“Why not?”
Jensen looked at him. “Because . . . I’m not guilty?”
“Can’t you apologize and admit sorrow? That if you could, you’d change everything?”
Jensen turned onto Evergreen Road, not glancing at the resort. Darek’s resort.
Last time he’d been there, he’d been helping Felicity put together a plastic play set for Tiger. He’d swung the boy in the air, met him at the bottom of the slide. He’d sat at a picnic table facing the lake and listened to Felicity cry about her failing marriage.
He’d held her in his arms, brushing back her hair. And deep inside, he’d relished the fact that Darek had failed. The great and mighty Darek Christiansen had blown it.
But . . . he’d also stood beside his friend at his wedding. Pledged to help him be a good husband.
He shook his head.
“You wouldn’t change it?” Joe said.
“I would. Of course I would. But how can I fix it now? Frankly, if I were Darek, I’d hate me too.” The words settled over him, and he breathed them in. Yes, Darek probably had a reason to hate him, to blame him, and not just because he’d killed Felicity, but because—well, how would he feel if another man had been comforting his wife, listening to his wife, becoming his wife’s best friend?
Yes, he owed Darek an apology for that.
“Maybe Darek doesn’t hate you. Maybe he’s caught too—an apology, an admittance of sorrow, might allow him to forgive.”
“Darek isn’t going to forgive me. Ever. Even if I ask.”
Joe was quiet as they turned along the south side of the lake. The caravan behind them bumped along, lights scraping the forest.
“He might surprise you,” Joe said finally. “I spent ten years of my life hating my father for walking out on my family, for abandoning me, for abandoning Gabe. I hated him and believed I had a right to. The problem was, I was hanging on so hard to that belief that I nearly missed everything God had for me. I nearly left Deep Haven for good, without Mona, without Gabe—nearly missed having the life I have now. Because I clung to the worthless idol of my right to be angry. You’re doing the same thing—clinging to your innocence.”
They pulled into Jensen’s gated neighborhood, and he rolled down his window to key in the code.
“My given name, by the way, is Jonah.”
“I know. I’ve read your books.” The gate opened.
“I’ve always been struck by the words Jonah prays in the belly of the whale, as he’s slowly being digested. ‘Those who cling to worthless idols turn away from God’s love for them.’ I was clinging to the idol of my self-righteousness. But my very anger convicted me, just as my father’s abandonment did him. I had to forgive—and ask for his forgiveness—to finally find what I was looking for.”
“Which was?”
“My life here.”
Jensen pulled into the driveway. Sat for a long moment, looking in the mirror at the lights from the other vehicles arriving behind him.
He wanted a life here. With Claire. With these people.
Even if he didn’t get clemency—and he knew that was a long shot. So long, in fact, that he’d practically dismissed it. But maybe, if Claire would stick with him through his prison stint, he could return here, to her. Figure out how to build a new life, not as a lawyer, but as a free man. He was pretty handy; maybe he could hang out his carpenter’s shingle.
Joe was right. Holding on to his anger, his innocence, had kept him from embracing what he had, right here. Claire. A life. Maybe even a future. Maybe it was time to let go and trust God for what He had, come what may.
If Gibs was right, that started with repentance. But Jensen had no idea how to go about saying he was sorry. Or even where to start.
He got out and opened the garage door. “C’mon, everyone. My home is yours.”
The moon overhead felt like an eye, watching him, too bright as Darek scraped out the forest near the north end of Evergreen Resort. Sometimes watery with the fog of smoke, other times bright, the eye was an X-ray, lighting him up—bones and tissue and heart. Examining. Judging.
Accusing.
And the clank of the dozer walking down the forest couldn’t douse his father’s words, lodged there in his head.
Don’t let this consume you, Darek.
How his father could read his mind, Darek didn’t know, but as he stood there in the middle of his quiet house, seeing Tiger’s unmade bed, his nest of stuffed animals, the rush of fury had nearly done just that.
Consumed him.
It wasn’t just the fury, but the cold grip of panic, the hole in his chest that could turn him inside out.
What if he lost Tiger?
He’d been standing there, trying to sort out the terrible noise in his head, when his father walked in quietly.
“I know you’re angry, and you have a right to be. But you have a choice. You can keep burning, keep letting this smolder inside, or you can forgive.”
Forgive.
“This isn’t about forgiveness,” Darek said. “This is about betrayal.”
He’d gone straight for his closet then, found his goggles and old hard hat, tied a bandanna around his face. In fact, he’d nearly put on his entire old uniform—gloves, the Nomex shirt, a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Then he’d headed out to the property line and climbed aboard the dozer, letting the noise shut out Tiger’s cries.
Evergreen Resort was all he had left.
And working to save it would keep him from climbing into his Jeep, driving to Nan’s, and stealing his son back.
Stealing. Yeah, that’s what they’d call it, despite the fact CPS had done exactly that.
He tightened his grip on the controls, his bones loose from the rumble of the dozer. Dirt and grime layered his skin; sweat trickled down his back. The headlights cut through the shaggy overhang of forest across the fire road. He estimated maybe another half mile he needed to cut, hours and hours of work. Deeper into the back of the property, the tangle of forest slowed his progress, and he’d taken more time to cut a wider swath, digging down to the mineral soil, the unburnable dirt that might hold back the line of fire.
Let Deep Haven burn. He’d protect the resort with everything he had in him.
Darek pushed over a tall blue spruce, watching it wave its arms as it fell. He crushed it onto the forest floor, backed up, went after a beautiful birch.
You don’t belong here.
He let those words fuel him.
He’d save his property, get Tiger back, and never, never bring another woman into his life. Their lives.
Darek uprooted a stand of saplings, spindly little poplar offshoots, digging deep and turning over the ground beneath them, exposing their roots, then burying them under the debris of the land.
Oh, he’d been a fool to trust her. Ivy turned out to be just as manipulative as Felicity. And a betrayer, like Jensen.
Jensen. His father brought him up too as he’d stood at the door, watching Darek assemble his gear.
“You’ve been letting anger consume you since the day Felicity died. You stopped going to church, walked away from God, and you’ve let it burn away the foundation of who you are, the man you could be.”
That hurt, but Darek had ignored him, grabbing a container of water.
His father didn’t move from his place in the doorway, blocking Darek’s exit. “God says that whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness. He does not know where he is going because the darkness has blinded him. Don’t let your unforgiveness keep you in the darkness, Son. Let God help you forgive. It’s the only way you’re going to get through this. In fact, forgiveness is not optional.”
Darek had rounded on him then. “Are you kidding me? Forgive Jensen? If it wasn’t for him, Tiger would be safe at home with his mother. And let’s not even talk about Ivy.”
“Have you ever stopped to think that, despite the accident, God healed? Even used it for good?”
He hadn’t answered, j
ust pushed past his father.
Good? Hardly.
Darek didn’t let his father’s words take root until he climbed into the darkness of the cab, turned on the dozer, and muscled it through the woods.
If Felicity were still alive, he wouldn’t have his son—he knew that. Because at the end, his marriage was headed toward divorce, fast. And the moment he untangled himself from Felicity, he would have hit the road without so much as a backward glance.
No, Felicity’s death could never be good, but it had woken Darek up to his son. To what he could lose—what he’d lost.
He blinked back the burn in his eyes.
What he’d lost. His father was back in his head then, following him just as he had earlier when he stepped off the deck. “You think you’re the only one to lose a son? The only one who has ever had to forgive someone for killing someone he loves?”
Darek had glanced back at him, frowned.
“Has it occurred to you that God did exactly that for you? You, Darek, were His enemy. Your sin killed His Son. And yet He reached out to forgive you, if you wanted it. Even though you didn’t know how to ask. Even when you didn’t want to ask.”
Yeah, but that was different. Darek wasn’t God.
He’d told his father that too.
“You don’t have to be. Forgiveness starts with you on your knees, taking a good look inside. I know it’s hard. You’re afraid of what you’ll find. But God isn’t going to stay away from you, Darek, when you need Him. And I promise, Jesus can help you do the impossible.”
His parents’ faith always started with “on your knees.” Well, they didn’t know what it felt like to have everything ripped from them. They didn’t know what it felt like to have someone you loved betray—
No. He didn’t love Ivy. He couldn’t love Ivy, not so soon. . . .
And yet he didn’t know how else to describe it, the feeling of wholeness, of . . . well, maybe he might call it love, but . . .
Whatever he felt, it told him the truth. He’d never loved Felicity.
Darek pushed a bundle of debris into the forest, that reality burrowing deep.
Yes, if he were honest with himself, he’d only given in to her because . . .
Because Jensen was with her.
Because Darek wanted to win.
Darek closed his eyes, breathing in hard. Regardless of how Felicity felt, he’d betrayed Jensen. And then he betrayed Felicity by sleeping with her, using her. And then marrying her, knowing he had no intention of truly meaning his I do.
He let the dozer idle there, shaking, rumbling, the truth touching his bones.
He’d been blaming Jensen because it felt easier than looking at himself. Seeing his own sins.
Oh, Felicity. For a moment, he let her walk into his mind. Saw her smile at him. The times when she’d sat behind him, massaging his tired shoulders, or called his cell phone just to hear his voice. The times she’d put Tiger on the line, prompting a da-da from his tiny son.
Felicity, waiting for him to come home that first year, decorating their tiny cabin, nearly setting the place on fire cooking his favorite meal.
Yeah, he should have loved her. Maybe if he hadn’t been so angry . . . angry not only at Felicity but at himself. He’d betrayed himself, the man he’d wanted to be.
His conversation with his mother the night Tiger fell from the bunk nearly a month ago rushed back at him.
Is there forgiveness for someone who kills another man’s wife?
I hope so, for your sake.
Maybe she had been talking not only about Jensen but about Darek as well.
Unforgiveness had destroyed his life—or at least his marriage. Unforgiveness had worn a hole of anger nearly clear through him.
Maybe he was a little like the peat fires, his life turning to ash under the surface.
In fact, forgiveness is not optional. His father’s words clung to him like a burr. But maybe it wasn’t. Not if he wanted to heal. Not if he wanted to learn how to live—really live—again.
Not optional.
Not optional for Felicity. For Jensen.
For himself.
He stared out into the night, the eerie glow of fire against the darkness, setting the sky aflame.
For Ivy.
Please, Darek. . . . Trust me. Ivy’s voice. Small. Pleading.
If he were honest with himself, maybe he’d have done the same thing in Nan’s shoes. In Ivy’s. Taken a closer look to make sure Tiger was safe.
He didn’t know what had happened, but maybe . . . maybe he should at least stop to listen. To hear the truth.
Yes, if he hoped to start again, let God seed something new in his life, he’d have to let Him turn over the burning soil, lay Darek bare.
Confess. Repent.
“I’m sorry.” It felt weak, even untrue, so he shut off the motor. Let the dozer die. Listened to the wind through the mesh of the cab.
“I’m sorry.” He stared up at the eye, dusty against the night. “I . . . I’m so sorry. I . . . Oh, God, I blew it. I really . . .” He closed his eyes. It still felt so . . . trite.
On your knees.
He heard his father again, and for some crazy reason, it seemed right.
So he climbed off the dozer. Walked around to the front, where the moonlight glinted off the scoop. And there, in a puddle of reflected light, he knelt.
The earth was soft beneath his knees, the smell of it raw and honest. He pressed his hands into it, bowed his head. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
And suddenly the heat, always simmering so deep inside that he’d barely noticed it anymore, rushed out of him, pouring out in the wake of his words. It shook him with its power, the freshness that swept in behind it, like a dousing of more than water. Of life, maybe. He made a sound like a whimper. Like a child, afraid.
Or maybe relieved.
Yes, oh yes. Relieved.
He lifted his gaze, found the eye. “I never mean to hurt Felicity, Lord. But she was right. I was selfish—am selfish. I’ve hated Jensen, and I . . . I hated Felicity. Or at least I didn’t love her as I should have. I didn’t cherish her. . . . I betrayed her, Lord.”
He sat back on the earth, tugged the handkerchief from his face. Drew off his goggles. The smoke bit his eyes, making them water. “Please forgive me,” he whispered.
The wind shifted in the trees. He drew his hand through the dirt, picked it up, let it fall through his fingers. “I want to be a better man, Lord. I want to forgive. Please, show me how.”
Show me how.
Darek wasn’t sure how long he sat there, just listening to the wind gathering in the trees, trying to hear something—anything.
He laid a hand against his chest. The hole, the dark raging inside—it had vanished. Instead, there was just a scar of some old ache. An imprint of sorrow. But for the first time, it seemed, he could think. He saw Felicity holding Tiger on the sofa. Saw Jensen standing beside him at his wedding. Saw Claire smiling at him from beside Felicity, her gaze landing on Jensen.
Yes, maybe those two were meant to be together.
And he saw Ivy. Sweet Ivy. Holding Tiger on her lap. Rescuing Darek from himself at the art show and standing up for him in front of Kyle.
Ivy, holding on to him, molding herself to him. Belonging to him.
She hadn’t turned on him. That thought took root.
Whatever happened, she’d been trying to protect him.
Trust Me.
He heard the words, but they weren’t Ivy’s.
The smoke had scoured the eye from above, but it was still there. Even if he couldn’t see it. It would always be there. Even if he lost Tiger, the resort . . . Ivy.
The thought of her swept in and filled the raw, still-healing places. Warm. Perfect.
Thank You. Thank You for Evergreen. For my family. My son. My faith . . .
Thank You for Ivy.
Tomorrow he’d find her. Listen to her. Tomorrow they’d figure out how to get Tiger back. And then, maybe . .
. maybe he’d figure out how to tell Ivy that he loved her.
Yes, loved.
Darek smiled at that, something goofy he was glad no one could see. He got up and was circling back around the dozer when he saw a light jag across the road, quick, as if someone was running.
“Hello?”
“Darek!”
“Over here!”
Casper came into view. “You got a call from Jed. He says the wind’s turned. The fire is headed away from Junco Creek.”
“That’s good, right?”
“Dude—it’s headed right for Evergreen Lake, and it’s coming fast.”
YOU WANT TO LOOSEN the roots, not break them.
Perhaps it was her grandmother’s scent in the afghan or the leather softness of the recliner, the embedded history in the paneled walls of the cabin or the taste of her past—stories and laughter and the sense of home—that dredged up the memory. But Claire settled right into the dream, almost feeling the touch of black soil between her fingers, her grandmother beside her, handing her impatiens to repot.
They stood at a picnic table around the back of the house, the lake bright and inviting as it lapped the shore, round planters filled with potting soil ready for the flowers her grandmother had purchased from the nursery in town.
“They’re all nice and snug in their baby planters, so we have to replant them without shocking them.” Grandma ran her fingers into the roots, lightly loosening them. Then, with her other hand, she held open the hole she’d created in the soil and gently set the flowers in.
Beside her, Claire did the same, digging her fingers into the roots, scraping them loose, then settling the spray of buds into the planter. She worked the soil around in it.
“Not too tight, but enough to make it feel snug. You want the roots to spread out into the new soil, take hold.” Her grandmother rested her hands over Claire’s, her touch strong, exactly the right pressure.
“Now we water.” She handed Claire the watering can and Claire sprinkled the pots.
“Oh, more than that, honey. They need a good, long drink. They’re thirsty after their trip from the nursery. A good gardener always keeps her plants well watered.”
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