C01 Take a Chance on Me

by Susan May Warren

  Mitch sat facing the harbor, eating his batter-dipped french fries, letting the sun bathe his face. Or maybe dreaming of fishing. His office sported a number of mounted trophies.

  Seagulls called over the water, the sun high and glorious. The lake seemed so blue, it could reach out and woo her into its cool waters. Ivy wore a pair of black dress pants and a pink sleeveless blouse, her hair up, but sweat still began to trickle down her back. The one nice thing about being trapped inside a courthouse all day—air-conditioning.

  “I’m trying to keep my energy up,” Ivy said, attempting to balance the ingredients of her crab sandwich. “When I first arrived, I thought this might be a fluke, but no, it’s like this every week. A marathon of cases.”

  “And the summer is just getting going,” Diane said.

  “People keep saying that. It’s July.”

  “Wait until August. It’s our high season.”

  Ivy kept trying not to glance over to the lighthouse, not to let Darek tiptoe into her mind. He hadn’t called all weekend, and she’d spent the early part of the week working on cases, preparing for today, and hardly noticed.

  Okay, she’d noticed.

  But maybe, as it had with her, when they kissed, the smallest spark of fear had lit inside him, compelled him to step back, take a breath.

  “Judge Magnusson certainly keeps the docket clipping along.”

  “No wasting time with her,” Diane said. “She expects you to be prepared. Whenever she’s presiding, I spend the days before cramming like I am still in college, remembering specific incidents so I don’t look like a fool on the stand.”

  “Don’t let her lie to you,” Mitch said, looking at Ivy through his aviator glasses. “She’d do that if Santa Claus was presiding.”

  Diane wiped her mouth with a napkin. “It only took once for a defense attorney to tear me apart on the stand, and I never let that happen again.”

  “The children of Deep Haven are fortunate to have you,” Ivy said.

  “Agreed.” Mitch smiled, and Ivy instantly liked him.

  “By the way, just a heads-up.” He looked at Ivy. “Jensen Atwood isn’t going to finish his community service. I think we’ll have to file a probation violation complaint.” He mopped ketchup with his fries while everything stilled inside Ivy.

  Diane sat back in her chair, sipping her strawberry lemonade. “I can’t decide how I feel about that. I see him around town, working hard. And yet, I see Nan Holloway with Tiger, and my heart goes out to the entire family. I know Darek is probably doing his best, but he’s a single dad. I know it can’t be easy for him.”

  Darek? Ivy set down her sandwich, trying to sort out their conversation. What did Darek have to do with Jensen’s probation violation?

  “I can still remember that horrible night,” Diane said.

  “What happened?” Ivy said, reaching for her glass. She knew some of it—that kind of story stuck in a person’s memory. But maybe they’d fill in the details.

  “Oh, it’s a terrible story,” Diane said. “It was late at night, and Felicity Christiansen was out running on the highway north of town. Jensen came around the corner too fast, didn’t see her, and hit her.”

  Felicity Christiansen.

  Ivy’s head swam, the world curving in, back out, watery. Felicity was Darek’s wife.

  “He was driving one mile over the speed limit,” Mitch argued back to Diane.

  “And he was texting.”

  “They never proved that.”

  “Only because it never went to court! He pleaded out. There are folks in Deep Haven who are still angry over that.”

  Ivy couldn’t breathe. Clearly neither Diane nor Mitch knew that she’d been the one who helped orchestrate the plea agreement. Or at least suggest the parameters.

  “He never would have gotten a fair trial here, Diane, and you know it.”

  Diane’s lips gathered in a tight bunch. “Maybe.”

  “Diane—”

  “I just feel sorry for the family. Darek raising that sweet little boy all by himself. He and Felicity had their whole lives ahead of them.”

  Bile pooled in Ivy’s chest. She just might throw up.

  “I still can’t believe the judge granted a departure from the sentencing guidelines.”

  “Blame it on timing,” Mitch said. “Judge Carver was leaving, and he’d driven that patch of road too many times to agree with a vehicular homicide ruling.”

  “If Jensen’s dad hadn’t been a lawyer—”

  “He wasn’t represented by his father,” Ivy said softly.

  Diane glanced at her. Frowned. “You’re familiar with the case?”

  “It made all the headlines in the Cities, Diane. Of course she is.”

  No, that wasn’t it. But she couldn’t . . . “It was handled by another firm.”

  “Well, someone knew their law because they dug up some precedence and produced quite a memorandum. Otherwise Carver would have never allowed the plea bargain to go through.”

  Ivy looked at the water, where otters skimmed along the surface, ducking under to hide, reappearing in the shadows under the dock.

  “He might not have gotten jail time, but the guy has certainly paid for his crime,” Mitch said.

  Diane poked at the ice cubes in her glass with her straw. “How?”

  “Can you imagine living in a town that hates you? That wishes you were in jail? He’s toed the line, and now he’ll violate his probation by less than a hundred hours.”

  “That’s a lot.”

  “Not when you consider he had three thousand hours to fill.”

  DJ’s words trickled back to Ivy. Justice can take many shades, especially in a small town.

  Indeed, from Darek’s—and Tiger’s—viewpoint, perhaps justice hadn’t prevailed, not at all.

  She hadn’t gotten the case wrong, had she?

  “He could file a motion for clemency,” Mitch said.

  “What?” Diane shook her head. “Listen, a crime was committed, and he had ample time to complete his community service. Let him go to jail.”

  Ivy must have gone a little white because Mitch glanced at her.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded.

  But how could she possibly be okay with Darek’s voice in her head? He stole my life from me.

  And she’d made it worse. She kept Jensen out of jail.

  How could she not have figured it out? Darek had talked about his wife, how he lost her so young. But . . . Ivy hadn’t asked because she hadn’t wanted to know. She’d been so desperate for him to like her . . .

  She was smarter than this. She should have pieced it together. Why hadn’t she?

  The question dogged her all afternoon after she escaped to her office, closing the door to pull herself together. Now, she stood at the window and fought the urge to pack her things, take off back to Minneapolis.

  Before Darek found out.

  Before she had to tell him.

  Maybe . . . maybe she just wouldn’t tell him. Did he really have to know?

  A knock came at her door. “Come in.”

  She turned to find DJ entering. “Just stopping in to check on you.”

  “Did you have a nice weekend?”

  He slipped into a chair, grinning, teeth white against his dark face. “I should ask you the same thing.”

  “What?”

  “First you buy Darek Christiansen and then you kiss him?” He leaned back, crossed one leg over the other.

  She winced. “You saw that?”

  “All of Deep Haven saw that. Right there on the sidewalk in front of the harbor.”

  Ivy sank into her desk chair. “Tell me the truth—now do you think it’s a conflict of interest? Me seeing him? Especially after I wrote the memo on Jensen’s case?”

  Clearly she’d knotted her brain too tight on this because DJ frowned. “So you didn’t know about the connection between Darek and Jensen. I wasn’t sure.” He sighed. “No, it’s not a conflict of in
terest. Your firm wasn’t the attorney on record, and you didn’t even know Darek at the time. So . . . no.”

  “And if I have to bring a complaint of probation violation against Jensen?”

  “Really? He’s violated his probation?”

  “No. But he is short of his hours. So maybe.”

  “I still don’t see a conflict. You’re just responding to the court’s mandate. However—” he leaned forward—“does Darek know you were involved in his wife’s case?”

  She made a face, shook her head. “Does he have to?”

  “That’s up to you, Counselor.” He picked up a rock that Ivy used to hold down a stack of police complaints. “I’m not the one trying to build a new life here, finding a niche, falling in love—”

  “I’m not falling in love.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “I’ve known him for two weeks. Two.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” He put the rock on the desk. “All I know is that secrets don’t last for long here.” He got up. “By the way, I don’t know if you remember, but I’ll be leaving for vacation on Friday—I’ll be gone two weeks. But it’s July; everything grinds to a halt in July—”

  “I know. The summer is just starting.”

  He laughed. “You’ll be fine.”

  Ivy picked up the rock after he left, feeling the weight of it in her hand. Eyed the phone.

  And for the first time, hoped Darek Christiansen wouldn’t call.

  “Four days. You’re a real prize, big brother.”

  Eden sat down next to Darek at a picnic table in the harbor park, her gyro sandwich in a foil wrapper, a malt from Licks and Stuff in her other hand. She wore her long blonde hair down, a sleeveless shirt, a pair of dress pants. She’d inherited the elegance from their mother. Darek always thought she should’ve aspired to be in front of the camera, not behind it. But she loved words and thirsted for a great story.

  “What did I do?” he asked.

  “You haven’t called her yet, have you?” Someday Eden would be a crackerjack journalist. Especially since she went right for the jugular with her questions.

  “No, all right?”

  “Sheesh, I’m just saying, I liked her. We all did. It’s been four days. Call her.”

  But his hearing had stopped on We all did. “You had a conversation about my date?”

  “You kissed her in the middle of the sidewalk. What were we supposed to do? Look away? It’s like a train wreck—we couldn’t help it.”

  “Thanks. Nice analogy.” He had already unwrapped his double cheeseburger and spread his fries on the tray; now he opened the chicken nuggets meal for Tiger, who was busy stalking seagulls across the lawn.

  “Okay. Let’s try: it’s about time, and it was all we could do to not cheer from the sidelines.”

  “It’s not a sporting event either.”

  “Apparently it is. And you’re losing. To yourself. Call the girl.” Eden unwrapped her gyro, watching Tiger. “You almost got that last one, Tiger!”

  “Don’t encourage him. He’s already a mess. If he falls, he’ll split open that lip again, and the swelling is just starting to go down.” He took a bite of his burger.

  “You can’t wrap him in bubble wrap, Dare.”

  “I’d like to.” He put down the burger, wiped his mouth. “You should have seen the way Nan looked at me when I brought him over on Sunday. Like I’d let my son wander out into traffic.”

  Darek winced as the little guy tripped, lurching forward onto his hands and knees. But he got up laughing.

  Tough kid. So much like himself. Except it seemed like Darek hadn’t gotten up the last time he went down.

  Until Friday night. With Ivy.

  For the first time in three years, he’d glimpsed the man he wanted to be.

  Still, Eden was right. He was losing. Every day that slipped by felt a little like the magic died. He couldn’t seem to stir up the courage to call her, and he couldn’t figure out why. Especially since she’d wandered into his brain and set up camp there. He kept seeing those green eyes, widening just before he kissed her. Kept tasting her lips, feeling her hair between his fingers—

  “Nan’s just being overprotective. Like she was with Felicity.” Eden bit into her gyro, yanking him away from Ivy, back to reality, where he should stay.

  “No wonder she hates me, then,” he said.

  Eden reached for a napkin. “Felicity made her own choices, Darek. You’re not entirely to blame.”

  Yeah, well, his sister hadn’t been there that night on the beach when Tiger was conceived. Fresh from a month fighting fires with his hotshots, Darek had blazed into Deep Haven like a hero—or at least he thought so.

  And it didn’t help that Felicity confirmed it in the way she smiled at him, flirted with him, kissed him. Still . . . “Trust me, I’m the one to blame. Not that she wasn’t willing, but . . . at the end of the day, I’m the one who should have said no. I knew what I should—and shouldn’t—have been doing.” That night, he’d stolen Felicity’s future from her. Her dreams and plans . . . and the chance to marry someone who truly loved her.

  “Well, you made it right.”

  He pushed his double burger away, his appetite gone. “Did I? I married her, but maybe that was just making the situation worse.” He stared at his little boy, so much of Felicity in him—those big brown eyes, the way he held up his arms to embrace the world. “I should have done better by her.”

  “You were young too, Darek. And you had man brain.”

  He glanced at her. “You and Mom. Do I want to know what that is?”

  “Oh, you can figure it out,” she said, taking another bite.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Just don’t let that same brain keep you from calling Ivy. I like her. A lot. And I have a feeling you do too.” Eden set down the gyro. “This thing is so messy!”

  Exactly what his life might become if he called Ivy. Let her in any further. Tangled. Dangerous. Terrifying.

  Messy.

  And that thought planted him right there, stuck. His phone in his pocket, burning a hole, reminding him that he was a jerk.

  But last time he’d let his heart take charge . . . “Tiger, come over here and eat your nuggets! They’re getting cold.”

  Tiger looked at him, then ran to the table, climbing onto the bench. He reached for the toy, but Darek pulled it away. “After the nuggets.”

  Tiger frowned but dug into his lunch.

  The sun had climbed to the apex of its path, a slight dusting of clouds in the sky. A skim of smoke tinged the air—probably local campfires or even the fish house, smoking their daily catch. The lake never looked so blue—a rich, deep indigo. On the harbor beach, a couple children threw stones into the water or skipped them across the surface. A husband held his wife’s hand, swinging it between them as they strolled along the rocky beach.

  “When do you head back?” Darek picked up a fry, bathed it in ketchup.

  “This afternoon. Owen has an appearance tomorrow, even though I have the week off.”

  “How’s he doing?” He hadn’t spent much time with his kid brother, Casper and his father commandeering all the conversation, spinning it around the Wild and new plays and stats and play-off hopes and . . . Well, that had never been Darek’s life.

  “He’s young. And it’s a little too much glamour for someone his age. He’s got a cameo in an upcoming Sports Illustrated, something about the hockey stars of the season. And the Wild press team has him playing in charity events and appearing at festivals all summer long.”

  Darek took a sip of his Coke, finished the can, then crushed it in his hands. “I never thought I’d see one of our siblings on the cover of Sports Illustrated.”

  “He’s not there. But he will be.”

  “And you? When will I see your byline in some magazine?”

  Eden finished with her gyro, closing the leftovers in the foil. “I wish. If I could just get into the news department, start reporting real stories. Obits is
such a dead end . . .” She winked, but he saw the frustration in her eyes.

  “You’ll get there, Sis.”

  “One story. I just need one story. In the meantime, I guess I’m in Minneapolis to keep an eye on Owen.”

  “Good luck with that,” Darek said. “It’s like keeping Tiger out of trouble. Right, pal?”

  Eden laughed as Tiger grinned at them. Poor kid looked like he’d been hit by a truck, his fat lip now smeared with ketchup, the stitches almost completely dissolved over his eye. He ate his fries with grimy hands and had a skid mark on his knee from where he’d gone down in the grass.

  Nan’s words from Sunday burned into Darek’s brain. Can’t you take better care of him?

  Maybe not. Maybe it would have been better for him to concede that Nan and George Holloway could take much, much better care of Tiger. Could give him the attention he needed, fill his world with the touch of Felicity he lacked.

  And then . . . then Darek would leave. Do something with his life, like fight fires again. Or finish his fire management training.

  When he came home, he’d be his son’s hero. The man who trumpeted back into his life and took him fishing and taught him to swim and hunt and love the forest.

  Instead of the guy always tired, always a little less of a father than he’d like to be.

  “The place looks nice. You and Dad did a good job rebuilding the deck on cabin four. And did I see sauna plans—finally—in the office?”

  “Finally, yes. And a new playground. But what we really need is Internet.”

  She made a face.

  “Eden, you’re not there. It’s isolated. Remote. Families want to be connected; teenagers want to update their Facebook status.”

  She stirred her malt. “I noticed we only had two cabins full this week.”

  “The Schmitts and the Iversons arrived yesterday. The same week every year for the last decade.”

  “God bless them.”

  “But their kids don’t come. We gotta do something. Nobody wants to go to Evergreen Lake and rent a paddleboat or sit on the dock and read.”