“There’s nothing to redeem.” She looked genuinely uncomfortable, and now he felt sorry for both of them.
“There is and you know it. So how about this: my family is having a little Fourth of July party, with root beer floats and, who knows, maybe even a few fireworks. Will you join us? I promise, I’m much nicer the second time around.”
She wore what he would peg as a litigator face because she seemed to be sizing him up. He was suddenly aware of his ripped, somewhat-dirty jeans—he’d been replacing a few rotted logs from the walking path when his mother asked him to head to town for the grocery run—and his Jude County Hotshots T-shirt with a hole in the arm. Had he even combed his hair or brushed his teeth this morning?
Ivy might have sensed his urge to flee because she gave a quick smile but said, “I don’t know. I don’t want to get into the middle of anything.”
He frowned. “Middle?”
She lowered her voice. “Listen, I understand divorce happens; it’s just a little sticky. So . . .”
“Divorce. Oh.” He made a face. Shoot, he hadn’t exactly explained that. But who would? My wife was killed—yeah, that came out great on a first date.
Or whatever it was they’d had.
“I’m a widower, Ivy.”
She blinked at that. “Oh. Uh, I’m so sorry.” For a second, a shade of pity crossed her face. See, this was why he hadn’t—
“I guess I could spend the Fourth of July with you.” Then her voice brightened and she faced Tiger. “But only if Tiger is going to be there.”
“Yes. For sure,” Darek said, a strange warmth coursing through him.
“Good,” she said.
“I’ll call you and give you directions.” He turned his cart away before she changed her mind.
“But you don’t know my number.”
He gave a quick laugh. “You’re in Deep Haven. I’ll find you.”
As he left her there, he glanced down at his son, who grinned, that sticky red sucker now collecting fuzz on his cheeks. “Good job, Tiger.”
Days like today, Jensen thought he might actually survive living in Deep Haven, might even redeem himself, just a little. Erase the legacy of his mistakes and replace it with the man he wanted to be.
“You did a good thing,” Pastor Dan Matthews had said that night over two weeks ago when he arrived with the ambulance to bring in Gibs. Meant a lot, especially since Dan had been one of the first on the scene the night Felicity lay dying in Jensen’s arms.
He wanted to lean into Dan’s words and believe that someday . . . Well, maybe Deep Haven would never forgive him. But maybe they’d start feeling bad about the way they’d treated him.
The memory of Dan’s words conspired to give him the courage to stand outside Gibs’s hospital room, ready to ask for the impossible.
At the very least, even if his courage failed him, he should check in on the man. Jensen had heard Gibs had returned to Deep Haven today after a two-week stint in Duluth, getting surgery, pins, and a host of other orthopedic care.
Now, with the man back in town . . . Well, he’d been working on his speech all day, along with his offer, and it couldn’t hurt to ask, right?
Jensen glanced around for Claire, prepared to retreat if he saw her—she didn’t need him here reminding her of her loss. Two weeks ago, he’d made sure to leave the hospital when he saw Claire arrive, still dressed in her Pierre’s uniform, her dark hair caught in a net, looking as if her world might be on fire.
But now, the chair next to the bed looked empty, so Jensen tiptoed in.
He’d always liked the sunny rooms at the hospital—the few times he’d had stitches or that one time when his mother’s fear of appendicitis kept him overnight. A vase of peonies sat on Gibs’s bedside table, probably from one of Claire’s many gardens.
Gibs lay in bed, his arms thin and frail on the sheet that covered his barrel body. A large foam pillow shaped like a triangle lay strapped between both legs to immobilize them. He wore an oxygen cannula under his nose, an IV dripping into an insertion on his arm.
Jensen stood there for a moment. He thought he’d seen the old man watching television. But now it seemed—
“I know you’re standing there. Just sit down.”
Jensen nearly jumped from his skin. “I didn’t want to wake you, sir.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.” Gibs opened one eye. “Not with you standing there practically hyperventilating.”
Oh.
Jensen sat down.
“So. I guess you’re the one who brought me in?”
Jensen nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you sooner, sir—”