Maybe he thought Claire didn’t know. That no one except Darek knew.
But Claire had been sitting on the beach that night, heard every word of the fight as Darek’s and Felicity’s angry voices echoed over the lake.
She knew exactly what part Jensen really played in Felicity’s death.
That thought had fueled her as she spent the morning cleaning out the entry hall, moving boxes of old boots and hats, fishing gear, snowmobile helmets. She’d even moved the rough-hewn bench, sitting there since the dawn of time, out to the garage. Then she went to work on the kitchen table, lifting it onto cinder blocks so Grandpop could move a wheelchair under it.
Taking a break, she searched the fridge for something edible for lunch. In the freezer she found leftovers from a ham, a hunk of cheese, and a loaf of bread she’d baked a while back. Hopefully it wasn’t freezer burned. She thawed it all, constructed a couple sandwiches, added some condiments and pickles, arranged them on two plates, and with her back to the door, eased it open.
“Jens?”
Oh, the old nickname just slid out. She didn’t mean it.
He looked up, a hint of surprise on his face, and for a second, she felt it—the past, easy and fun, perfect. The sunshine baking into her skin, the scent of evergreen in the breeze, gooey sweet marshmallows on her tongue, the crackle of a bonfire as it ate away the darkness.
She wanted to devour those days, let them nourish her, but she swallowed them away.
Jensen stood, turning his hat backward so that a clump of his blond hair stuck out in front, curly and thick. “Whatcha got there?”
“How about a little lunch?” Claire balanced the plates, but with the steps destroyed, she was stranded on the stoop.
He reached for the plates, then turned his back to her. “Hop on.”
She didn’t know what to make of his offer, nearly lured by the nostalgia of their past.
“I got this,” she said and jumped down. She tried not to notice the disappointment on his face.
He was just here to help. And the sooner he finished, the better for everyone.
He set the plates down at a nearby picnic table and examined his sandwich.
“It’s all we had. I’ll do better tomorrow.”
Jensen slid onto the bench. “You don’t have to feed me, Claire. I could go home for lunch.” He picked up the sandwich. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“It’s the least I could do,” she said, sliding opposite him. She bit into her sandwich. It did taste freezer burned. “I’ll get us some milk.”
“I have water.” He gestured toward a jug in the bed of the truck.
“You’re turning into quite the handyman for a big-city boy.” He was tan, his arms a nice bronze, and he looked anything but a city boy. “I remember that first summer you came back after moving, and I barely recognized you. You had your hair long—”
“As I recall, you called me Jenny until I got it cut.”
“Tough love, baby.”
“You were tough, all right. Yelled at me for a week for quitting football.”
“You didn’t even try out for the team down in Wayzata.”
“They’re a state-ranked team. I barely got any playing time, even here.”
“And hockey? You played decent hockey.”
He gave her a look. Well, she’d thought so.
“Moving my senior year pretty much destroyed any sports aspirations for me.”
“I’m sorry. I thought you were good.”
“Thanks for that. But I think it was just you being nice to me.”
Oh. There he went again, stirring up the past. She blew out a breath, tried to remember his many sins. “Well, I didn’t know anyone except you, Felicity, and Darek. I had no choice.”
Not true, but it kept him at a distance.
“I couldn’t believe that you came back after your trip to Bosnia that first summer. I thought you were gone for good, and then one day you appear on the dock. Fresh from Europe, all exotic and curious and . . .”
“And you came over in your boat and immediately tried to get me into trouble.”
He grinned at her, wiping his mouth on his arm. “What trouble?”
“You nearly got me killed! I’d never been tubing before.”
“You kept yelling at me to go faster. You don’t say that to a teenage boy with a fresh boat license!”
Claire laughed. “Yeah, maybe.” She looked out at the lake lapping at the sandy beach as if reaching out to pull them into the past. “Those were good days.”
Jensen was silent as he finished his sandwich. Then he went over to the truck, picked up his bottle of water, and drank it down. “Want some?”
“I’ll get some from the house.”