“So plan A is a bust. God can make plan B better than plan A ever would have been.”
Plan B. Or even plan C. As in Claire.
The old man reached out, took Jensen’s hand. “That starts with letting God heal you. Learning to forgive yourself, to believe in God’s love for you.”
Oh, he didn’t know if he could go that far. “I know I’m not a good man, Gibs. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t love a guy like me.”
“God doesn’t love you because you may or may not be a good man, Jensen. He loves you because He chooses to. Because He wants to. But you’re right: you’ll never be a great man without God forgiving you and setting you free. And you’re not a failure, you’re not trapped in your sins, until you stop reaching out for Him.”
Reaching. Yeah, he could do that.
At least, he wanted to.
“Gibs!”
No wonder Gibs wanted to stay in town. He had more visitors here than Jensen had ever seen at the cabin. Joe Michaels walked into the room dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt with Deep Haven Fire and Rescue printed on the front.
“Jonah, my friend, how are you? Want a donut? Jensen brought me breakfast.” Gibs held up the bag.
Joe peeked inside. Took out one of the cake donuts. “Dan’s down the hall—we’re doing visitation. Hey, Jensen.”
“Hey.” Jensen only knew Joe by his fame—an author whose wife owned the bookstore where Claire lived. But then again, Jensen might be called famous too. Or infamous.
To his surprise, Joe turned to him. “I was going to call you. My friend Mitch told me that you might be willing to do some volunteer work. I need help fireproofing the Garden. It’s a group home where my brother lives, just out of town. In case the fire turns east.”
“Glad to help. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you dig a hole?”
“It seems to be one of my specialties.”
If the court spent one day with Darek and his son, Ivy was sure they’d know what a terrible mistake it would be to tear them apart.
Tiger squealed, caught between Darek’s legs as his father tickled him, the glow of the campfire in his delighted expression. Darek grinned, blew a raspberry into his son’s neck as Tiger turned, pressed his hands to his dad’s shoulders.
“Daddy!”
Daddy. Perhaps this was what Ivy loved—no, enjoyed—the most about Darek. The way he loved his son.
Ivy would erase that terrible file from her brain. And the fact that she’d waited until after five o’clock, after Jodi left for the day, to put it on her desk.
Tiger wasn’t in danger and Jodi would figure that out, right?
“Have a s’more, Ivy.” Ingrid sat down beside her, handing her a long fork and the bag of marshmallows. Across the fire pit, in the glow of the light, Amelia and Grace were laughing over pictures Amelia had taken of Tiger, viewing them on her digital camera.
“I’m so full, Mrs. Christiansen. I can’t eat another bite.”
“Please call me Ingrid, and I promise these just sort of sneak into the nooks and crannies, fill you right up with warmth and sweetness.”
No. This family filled her with warmth and sweetness. They’d greeted her today like a sister, roping her into making punch, stirring another of Grace’s potato salad concoctions, and setting the table on the deck for dinner. Tiger had come running up to her, holding a pansy picked from his grandmother’s garden, and Ivy couldn’t help but draw the child into her arms. And when he kissed her on the cheek, she had no words.
When Darek called and invited her over to the resort, she’d had no idea it meant she might be adopted.
Adopted.
Her throat tightened and she swallowed hard. “Do you do this every week? Have a campfire?”
“Or something.” Ingrid poked a marshmallow onto the end of her fork. She wore leather mules, jeans rolled up at the ankles, a flannel vest over a Deep Haven Huskies hockey T-shirt. “I like to have the kids come home at least once a week to check in, see how they’re doing. Of course, with Casper staying at the lodge for another week—”
“Maybe two, Ma,” Casper said from across the fire, where he sat on a bench, appearing mesmerized by the flames. “I have to fix the bike—I’m waiting on a part.”
“You didn’t break my motorcycle, did you?” Darek said, now wiping Tiger’s face with a napkin. He only succeeded in smearing marshmallow goo into the dirt on his face.
“My motorcycle,” Casper said. “It cried in relief when you gave it to me.”
“That Kawasaki and I have fond memories together. Like many trips out to Montana and back.”