C01 Take a Chance on Me

by Susan May Warren

  Grace glanced at her. Oh, Claire hadn’t meant for it to come out so sharp. “I mean, yes, every kid needs a mom. But he has so much family—you and Amelia, your parents, Casper and Owen, Eden.”

  “He needs a mom, Claire.” Grace set down the knife, scooping the next batch of onions into the container. “And Darek needs a wife.”

  Darek didn’t deserve another wife. Claire ground her jaw to keep the words from leaking out. “The last thing that Tiger needs is to have another woman take Felicity’s place, only for it not to work out.”

  Grace frowned at her. “What does that mean?”

  Claire dumped mushrooms into her own container. “It means that maybe you don’t know your brother as well as you think you do.”

  “He’s changed a lot since Felicity died.”

  Claire put down the knife. “I’m just saying he had his chance, and it’s gone. And now he has to make the best with what he has left.”

  Grace went slack-jawed.

  “Please, Gracie. Don’t think I’m not compassionate to Tiger. But you have to live with your choices.”

  “Losing Felicity wasn’t his choice, Claire. Accidents just happen. It doesn’t mean he shouldn’t keep moving on with his life.”

  Claire stared at her, the words stinging.

  “Claire, do you have a moment?”

  She turned, wanting to launch herself into Stuart’s arms. Probably not an appropriate action for an employee-manager relationship, however, so she wiped her hands, left Grace and her too-forgiving attitude at the prep center, and followed Stuart into his office.

  She began an apology before he even sat down at his desk. “I know I lost track of time. I was working in the garden—”

  “Really, Claire?” Stuart wore the Pierre’s uniform—white apron, black shirt, a contrast to his white hair. The man had been making pizzas for nearly forty years but still managed to keep himself fit. A picture of his family, taken before his wife died, sat on the credenza behind him. “You think I pulled you in here to beat you up for being one minute late?”

  Oh.

  “What I want to do is give you a raise.”

  A raise? Her mouth opened to thank him, but he held up a hand.

  “But I can’t.”

  She frowned.

  “You’re already at the very top of the pay scale for a part-time employee, first of all. And second, the truth is, I can’t afford you anymore.” He actually looked pained.

  “Am I being fired because you can’t give me a raise? I didn’t ask for a raise.”

  “No, you didn’t, but you certainly deserve one. You run the kitchen, the counter, even inventory my supplies better than I do. This place would be a mess without you.”

  “Then why—?”

  “I’m offering you the job of full-time manager. With summer upon us, I have to hire a manager, but I can’t have a part-time employee with your salary taking up the budget. Please, will you consider taking the position?”

  A full-time Pierre’s Pizza manager. She didn’t know why she had the insane urge to weep. She pushed a smile through the web in her chest. “I don’t . . . I . . .”

  Stuart leaned forward, his voice gentling. “I love you like a daughter. Over the past seven years, I’ve seen you grow and become this amazing woman. But what do you want from your life? If it’s to have a career in the food service industry, I can make that happen. Going full-time would give you benefits and a 401(k). A real career. But if that’s not what you want . . .” He sighed. “You’re twenty-five, Claire. And maybe it’s none of my business, but I know your parents, and I know they worry that if you don’t make a move out of Deep Haven soon, you never will.”

  Leave Deep Haven? Her throat tightened as if a hand curled around it.

  “I understood it took a few years to get that college nest egg saved, but certainly you have something now. And there are always loans, and—”

  “I’ll think about it,” Claire said. Oh, she didn’t want to cry in front of Stuart. Not with his kind eyes looking at her like a father’s would.

  With expectation. Hope.

  She got up. “When do I have to let you know?”

  “The sooner the better. But certainly before the Fourth of July holiday. I need to hire someone and get them trained before then.”

  Perfect. Two weeks to figure out if she wanted to serve pizza the rest of her life.

  If you don’t make a move out of Deep Haven soon, you never will.

  Like she hadn’t thought of that every day of her life for the past seven years.

  She nodded, put her hand on the door handle just as her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She grimaced, glancing over her shoulder. “Sorry. I forgot to turn it off.”

  “No problem, Claire,” Stuart said.

  She pulled the phone out of her pocket as she opened the door. Read the caller ID.

  Deep Haven Hospital. Her breath hitched even as she put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Claire Gibson?”

  “Yes.” She glanced back at Stuart, who was frowning.

  “I’m calling from the Deep Haven ER. Your grandfather has been in an accident. It’s not life-threatening, but you should come.”

  Like a song, the man had embedded in Ivy’s brain, and no amount of rereading the last paragraph would dislodge the look Darek Christiansen had given her when she caught him staring at her yesterday in the library.

  Staring at her. Like . . . Well, she didn’t exactly know how to interpret his expression. It had been as if he were looking at her for the first time. And then the sheer panic on his face when she smiled at him.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. At him. Or herself for her own crazy, warm, maybe even painful emotions when she saw him take his son onto his lap and open a book.

  It almost made her wish she could rewind her date with Darek and start again.

  Such a small, simple gesture. How she would have loved to have a parent read to her. Silly. Stupid. Ivy closed her novel and set it on the coffee table, hating how losses snuck up on her, blindsided her. She wasn’t a weak little girl needing a father, a mother, needing a hug.

  And she’d simply been reacting to the sweetness of seeing Darek’s giant frame propped on a tiny children’s chair, listening to the Muffin Man, then bent over reading to his son.

  He might be the town grouch, but to his son, Darek was terrific. Kind. Gentle.

  So what had happened between him and his wife that she wasn’t in the picture?

  Ivy got up and walked outside, sitting on her front steps. The sun had set, the stars sprinkled across the inky surface of the water. She could smell the lake in the air, the heat loosening its grip on the day. She glanced at the Victorian bookstore, expecting lights in the upstairs apartment, but apparently her neighbor was working late. She’d met Claire yesterday. A pretty girl, maybe just a couple years younger than Ivy, with dark-brown eyes and hair and a kind smile. She wore a Pierre’s Pizza shirt and a black visor, maybe on her way to work.

  “How long are you in town for?” she’d asked after Ivy introduced herself.

  Forever, Ivy had wanted to say, barely holding the word back. “I just started as the assistant county attorney.”

  Claire nodded with a smile that seemed to hint at humor on her face. “I’ll see you round,” she said as she hopped on her red bike and pedaled off.

  Ivy hoped so. She could use a friend besides her favorite bestselling authors.

  She drew her knees up to her chest, a slight wind soft on her skin. What if she saw Darek again?

  What if he smiled back?

  Oh, boy. Now she felt desperate.

  But . . . what if she gave him a second chance? What if he showed up at her house with an apology and an invitation to a second date?

  He’d roll up to her driveway and smile—she knew he had it in him—and she’d come off the steps, walk down to the drive to hear him say, I’m sorry I was such a grouch. How about another try?

  Real
ly? Why, Darek, I’m so glad you asked—

  Oh, for pete’s sake, she didn’t need this. Didn’t need Darek in her life, smiling her direction, taking her in his arms.

  Because then what? She’d hop in his Jeep and they’d drive off into the sunset? She knew better than that. Happy endings and family didn’t belong to a girl like her.

  Ivy got up and went back inside, flopping down on the bed in the corner of the room. She turned on her iPod to some Frank Sinatra.

  The crooner was singing about moonlight and dancing and falling in love. She turned it off.

  Walked to the window and stood there in silence.

  Just her and the moonlight.

  It would have to be enough.

  “TIGER, YOU STAY RIGHT HERE, next to the cart, while Daddy goes to get a watermelon.” Darek turned and pointed to his son. Red candy stickiness smudged his cheeks from the lollipop on a string the teller at the bank had given him, and he stood licking his fingers, even as the lollipop sagged in his other hand. His stitches had started to dissolve, leaving a thin red scar. He still looked a disheveled mess, however, his new Spider-Man shirt grimy from a morning of “helping Daddy in the yard.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Darek smiled and rounded the edge of the table, reaching for the biggest watermelon he could find. He slung it under his arm and pulled out his list, just to check.

  His mother had this brilliant idea to serve root beer floats on the deck for the one cabin of guests who had checked in last night, as an Independence Day treat.

  One cabin for the Fourth of July weekend. He well remembered when they’d had to turn people away.

  Darek could barely stand the look on his father’s face today when he’d taken two cancellations, both because of the lack of air-conditioning in their “rustic” cabins.

  Why couldn’t every guest be like the family a couple weeks ago who had fished and swum and hiked and enjoyed the beauty of the north shore without needing the comforts of home?

  Not that he blamed the guests, he supposed. With temperatures soaring into the nineties, the tiny cabins could turn to saunas without the right circulation. But they didn’t need to be nasty about it. He wanted to strangle the snooty young couple who’d shown up, driven to the cabin, then turned around and left, after calling the resort a dump to his father’s face.

  While his father smiled and wished them well, Darek wanted to let them know exactly how many hours his mother had scrubbed their cabin. Preferably he’d do it while backing up the skinny, too-slick-looking tourist against his shiny black Escalade.

  Ungrateful . . .

  Thanks to his mother’s hard work, a guest could eat off the floor of any of the cabins, and his father kept them all in tip-top shape. But their homemade breadboard countertops and wooden floors, the rag rugs and old-fashioned quilts could hardly compare to stainless steel and granite kitchens, travertine tiles in the posh condos in town. And never mind the flat-screen televisions.

  But oh, they’d serve root beer floats and watermelon. Darek shook his head. He’d never be the host his parents were, despite his efforts, and their hope of handing down the resort to him might be the biggest mistake of their lives. In fact, his dreams, until five years ago, had included seeing the world, finding adventure, and making a name for himself in the world of wildland fire management.

  Now, the only flames he saw were the occasional sparks lifting from one of their lakeside fires, snuffed out as they drifted into the night.

  He rounded the corner of the table.

  Tiger had vanished.

  Clearly he would never be the father his son needed, either. “Tiger!” He dumped the watermelon in the cart, turned to scan the produce area. Tables topped with apples, oranges, potatoes, grapefruit, corn, bins of beans, and rows and rows of strawberries gave the five-year-old plenty of hiding places. “Tiger, where are you?” Oh, that kid. Once he’d searched the resort for an hour, finally finding him in the crawl space under the deck.

  “Tiger!” He tried to keep his voice down, but the name hissed out through clenched teeth. A woman near the pineapples looked at Darek. He didn’t recognize her, so . . . “My son wandered off. He’s five and is wearing a Spider-Man shirt.”

  She shook her head, wearing a look of alarm.

  “He does this all the time. He’s fine.” Really. They lived in a small town. The grocery store had all of seven aisles. But he hated how panic managed to reach up and choke off his breathing.

  Darek grabbed the cart and pushed it toward the deli section, casting a look down the canned goods aisle. “Tiger!” Nothing.

  He pushed toward the flour, oils, pasta, and did a quick look, then headed for cereals. Tiger loved his cereals.

  “Tig—”

  There he was, the little scamp, and not alone either. He had his arms around the neck of Nan Holloway.

  Of course it had to be Tiger’s grandmother who found him. She held on to the boy as if she might never let go.

  If she had her way, she wouldn’t.

  “Hello, Nan.”

  She glanced at him, her smile vanishing. “Someone could have picked him up and kidnapped him.”

  “Maybe you could say that louder. I’m not sure Tiger—or the rest of the store—heard you.”

  “He needs to know the dangers of running off. And frankly, so do you.”

  “I just stepped away to grab a watermelon.” Oh, that sounded brilliant. He wanted to shake away the words the moment he said them.

  “That’s how accidents happen, isn’t it, Darek? When someone takes their eye off the ball—”

  “I didn’t . . .” He blew out a breath. It didn’t matter. Nan and George Holloway had despised him since the day they found out Felicity expected his child. The shotgun wedding that occurred weeks later probably didn’t help.

  He schooled his tone. “Thanks for finding him.”

  He reached for Tiger, but Nan ducked her head as if drawing in his little-boy smell. Then she swallowed and affected a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d let us take him for the Fourth of July this weekend. Sandra is coming in with her family, and it would be so fun for him to play with his cousins.”

  The last time he’d brought Tiger over to the Holloways’, his son had returned with an entirely new wardrobe, his old clothes probably burned in the refuse pile. Darek tried not to mind, but it made him feel like a guy who lived in his car, panhandling for food for his kid.

  And shoot, his pride got the best of him. “Sorry, Nan, but we’re having a family get-together too.” This time he didn’t wait for her to release him but took Tiger into his arms, set him on his hip. “How about the following weekend?”

  She tightened her lips as if she was trying not to cry. Oh no. Felicity had the exact same expression. Usually right before she flung something nasty at Darek—objects, words, sometimes even his mistakes.

  And true to Holloway form: “Felicity always told me how selfish you were. I just never thought you’d keep Tiger from us.”

  Now people were staring. Probably agreeing with her.

  After all, the Holloways weren’t exactly unknown in the town of Deep Haven. Not with George on the school board since the dawn of time and Nan working in the courthouse, issuing building permits and tax liens.

  Felicity had been their golden girl—homecoming queen, basketball star, the girl most likely to succeed.

  Not get pregnant and marry at the age of twenty.

  Nan’s eyes sparkled, what looked like tears glistening in them.

  “Nan . . . fine. I’ll bring him by. How about Sunday, in the afternoon?”

  “No. Forget it, Darek. It’s time we stepped in and started asking questions. Like how did Tiger get hurt? You never did tell us. At the least I should have gotten a phone call. Just because we were out of town . . .”

  He didn’t know who to thank for that small gift. No wonder he hadn’t seen Nan hovering at the library for the past two weeks—they’d been on
their annual trek to some church camp down in the Ozarks.

  Sadly, he hadn’t seen Ivy, either. Not that he would know what to say to her if he did.

  “He fell off the top bunk. But he climbed up there on his own—”

  “He was unsupervised?”

  “Nan, he’s a kid. He’s rambunctious.”

  She tightened her jaw. Then suddenly nodded. “Sunday should work just fine.”

  She pushed her cart past him, down the aisle.

  “Bye-bye, Grandma!”

  Nan flashed a smile over her shoulder. Came back and kissed his pudgy cheek. “See you soon, Theo.”

  Tiger, Darek wanted to say. We call him Tiger. But that wouldn’t help.

  He looked at Tiger. “Don’t ever run away from me again.”

  Tiger’s smile fell and his little lip started to tremble. Maybe he should have just let Nan take him home.

  Probably he wasn’t well supervised, as she said. He softened his voice. “You scared me, pal. Stick with me, okay?” He held up his hand and Tiger slapped it. “Good.” He let him down. “Let’s get some cereal and finish our list.”

  “I want Cap’n Crunch!” Tiger reached for the box, conveniently at five-year-old level, and hugged it to his chest.

  “No, buddy. Let’s try for something healthier, huh? How about Cheerios. Or Honey Nut—”

  “I want Cap’n Crunch!” His voice rose.

  Darek reached for the box, tried to ease it from his hand. “No. Give it to Daddy.”

  But the little boy turned away from him, crushing the box in his grip.

  “Tiger!”

  “I want Cap’n Crunch!”

  At Tiger’s decibel level, Darek expected Nan to come barreling back around the corner at any second, accusing him of some sort of child abuse.

  “No,” he said sharply, feeling his ire in his veins. He wanted to haul the kid over his shoulder and leave, right now. Just get in his car and floor it—out of Deep Haven, out of this life, this package he hadn’t wanted, wasn’t prepared for, couldn’t seem to get right—

  “Can I help?”

  He looked up and nearly lost his voice at the sight of Ivy Madison standing there, dressed in a pair of black pants, pumps, and a crisp white shirt. As if she was on lunch break from the office. She looked pretty with her hair tied back.