Take a Chance on Me(81)

Trust the system. Sure. She became a lawyer because she didn’t trust the system. Because she knew that it failed people. Her.

And now Darek and Tiger.

“Give the report to Jodi,” Diane said. “And whatever you do, you can’t tell him.”

Diane closed the door behind her as Ivy sank her face into her hands.

For a long moment, she wished she’d never set foot in Deep Haven.





GIBS WOULDN’T LEAVE HIM ALONE. Jensen felt as if the old man sat in his head, digging at him, his words like a lawn mower, churning away.

For a guy who doesn’t think he needs forgiveness, you’re certainly trying hard to earn it.

He’d finished widening the doors of Gibs’s house before the sun peeked over the far horizon and now was drinking a cup of coffee while standing on the Gibson beach. Overhead, a smoky orange haze evidenced the fires to the north, the smell of burning wood pungent in the air.

He drove the four-wheeler back to his house, then went through the gated community and tested the sprinklers, just in case. His father had installed a state-of-the-art fire-protection system throughout the acreage years ago, after the Moose Lake fire. The system pumped water from the lake and could be rerouted to douse both the houses and the forest.

Jensen heard the phone ringing as he showered and came out to find a missed call from his father. The old man had likely gotten word of his upcoming failure and incarceration. Jensen knew his dad still had connections in this town. Probably Mitch himself, calling up to inform on him.

Before heading to Gibs’s place yesterday, Jensen had cleaned cages at the animal shelter, sorted clothing at the thrift store, and tried to figure out what he could do to add hours to his time. Anything to stay out of prison, stay in Deep Haven.

And to think, a few days ago, he’d been ready to run. But that was before he’d kissed Claire. Before he remembered just why he’d wanted to stay in Deep Haven. What brought him back every year after he’d left.

Claire. Not Felicity. He knew that now.

Last night he’d dropped his measly time card off for Mitch, who added the hours to his chart and told him, “You have seventy-four left.”

Seventy-four in two weeks. He could accomplish it, if he had enough places, maybe.

Now he got into his work truck—having parked the Mustang back in the garage—and headed to town.

He stopped in at the donut shop, found Lucy Brewster behind the counter and her husband, Seb, the current mayor, in the back, powdering donuts.

“I’ll take a glazed raised and a skizzle,” he said. “And how about a couple sugar cake donuts?”

He didn’t exactly know what Gibs liked these days, but he’d once been a pushover for skizzles.

“How are you, Jensen?” Lucy asked. She was always so kind to him, even after the accident. “Can you see the fire from your place?”

“A little over the horizon, but I’m sure it’s nothing.”

Seb was looking at him, nodding. “I hear they’re bringing in more type-two fire teams. I wish they’d call for volunteers—”

“No, it’s technical work; trust me,” Jensen said. “People think being a wildland firefighter is just digging, but being on a crew is much more. You have to understand fire, how to take care of yourself—”

“Were you on a crew?”

“Not long enough,” Jensen said. “Thanks for the donuts.”

The seagulls called after him as he climbed into his truck. The haze had filtered into town, turned the air murky as he drove to the Deep Haven Care Center. Claire had mentioned that Gibs moved to a private room earlier this week.

He owed the guy a rematch in checkers.

And okay, he wanted to ask a few questions. Like how did someone shake free of the past? Really shake free?

Jensen pulled up to the care center, parked the truck, grabbed the donuts, and went in through the double sliding doors. He glanced in a couple rooms as he walked down the hall, his heart bleeding a little at the sight of so many elderly waiting out the last years of their lives.

He was tired of waiting for tomorrow. Waiting for his sentence to be over.

He wanted to learn how to live.

He found the right room, could see Gibs in bed, talking to a man out of view. Jensen paused. Listened. Froze.

“I’d like to sell the land to you, John. I really would. But I already promised it to Jensen. He’s offering a nice price, something that would help Claire go to college. Finally.”

John . . . Christiansen? Oh no.

And that’s when Gibs looked up. Glanced at the bag and smiled. “Donut delivery, just in time.”

Funny how Gibs always made Jensen feel like he’d done something right. Except . . . well, except last time, when he’d driven him from the room.