Take a Chance on Me(95)

Perhaps, all this time, she’d just been waiting for a purpose. Like caring for her grandfather. And standing by Jensen.

Loving Jensen.

She smiled at that, letting the words seep through her. She’d always loved him, really, but how could she tell him that with Felicity in the way? He had a gentleness, a way of caring for others that no one else saw. And he didn’t condemn her for wanting to stay, to be safe. Yes, that he understood.

She was still trying to convince herself that she hadn’t dreamed the moment when he’d said her name, drawn her close. Kissed her like he’d been holding his breath for three years—maybe more—and finally was drinking in air.

But after days with no word, not even a hint that something magical had happened between them on the deck, she was trying to fight off the taste of panic. Yesterday she’d driven to her grandfather’s cabin, but even by nightfall, Jensen’s place remained dark. Maybe she should call him—or head up to his house and find the courage to knock on his door.

It bothered her a little, not knowing where he was.

Claire clipped off eager suckers shooting from the base of a rose, then a couple flimsy shoots that only stole life from the plant.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been busy, too, with her double shifts on Saturday and Sunday, feeding the extra firefighters holed up at various resorts around town.

Certainly Jensen had an explanation. She’d simply trust him. Believe in him.

He deserved that after all this time.

She worked fertilizer into the soil before adding a fresh layer of loose mulch. Then she moved to the next plant.

“Why are you hurting the flowers?”

The voice turned her, and she found Angelica Michaels behind her. The ten-year-old wore shorts and a yellow T-shirt, her blonde hair in two braids, concern in her almond-shaped eyes.

“Hello, Angie. I’m not hurting them. I’m pruning them so they’ll grow better. See, I’m cutting these tiny, thin stalks because they only make the plant weaker. And to give it big, strong flowers, I’m pinching off these little flowers. That way all the nutrients go to make this one bud strong.”

Angelica’s mother, Mona, came out of the wellness center. “Hello, Claire.”

“Mrs. Michaels.”

“I thought I’d see you at the Garden. The staff is worried they’ll have to evacuate, and they’re digging up a number of strawberries in order to save their different varieties. I would have thought they’d ask for your gardening expertise. Joe’s been there for three days, cutting back the forest, and I think he’s set up a sprinkler system to save the house.”

“I had no idea the fire was that close.”

Mona nodded. “I’m driving up to get Joe’s brother and bring him to town. If they have to evacuate, it will stress Gabriel even more to be in a new location.”

“We’re going to get Uncle Gabe,” Angie said.

Mona kissed her on the forehead. “That’s right, honey.” She turned to Claire. “Think you’ll start up the reading group again in the fall? Angie loves listening to you read at the Footstep.”

Claire smiled. “As a matter of fact, I think I will.”

Because, yes, she’d be here. For the first time in three years, the answer, the decision, felt right. Even perfect.

She snipped one of the flowers just starting to bud and handed it to Angie. “Put this in water, and it’ll open in a day or two.”

Angie’s eyes glowed.

“Thank you, Claire. You always make everything so beautiful.” Mona took her daughter’s hand and they headed down the street.

The Garden. Hadn’t Grandpop said something about Jensen working there with Joe on Friday? Maybe he’d stayed over to help them fireproof the place.

See, she too easily read into things. Like Jensen’s so-called affair with Felicity. She should have known he wasn’t the kind of person to do that. Betray his best friend.

No. Jensen was a good man, a kind man. She’d always known that.

Claire finished fertilizing, pruning, and mulching, then set the timer on the sprinklers to come on in the cool of the day. By the time she cleaned up, the sun hung low over the horizon. To the north, smoke from the fire plumed in the sky. It did seem to be closer, but perhaps the wind only pushed the smoke toward the lake.

She changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed to the care center. She hoped to catch Dr. Samson on his late-afternoon rounds, corner him about releasing her grandfather into her care. With the ramps done and the house cleaned, it was time for him to come home.

The geranium pots by the care center’s front door needed watering, the soil caked and hard. Good thing geraniums were hardy.