you seen Darek with Tiger? Because you can bet he will never leave this alone. You might somehow get legal custody of Tiger, but I can guarantee that Darek will be in his life. He adores his son. He lives for his son. And I’m so sorry that I can’t be impartial, but the truth is, maybe I’m here to help you understand exactly what you do to Tiger every time you fight with Darek or file a complaint or yank him out of his father’s home.”

“Darek doesn’t deserve Tiger.”

“Tiger is his son, and he doesn’t deserve to have his son taken from him. Just like you didn’t deserve to have your daughter taken from you.”

Nan drew in a quick breath. “She never would have been on that road if Darek hadn’t fought with her.”

“He knows that, Nan. Believe me, he knows that. But that still doesn’t make it his fault. It was just a horrible, terrible accident.”

Nan tightened her lips.

“Here’s the truth,” Ivy said. “If you keep going with this, you’re going to shatter Tiger’s fragile foundation. You’re going to start a fight between you and Darek and the Christiansens, and the only casualty will be Tiger. Is that what Felicity would want?”

Nan closed her eyes, said nothing.

Ivy softened her tone. “But that’s not what I came to say.” She slid down onto one of Nan’s patio chairs. Set her cup of coffee on the table. “In one of the many homes I lived in there was another foster child about my age. Difference was, she had parents—two of them. They were both fighting over her, and her father had abducted her, taken her across state lines. The
mother went a little crazy and attacked him, landing herself in a psychiatric hospital. So when they finally found Corrie, they put her in a home to sort it all out. I’ll never forget that night—she was in the twin bed opposite me, weeping. I was so jealous of her—angry that she had two parents who both wanted her—and I wasn’t very nice. I might have told her to shut up. But she just kept crying, so finally I asked her what was wrong. She told me that her father hadn’t really wanted her, but he couldn’t bear her mother getting her.”

Nan had turned away from her and was staring at the lake, only her tight profile visible for Ivy to read.

“I know you love Tiger, Nan. Of course you do. But do you want to raise Tiger, or do you just not want Darek to have him? Do you want to punish Darek or bless Tiger?”

“I think you should leave.”

Ivy sighed. This hadn’t gone at all how she’d hoped. Unless . . . “I love him too, Nan.”

Nan looked over her shoulder. “Darek?”

“And Tiger. I see a wounded boy who needs a mom—”

“He had a mom.”

“Yes, he did. But he doesn’t anymore.” She expected the flinch across Nan’s face but braced herself for it. “And you can’t be it. You’re the grandma, and that is a wonderful thing. But it will never be a mom. Please, let Tiger have a family.”

“You?”

“Maybe. Or someone else someday. Let Darek start over. Let him be the husband he should have been to Felicity.”

Nan sighed.

The day was still a tin-like gray, smoke thick in the air, nothing of the sunrise rescuing the shadows.

“He didn’t love her like he should have,” Nan said quietly. “She adored him.”

Ivy nodded.

“I’m just so angry all the time. It’s like a vise around my chest. It keeps me from thinking straight. I need to blame someone. Anyone.” She met Ivy’s eyes. “I want to blame Darek.”

“But the more you blame, the more your anger burns, the more it keeps you from seeing the blessings you still have. You have to stop blaming and forgive. Forgive Darek and Felicity and Jensen.” She took a breath. “Forgive me.”

Forgive me.
She let the words hang there.

Nan frowned at her. “Why?”

Ivy swallowed. “Because I’m the one who arranged the plea agreement for Jensen.”

“I don’t understand,” Nan said, sinking into the opposite chair.

“It’s a long story, but I was the one who recommended Jensen be given the community service hours in exchange for a guilty plea.”

Nan just stared at her.

“You should know that while I feel great sadness for your loss, Jensen might have been exonerated if he went to trial. I’m not sure he was really guilty of negligence.”

Nan looked away. “Me either.”

“What?”

“I knew Jensen—of course, we all did. He was a great kid, straight A’s, a good athlete. I felt terrible for him when his parents split. I actually wanted Felicity to marry him . . . but . . . she loved Darek, and, well, she would do anything to get him. Including get pregnant.” She reached up, wiped her cheek. “I was so angry with her for her behavior, but she was so . . . so happy to marry Darek. And then Tiger came along and I thought everything would be
fine . . .” She ran her thumb along the lid of her coffee cup. “I probably should give Darek a little more credit for all he’s been through.”

“Darek made his choices. But he’s trying, Nan. Really, if you could see him with Tiger, you’d know that the child is . . . active. And Darek is doing all he can to help his son grow up safe and healthy.”

Nan nodded. “Last night Tiger climbed on the table and leaped onto George’s back as he came in the door.”

Ivy chuckled.

Nan took a sip of her coffee. Cradled it in her hands. Overhead, the smoke had shifted some, just a hint of rose gold in the sky. “Okay. I’ll call Diane at a more decent hour and talk to her.”

Okay? Ivy hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath. “Thank you, Nan. I promise everything will be just fine.”

Funny how suddenly that line felt true.

Nan nodded. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Tiger?”

“Darek.”

Ivy shook her head. “Well, he’s pretty angry at me right now. I’m not sure—”

“Are you the assistant county attorney or not?” Nan smiled, something kind in her eyes. “For cryin’ in the sink, go win your case.”

When he woke up, Jensen smelled bacon, and from the kitchen he could hear the sounds of pots banging. It suggested the sense of family—or at least guests in his home.

He’d fallen asleep on the sofa, dressed in a pair of loose but
clean jeans and a gray T-shirt. His mouth tasted of last night’s pizza as he rose and headed for the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and tried to look presentable, unable to remember the last time he had guests. It had been so long that he’d forgotten, really, what it felt like to have people connected to his life.

Ruby, the Garden house manager, was in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, flipping pancakes. “Hello, young man. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

He poured himself a cup of coffee, shaking his head. “I’m usually up early.”

“Grab yourself some pancakes because when the residents wake up, there’ll be nothing left.”

He helped himself to a plateful, poured on syrup, and took it out to the deck to eat. In the early morning, the smoke lay heavy over the lake and the air smelled charred. In the distance, he thought he could see the peaks of flames, but it might only be the sunlight fighting through the fog.

He finished his coffee, trying to make out Gibs’s house.

Claire hadn’t been at Pierre’s Pizza last night when he’d made his run into town to pick up mattresses from the thrift store and the pizzas Joe ordered. He’d hoped to see her pretty face working the counter or in the kitchen. But apparently she’d gotten off earlier that afternoon.

He wanted to see her. Tell her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that he wanted to figure out a way to stay, and if she’d wait for him to finish his jail time, he’d be back. They could build a life here.

He brought his plate inside and put it in the dishwasher. “I’m headed to town. Do you need anything?”

“You’re so sweet, Jensen. No thank you,” Ruby said.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone called him sweet.

In town, he stopped by the donut place first, then knocked on Claire’s door. It might be too early, but after five days, it seemed terribly overdue.

No answer. So he knocked again. Tried the door handle. It opened. “Claire?” He didn’t want to frighten her, so he made some noise. “Are you here?”

He walked through her apartment, found her room empty, her bed made.

Maybe she was at the care center.

He headed there next. Left a donut for the nurse at the front desk, then tiptoed up to Gibs’s room.

Gibs lay in his bed, the television on, watching a morning news show. “Jensen!”

Jensen walked in and handed him a skizzle.

“And here I thought I was going to be all skin and bones in this place. You going to keep this up when I move into the senior center?”

“What are you talking about, old man? You’re moving home. Claire’s got it all fixed up.” He went to the window, opened the blinds. Even here in Deep Haven, the light seemed wan, blocked by the smoke to the north.

“Didn’t Claire tell you? I’ve decided to accept your offer to buy the place.”

Jensen froze. “What?”

“I told you last week. The answer is yes. I’ll move into the senior center, and Claire can have enough money to go to college—”

“She doesn’t want to go to college!” Jensen’s voice emerged harsher than he intended. He took a breath. Schooled his tone. “Mr. Gibson, Claire is perfectly happy staying here in Deep Haven.”

“Says who?”

The question came from a man who could only be Richard Gibson—a younger version of Gibs, with darker hair, less paunch, more fight in his eyes. Richard Gibson. Jensen had been absent, fighting fires with Darek, the last time Claire’s parents had visited, but he remembered her father from photos.

Wanda Gibson followed her husband in, holding a quilted casserole carrier.

Jensen found his words. “Uh, says Claire. She doesn’t want to move. She likes it here—”

“Have we met?” This from Wanda, who put down the carrier and extended her hand.

“Jensen Atwood. I live next door to Gibs.” Okay, that sounded lame. But
I’m your daughter’s boyfriend
wasn’t right either. “Claire and I are friends.” Yes. Better.

“Jensen, I am sure you mean well, but Claire has been stuck here for too many years already. She needs to move on with her life. Go to college, find a career.”

“Get married?”

“Yes, of course. Start a family. Figure out where her place of service for the Lord is.”

“What if it is here, in Deep Haven?”

Richard laughed.

Jensen didn’t. “If you ask your daughter, she would say that she wants to stay. But more than that, Claire belongs here. She . . . she takes care of the rose garden—”