Take a Chance on Me(29)

Mitch sat at his desk, his blond head bronzed from a recent fishing trip. “Hey, Jensen. I thought I might be seeing you today. Any big plans for the Fourth of July weekend?”

Jensen handed him his weekly time card. “I’ll probably see if I can’t coax a walleye or two onto my lure in Evergreen Lake.” Or not. He hadn’t gone fishing since . . . well, before the accident, for sure. But he didn’t want Mitch to know that he’d be sitting alone or even tucked into some corner at the VFW or Evergreen Lake Tavern, watching the Blue Monkeys hammer out Cash or Coltrane.

Mitch took out his calculator, began to punch in numbers. “I hear we’re supposed to get some rain.”

Jensen sank into a chair, watching him tally the hours. “We need it. I drove by the forest service headquarters and they listed today’s fire hazard as high. The air even smells dry.”

“One lightning strike and the entire forest goes up.” Mitch looked up. “Okay, Jensen, we have to talk. According to my calculations, if you don’t increase your hours, you won’t make it.”

He met Jensen’s eyes, and every muscle in his body froze. “What does that mean?”

Mitch’s mouth tightened. “The terms of your probation say that if you don’t fulfill your community service hours, you serve the entire mandatory four years of your sentence. That means prison.”

Prison.

Jensen looked out the window, an anvil on his chest. He’d added up the hours, known it was tight, but . . . now he couldn’t breathe.

“I know you’re working hard these days, Jensen, but you can admit you wasted that first year—”

“I am not guilty!” The words simply burst out of him. “I didn’t even see her—believe me, I think about that moment every single day. I think through every second, working through my motions. I wasn’t speeding; I had just touched the radio—”

“They found your cell phone open.”

“I hadn’t touched it since I pulled out of my drive, and . . . Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” He stood. Walked to the window. “It doesn’t matter what the truth is. Deep Haven just wanted to crucify me.”

“You pleaded guilty.”

Jensen rounded on him. “Because if I didn’t, I would have gone to prison for four years for a crime I didn’t commit! Instead I got three years trapped in this town, facing people every day who hate me.”

Mitch didn’t refute his words.

Jensen looked out the window. “I would give anything to go back to that night . . .” To not see Felicity suddenly veer out into the road, to not hear her screams as he plowed her over. To not feel his car lurch against her weight. To not hear his own screaming as he found her, broken in the ditch, dying.

Sometimes he felt like he still might be screaming.

“I didn’t see her. I didn’t . . .” He closed his eyes, and to his horror, he thought he might actually tear up.

“Listen, Jensen, keep at it. Who knows? Maybe a miracle will happen and you’ll suddenly get a windfall of hours.”

Mitch didn’t smile. Jensen couldn’t tell if he was joking or not.

“I don’t think there are any miracles left for me,” he said. “Have a happy Independence Day, Mitch.”

The man said nothing as Jensen closed the door behind him.





Ivy closed her office door, the last one to leave. Again. But she’d set that precedent for two weeks now, and . . . well, she had fully expected to come in during tomorrow’s national day off. Now . . .

Now she had a date. With an entire family.

She pushed out through the double doors onto the sidewalk, where the moon, already hung in the sky, draped a golden path home. The air smelled of barbecues caught in the fresh wind off the lake. She had chosen to walk to work today, delighted that the courthouse sat only three blocks from her apartment.

The charms of a small town.

Like the sound of live music drifting from a nearby outside eatery. And unknown neighbors who waved to her from their porch. And . . . meeting someone’s entire family.

Ivy pressed a hand to her stomach, empty since she’d forced down the deli ham sandwich at lunch. But the waves inside had nothing to do with hunger.

She was suddenly sitting again in a waiting room, about to meet a potential adoptive family. All her dreams curled up into one hot ball inside.

She was ten years old, thinking maybe. Maybe they’d like her instantly. Maybe the father would swing her up into his arms, the mother would smile at her, beaming, call her a princess, make her their own.

Yes, and maybe they’d take her home, where she’d never have to leave, where she could have her own bed, maybe carve her name into a backyard tree.