C01 Take a Chance on Me

by Susan May Warren

  So what that he had those amazing eyes that turned all soft and sweet when he looked at his son. And that more than once she’d let herself wonder what it might feel like to step into those arms, thick with hardworking muscle. She too well remembered the tangy scent of the night when they parked on the overlook, and she simply couldn’t erase the way he’d soothed Tiger’s fears in the ER with soft, tender tones, or the way he’d taken the little boy onto his lap to read to him.

  Or even today, watching his son as he’d recited the book back to Ivy in the grocery store. Pride amid all that affection.

  She could be in big trouble if she didn’t stop this nonsense before it even started. Tiger was sure to get hurt if Darek decided he wanted to keep redeeming himself.

  No, despite his sudden turn away from the dark and crabby side to a man she might actually enjoy, she’d seen his shadows—and not only on their date, but today, when wrestling with his son over cereal. Didn’t he know you never fought a battle over food with a child?

  Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just trying to figure it out, trying to be both mother and father. But—oh no. She stopped, wincing. He didn’t ask her out for her parenting skills, did he?

  This could only be a very bad idea.

  She rounded her corner, where the Footstep of Heaven Bookstore and Coffee Shop sat, facing the lake. The hostas had grown up along the walk, the smell of roses fragrancing the air. The light above the porch buzzed with suicidal moths.

  Under it, in a pool of wan light, sat her neighbor, the young woman who lived in the apartment above the shop.

  “Claire?” Ivy said as she opened the gate. “Are you okay?”

  Claire sat on the front steps, arms around her legs, staring out at the lake. Ivy would have continued on the path around to the back, but Claire looked so miserable that she stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

  Claire finally glanced at her. “Sorry—yes. I’m okay. I just got back from Duluth.”

  “I noticed your place looked pretty dark the past week or so. Were you on vacation?”

  Claire gave a harsh laugh. “No. I wish. My grandfather drove his four-wheeler headfirst into a tree a couple weeks ago. Our neighbor up at the lake found him.” She made a face then and picked up her cell phone. Sighed and put it down. “They transferred him to Duluth for surgery, then moved him back up to the Deep Haven hospital today.”

  “Are you expecting a call?”

  “My parents, checking up on Grandpop. They’re worried. They sent me an e-mail and asked me to be available tonight. I get better cell service out here and besides, the night is so beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Ivy didn’t have to look to nod in agreement.

  “I used to live in rural Bosnia and there were nights, sitting outside my parents’ clinic, when the sky looked close enough to touch. It’s the only time I really miss it.”

  “You grew up in Bosnia?”

  “Only until I was fourteen; then I moved to Deep Haven. My parents are missionary doctors.”

  “Wow. When did they go back?”

  Claire glanced at her. “Oh, they stayed there. I lived with my grandparents. They raised me through my high school years. I visited Bosnia when I was fifteen for a couple weeks, but . . .” Her voice trailed off, and Ivy didn’t chase the thought. “My parents came home every four years and sometimes for Christmas. We e-mail and Skype, but they’re busy, important people. Doctors—did I mention that?”

  “Yes,” Ivy said. “That’s amazing.”

  “What, that I have such talented parents, or that they have such a waste of a daughter?”

  Huh? Ivy had no words for that. She just frowned at Claire.

  “I’m sorry. I know you don’t really know me.” Claire forced a kind of smile. “I work at Pierre’s Pizza. And two weeks ago, my boss told me that if I didn’t take the manager position, he’d probably have to cut my hours.” She looked at the phone again. “I’m twenty-five years old and all I have to show for it are my fabulous pizza-making abilities.”

  “Some people would love to be able to make a fabulous pizza. Or eat a fabulous pizza.” Her stomach growled at the suggestion.

  Claire smiled. “You’re really nice. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just in a bad mood. I hate when they call. They always ask me if I’ve applied for colleges or what my plans are. I feel like an idiot.” She looked up at Ivy. “It’s a terrible thing not to have any plans.”

  Ivy set her briefcase on the step, climbed up to sit beside Claire. Thought through her life. Yes, maybe. She hadn’t ever lived without some idea of her next step. Until she arrived in Deep Haven, her destination.

  “It’s not like I don’t have things I love to do. Like garden. And yes, I love working at the pizza place. But . . . I guess I always thought I should do something big, like my parents. And try as I might, I can’t hear God telling me what to do. Where to go. So here I sit, waiting, while people get married, build families and careers around me, and I get offered the job as pizza manager.”

  “I never considered that God might have an opinion about where I live. What I do. I mean, I believe in God—enough Sunday school and it’s embedded in me. And I remember as a child wanting Jesus to ‘live in my heart.’” Ivy finger-quoted the words. “But as I got older, I kept looking for Him to show up in my life, even a little bit. I guess it’s easier to think that He’s not interested.”

  Ivy didn’t look at Claire, instead watching a light on the water—some distant ship—carving out the horizon. “The spiritual detritus of growing up in the foster system. You never really feel like people are going to stick around. Or that you belong to anyone.”

  “You can belong to God, if you want,” Claire said softly. “God may be silent, but He’s never absent.”

  Ivy turned to Claire. “I’ve made it this far on my own. I guess I’ll keep it that way.”

  “You’re never on your own, Ivy.”

  “Spoken like a woman who’s grown up with family.” But she said it kindly, with a smile.

  “I suppose,” Claire said. “Speaking of, how did it go with Darek the other night? He comes attached with a passel of family.”

  Ivy stared at her. “How did you know?”

  “I was there. With the band. I saw you buy him.”

  Of course she was. The entire town seemed to be there. “It was so awful. Everyone was so . . . quiet. Why didn’t anyone bid on him?”

  “Because . . . well, because he is still married in their minds.”

  “He’s not really—”

  “No. He’s a widower. Three years now. But he was married to this beautiful, strong woman. She was loved by everyone in town. When she died . . . a little bit of everyone else died too. Especially since she left behind Theo.”

  “Theo?”

  “Tiger. Sorry.” She checked her phone again. Sighed and put it beside her on the porch. “People probably just can’t forgive Darek for moving on.”

  “Has he?”

  She glanced at Ivy. “I don’t know; you tell me.”

  “He invited me over for a campfire tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, boy.”

  “Really?”

  Claire laughed. “The Christiansens are a force, for sure, but I think they’ll like you.”

  There it was again, the feeling of being auditioned.

  “How many are there?”

  “Six siblings. There’s Darek, of course—he’s the oldest. The protector of the family. He used to fight fires with this hotshot team in Montana. Now I think he’ll probably end up taking over the resort. And then there’s Eden. She’s a journalist, or wants to be, although I think she’s writing obits for a Minneapolis newspaper. And then Grace, who works with me at Pierre’s. She’s an amazing chef and is saving up money to attend Le Cordon Bleu. The troublemaker of the bunch is Casper, who is attending college in Duluth. I think he wants to be an archeologist–slash–treasure hunter–slash–adventurer. I suppose they all do, in a way. And after him is Owen, who plays hockey—�
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  “For the Minnesota Wild. I heard about him that night at the auction.”

  “Right. He was supposed to be the feature attraction.”

  “Poor Darek.”

  “Exactly. Owen is a bit of a legend in our town. Never went to college—he got drafted straight out of high school. He’s only twenty and playing in the big leagues. The youngest is Amelia. She just graduated from high school this year and is making a name for herself as a photographer. She did a number of the senior pictures, and occasionally her photos make the front page of the paper.”

  “I think I saw Amelia and Grace at the hospital a couple weeks ago. They showed up, along with Casper. Lots of drama.”

  Claire winced. “I should have been there.”

  Ivy frowned. Why—?

  “Darek’s wife was my best friend. It tears me up to see Theo without her. I know in my heart that he’s in good hands. Ingrid and John are wonderful grandparents, and they own Evergreen Resort, up on the lake. They go to church; John works as a volunteer EMT. Ingrid helps out at the senior center sometimes. They’re fourth-generation Deep Haven.”

  Ivy swallowed, tried a smile. But oh, was she in over her head. These kind of family roots . . .

  Claire was checking her phone again. “How is work at the county attorney’s office?”

  “Busy. I thought Deep Haven would be more peaceful.”

  Claire laughed. “Oh, the summer is just getting started. We’re sleepy in the wintertime, but we grow 200 percent during the summer. That’s when the fun really starts.”

  “Super.” She sighed. “How did Darek’s wife die?”

  “A terrible car acci—”

  Claire’s cell phone buzzed on the step beside her. She picked it up. Grimaced.

  “Good night, Claire,” Ivy said as Claire answered it.

  She waved to Ivy. “Hi, Mom.”

  Ivy moved out of earshot and up to her garage apartment. Turned on the light and dropped her briefcase on the table.

  Listened to the silence, the waves on the shore, the wind in the poplar outside her window, and wondered what it might be like to have a tribe like the Christiansen family welcoming her home.

  “Grandpop’s fine, Mom. He survived the trip back to Deep Haven just fine.”

  Claire watched Ivy walk away in her trim black suit, her auburn hair tied up in a prim ponytail, her heels clicking on the pavement.

  Claire didn’t own a business suit. She reached up and pulled off her beret, working her fingers through her hair.

  “I just keep thinking about what might have happened if he hadn’t found him,” her mother said. “I always thought he was a nice boy.”

  Jensen. She was talking about Jensen. The connection was dismal at best, a fifteen-second echo behind every sentence. Claire could hear her own voice repeat her words on the other end. They were probably calling from their hospital line, had probably spent the last thirty minutes dialing over and over to get out. Or maybe they were both huddled over the phone in some still war-torn or primitive village, even at a public phone booth, the smell of dust and heat in the air. She wished they’d just opted to go to the mission headquarters in the capital city of Sarajevo and call over Skype. Then she could read their faces, assure them that she hadn’t left her grandfather alone, hadn’t been the cause of his accident.

  Did they have any idea how hard it was to corral a Vietnam War vet who had a mind of his own?

  Or how hard it might be to convince her parents that yes, she had everything under control? An e-mail updating them on his condition should have sufficed.

  A mosquito buzzed over her head, landed on her bare leg. She slapped it and flicked it away. Ignoring her mother’s comment, she continued. “They expect a three-to-six-month recovery time, but you know Gramps—he’s already talking about going home. I am going to take some time off—”

  Well, mandatory time off. Because how could she become a restaurant manager and care for her grandpa? She was still thinking it over, but it felt like the right decision. Right?

  “Don’t worry about it, honey. He’ll be fine in the Deep Haven Care Center. He knows so many—”

  “Mom, I have everything under control. Grandpop will come home with me and I’ll look after him until he gets back on his feet—”

  “Besides, we’ll be home soon anyway.”

  Those last words silenced her. She could hear the overlap of her final words repeated on the far end of the phone. Then, nothing.

  “Honey, did you hear me? I said your father and I are coming home. We’re working on temporary replacements, and we should be home in a few weeks.”

  Claire scrounged up her voice. “Why? Grandpop is fine.”

  Her father’s low, solid voice took over. “Darling, we’ll be packing up his house, having a garage sale, getting the place ready to sell. We had an offer a year or so ago from the Christiansens, and it’s time we moved your grandfather into someplace more secure. And I’ll bet you’re ready to move on, huh?” Laughter punctuated his words.

  She didn’t have to smile for their benefit, because, well, they couldn’t see her. In fact, she doubted if they’d ever really been able to see her. See how she loved Deep Haven.

  She slapped another mosquito. The night had suddenly turned into a war zone.

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a tidy nest egg saved up after all those years at Pierre’s,” her mother said. “It’s probably not too late to start applying to colleges. You know, I just read an article about a woman who graduated for the first time with a medical degree at the age of fifty-five. So you’re not an oddity, honey. Plenty of people wait to continue their education.”

  Keep saying it, Mom, and you’ll believe it.

  “I . . . haven’t . . . I’ll look into it, Mom.”

  Oh, what was wrong with her that even at the age of twenty-five, she couldn’t just tell them the truth?

  Her father’s voice came back on the line, softened. “You know, Claire bear, if you wanted to come back to Bosnia with us, you’re always welcome.”

  “No, Dad.”

  “Your mother could use help in the clinic. Maybe just for a year.”

  She waited until she heard her voice on the other end; then his own words finished. “I know you love your work, but . . .”

  “Honey, are you still bothered by the nightmares?”

  Oh, she’d regretted letting Grandma tell them about those. The year she’d woken up screaming, trying to erase that last summer on the mission field. “No. I’m fine.” A little lie, but for their own good. “It’s just . . . maybe I’m not supposed to be a missionary.” There, she said it. After twenty-five years, they should know the truth.

  “Claire. Everyone is called to spread the gospel. The Lord said, ‘Go and make disciples.’”

  She didn’t want to have this argument on the phone. Especially since a large part of her agreed with him. When a person became a Christian, the overwhelming grace should prompt her to want to reach out to others.

  Not stay at home.

  Not hide in Deep Haven.

  “We’ll talk about it when we get there. Until then, think about where you might want to go to college. Maybe you and your mother could take a trip, make a visit.”

  Still trying to treat her like she was seventeen, a senior in high school, her whole life ahead of her.

  Instead of the superior-size disappointment she turned out to be.

  “When are you arriving?”

  “We’ll e-mail you with our flight information. But we’ll rent a car. We don’t want to be any trouble.”

  Trouble was exactly what they were being. “I’ll keep you posted about Grandpop.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. I talked with Dr. Samson earlier.”

  Then why—?

  “Love you, Claire bear. Go with God.”

  “You too, Mom.” She hung up. Killed another mosquito. Let the night wind rake over her, raising gooseflesh.

  Go with God.

  To where? />
  He was probably as disappointed in her as her parents were. She got up and walked around the back of the house to the door, then went inside, climbing the stairs to her apartment. Two rooms, with two tiny bathrooms, the kitchen on the main floor. She had rented it when the landlord, Liza, moved out. The empty bedroom she’d turned into a music room of sorts, her keyboard set up, her guitar on a stand.

  She went in, sat down at the keyboard, played the chords of sheet music Emma had recently given her. The Blue Monkeys were supposed to play tomorrow night for the crowds gathered for the fireworks.

  Honey, are you still bothered by the nightmares?

  Her father’s words hung in her mind. She let the sound die out, until only her heartbeat remained.

  Sometimes, yes, she still saw them, the three men who broke into her father’s office at the clinic. Her hand went to her forehead, to the bump there, still slightly pronounced, where they’d smashed a metal pipe against her skull.

  She’d lain there in a puddle of her own blood, watching as they looted the clinic, unable to cry out, only one word on her lips.

  Jesus.

  She had said it over and over and over until she finally blacked out. Until her father—fresh out of surgery—arrived.

  He’d had to wire her jaw shut, but she’d woken the next day without brain damage. She could be thankful for that.

  Yes, she still had nightmares. And daymares sometimes, whenever someone walked up too quickly beside her. She fought headaches—probably imagined—and for a long while, maybe a year after the attack, her jaw ached every morning. As if she’d been grinding her teeth at night.

  Grandma had purchased her a mouth guard, slept in her room in the other single bed, and held her in her arms when she woke screaming.

  Her parents probably never knew that part.

  Not when they had so many other concerns, like children without parents, children without eyes or limbs. Children who had seen far worse.

  At least Claire had her grandparents.

  She got up and sat in the window seat. Looked out at the stars. Wished she could reach for one, hold it to her chest.

  But God had apparently stopped hearing her wishes, not to mention her prayers.