The Lucky One

  "Why wouldn't I be?"

  She made a face. "You know why."

  "He's not your ex." He shrugged. "I doubt he has any idea what your ex is doing. Why? Do you think I should have clocked him?"

  "Absolutely not."

  "I didn't think so. But I did happen to see your ex while I was talking to the grandfather. He looked as though he'd just swallowed a worm."

  "You noticed that, too? I thought it was kind of funny."

  "He's not going to be happy."

  "Then he can join the club," she said. "After what he did, he deserves to eat a worm."

  Logan nodded, and she snuggled up to him. He lifted his arm and pulled her close.

  "You looked mighty handsome up there while you were playing."

  "Yeah?"

  "I know I shouldn't have been thinking that since I was at church, but I couldn't help it. You should wear a sport jacket more often."

  "I don't have the kind of job that requires one."

  "Maybe you have the kind of girlfriend who does."

  He pretended to be puzzled. "I have a girlfriend?"

  She nudged him playfully before looking up at him. She kissed him on the cheek. "Thanks for coming to Hampton. And deciding to stay."

  He smiled. "I didn't have a choice."

  Two hours later, right before dinner, Beth saw Keith's car plow through puddles on his way up the drive. Ben scrambled out of the car. Keith already had the car in reverse and was pulling away before Ben reached the porch steps.

  "Hey, Mom! Hey, Thibault!"

  Logan waved as Beth stood up. "Hey, sweetie," Beth said. She gave him a hug. "Did you have a good time?"

  "I didn't have to clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash."

  "Good," she said.

  "And you know what?"

  "What?"

  Ben shook the water from his raincoat. "I think I want to learn how to play the piano."

  Beth smiled, thinking, Why am I not surprised.

  "Hey, Thibault?"

  Logan raised his chin. "Yeah?"

  "Do you want to see my tree house?"

  Beth cut in. "Honey . . . with the storm and all, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

  "It's fine. Grandpa built it. And I was there just a couple of days ago."

  "The water's probably higher."

  "Please? We won't stay long. And Thibault will be with me the whole time."

  Against her better judgment, Beth agreed.

  24

  Clayton

  Clayton didn't want to believe it, but there was Gramps actually complimenting Thigh-bolt after church. Shaking his hand, acting like he was some sort of hero while Ben stared up at Thigh-bolt with big puppy-dog eyes.

  It was all he could do to make it through brunch without cracking open a beer, and since dropping Ben at his mother's, he'd already gone through four. He was pretty sure he'd finish off the twelve-pack before turning in. In the past two weeks, he'd had a lot of beer. He knew he was overdoing it, but it was the only thing that kept him from dwelling on the latest run-in with Thigh-bolt.

  Behind him, the phone rang. Again. Fourth time in the last couple of hours, but he wasn't in the mood to answer it.

  Okay, he admitted it. He had underestimated the guy. Thigh-bolt had been one step ahead of him from the very beginning. He used to think Ben knew how to press his buttons; this guy dropped bombs. No, Clayton thought suddenly, he didn't drop bombs. He directed cruise missiles with pinpoint accuracy, all geared toward the destruction of Clayton's life. Even worse, Clayton hadn't seen it coming. Not once.

  It was beyond frustrating, especially since the situation seemed to be getting worse. Now, Thigh-bolt was telling him what to do. Ordering him around, like he was some flunkie on payroll, and for the life of him, Clayton couldn't figure a way out. He wanted to believe that Thigh-bolt had been bluffing about videotaping the break-in. He had to be bluffing--no one was that smart. He had to be. But what if he wasn't?

  Clayton went to the refrigerator and opened another beer, knowing he couldn't risk it. Who knew what the guy was planning next? He took a long pull, praying for the numbing effect to kick in soon.

  This should have been easier to handle. He was a deputy sheriff, and the guy was new in town. Clayton should have had the power all along, but instead he found himself sitting in a messy kitchen because he hadn't wanted to ask Ben to clean it for fear the kid would tell Thigh-bolt, which just might spell the end of Clayton's life as he knew it.

  What did the guy have against him? That's what Clayton wanted to know. Clayton wasn't the one causing problems, Thigh-bolt was the one making things difficult--and to rub salt in the wound, the guy was sleeping with Beth as well.

  He took another drink, wondering how his life could have turned to crap so quickly. Sunk in misery, he barely registered the sound of someone knocking at the front door. He pushed back from the table and stumbled through the living room. When he opened the door, he saw Tony standing on the porch, looking like a drowned rat. As if everything else weren't bad enough, the worm was here.

  Tony took a slight step back. "Whoa, dude. You okay? You smell like you've been drinking."

  "What do you want, Tony?" He wasn't in the mood for this.

  "I've been trying to call you, but you didn't pick up."

  "Get to the point."

  "I haven't seen you around much lately."

  "I've been busy. And I'm busy now, so go away." He started to close the door, and Tony raised his hand.

  "Wait! I have something to tell you," he whined. "It's important."

  "What is it?"

  "Do you remember when I called you? I don't know, it must have been a couple of months ago?"

  "No."

  "You remember. I called you from Decker's about this guy showing Beth's picture around?"

  "And?"

  "That's what I wanted to tell you." He pushed a clump of greasy hair out of his eyes. "I saw him again today. And I saw him talking to Beth."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "After church. He was talking to Beth and your grandfather. He was the dude on the piano today."

  Despite the buzz, Clayton felt his head begin to clear. It came back to him vaguely at first, then sharper. That was the weekend Thigh-bolt had taken the camera and disk.

  "You sure?"

  "Yeah, I'm sure. I'd remember that dude anywhere."

  "He had Beth's picture?"

  "I already told you that. I saw it. I just thought it was weird, you know? And then I see them together today? I thought you'd want to know."

  Clayton processed Tony's news. "I want you to tell me everything you can remember about the picture."

  Tony the worm had a surprisingly good memory, and it didn't take long for Clayton to get the full story. That the picture was a few years old and had been taken at the fair. That Thigh-bolt didn't know her name. That Thigh-bolt was looking for her.

  After Tony left, Clayton continued to ponder what he'd learned.

  No way had Thigh-bolt been here five years ago and forgotten her name. So where did he get the picture? Had he walked across the country to find her? And if so, what did that mean?

  That he'd stalked her?

  He wasn't sure yet, but something wasn't right. And Beth, naive as usual, had allowed him not only into her bed, but into Ben's life as well.

  He frowned. He didn't like it. He didn't like it at all, and he was pretty sure Beth wouldn't like it, either.

  25

  Thibault

  So that's it, huh?"

  Despite the canopy offered by the trees, Thibault was drenched by the time he and Ben reached the tree house. Water poured from the raincoat he was wearing, and his new pants were soaked below the knees. Inside his boots, his socks squished unpleasantly. Ben, on the other hand, was bundled from head to toe in a hooded rain suit; on his feet, he wore Nana's rubber boots. Aside from his face, Thibault doubted he even noticed the rain.

  "This is how we reach it. It's awesome, isn
't it?" Ben motioned to an oak tree on the near side of the creek. A series of nailed two-by-fours climbed the side of the trunk. "All we have to do is climb the tree ladder here so we can cross the bridge."

  Thibault noticed with apprehension that the creek had already swollen to twice its normal size, and the water was moving fast.

  Turning his attention to the small bridge, he saw that it was composed of three parts: A fraying rope bridge led from the oak tree on the near side toward a central landing station in the center of the creek that was supported by a four listing pillars; this landing was connected by another rope bridge section to the platform on the tree house. Thibault noticed the debris deposited around the pillars by the rushing waters. Though he hadn't previously inspected the bridge, he suspected that the relentless storms and rapid flow of water had weakened the landing's support. Before he could say anything, Ben had already scaled the tree ladder to the bridge.

  Ben grinned at him from above. "C'mon! What are you waiting for?"

  Thibault raised his arm to shield his face from the rain, feeling a sudden sense of dread. "I'm not sure this is a good idea--"

  "Chicken!" Ben taunted. He started across, the bridge swaying from side to side as he ran.

  "Wait!" Thibault shouted to no effect. By then, Ben had already reached the central landing.

  Thibault climbed the tree ladder and stepped cautiously onto the rope bridge. The waterlogged boards sagged under his weight. As soon as Ben saw him coming, he scrambled up the last section to the tree house. Thibault's breath caught in his throat as Ben hopped up on the tree house's platform. It bowed under Ben's weight but held steady. Ben turned around, his grin wide.

  "Come on back!" Thibault shouted. "I don't think the bridge will hold me."

  "It'll hold. My grandpa built it!"

  "Please, Ben?"

  "Chicken!" Ben taunted again.

  It was obvious that Ben considered the whole thing a game. Thibault took another look at the bridge, concluding that if he moved slowly, it might be safe. Ben had run--lots of torque and impact pressure. Would it hold the weight of Thibault's body?

  With his first step, the boards, drenched and ancient, sagged under his weight. Dry rot, no doubt. Thibault's mind flashed on the photograph in his pocket. The creek swirled and spun, a torrent beneath his feet.

  No time to lose. He walked slowly and reached the central landing, then started up the last suspended section of the rope bridge. Noting the rickety platform, he doubted it would support their combined weight simultaneously. In his pocket, the photograph felt as if it were on fire.

  "I'll meet you inside," Thibault said, trying to sound offhand. "You don't have to wait in the rain for an old man like me."

  Thankfully, Ben laughed and ducked into the tree house. Thibault breathed a sigh of relief as he made the shaky rise to the platform. He took a large, quick step to avoid the platform and stumbled into the tree house.

  "This is where I keep my Pokemon cards," Ben said, ignoring his entrance and motioning to the tin boxes in the corner. "I've got a Charizard card. And a Mewtwo."

  Thibault wiped the rain from his face as he collected himself and sat on the floor. "That's great," he said, puddles from his rain gear collecting around him.

  He took in the tiny room. Toys lay heaped in the corners, and a cutout window exposed much of the interior to the elements, soaking the unsanded planks. The only piece of furniture was a single beanbag chair in the corner.

  "This is my hideout," Ben said, collapsing into the chair.

  "Yeah?"

  "I come here when I get mad. Like when kids at school are mean."

  Thibault leaned back against the wall, shaking the water from his sleeves. "What do they do?"

  "Stuff. You know." He shrugged. "Teasing me about how I play basketball or kick ball or why I have to wear glasses."

  "That must be hard."

  "It doesn't bother me."

  Ben didn't seem to notice his obvious contradiction, and Thibault went on. "What do you like most about being here?"

  "The quiet," said Ben. "When I'm here, no one asks me questions or asks me to do stuff. I can sit here and think."

  Thibault nodded. "Makes sense." Through the window, he could see the rising wind beginning to drive the rain sideways. The storm was getting worse.

  "What do you think about?" he asked.

  Ben shrugged. "Like growing up and stuff. Getting older." He paused. "I wish I was bigger."

  "Why?"

  "There's this kid in my class who always picks on me. He's mean. Yesterday, he pushed me down in the cafeteria."

  The tree house rocked in a gust of wind. Again, the photo seemed to burn, and Thibault absently found his hand wandering to his pocket. He didn't understand the compulsion, but before he realized what he was doing, he pulled out the photo.

  Outside, the wind continued to howl and he could hear branches slapping against the structure. With every passing minute, he knew, the rain was engorging the creek. All at once, an image arose of the tree house platform collapsing, with Ben trapped in the raging water beneath it.

  "I want to give you something," Thibault said, the words out before he'd even consciously thought them. "I think it'll take care of your problem."

  "What is it?"

  Thibault swallowed. "It's a picture of your mom."

  Ben took the photo and looked at it, his expression curious. "What do I do with it?"

  Thibault leaned forward and tapped the corner of the photo. "Just carry it with you. My friend Victor called it a lucky charm. He said it's what kept me safe in Iraq."

  "For real?"

  That was the question, wasn't it? After a long moment, Thibault nodded. "I promise."

  "Cool."

  "Will you do me a favor?" Thibault asked.

  "What?"

  "Will you keep this between the two of us? And promise to keep it with you?"

  Ben considered it. "Can I fold it?"

  "I don't think it matters."

  Ben thought about it. "Sure," he finally said, folding it over and slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks."

  It was the first time in over five years that the photo had ever been farther from him than the distance to the shower or the sink, and the sense of loss disoriented him. Somehow, Thibault hadn't expected to feel its absence so acutely. As he watched Ben cross the bridge and he caught sight of the raging creek, the feeling only intensified. When Ben waved to him from the other side of the creek and began to descend the tree ladder, Thibault reluctantly stepped onto the platform, before moving onto the bridge as fast as he could.

  He felt exposed as he crossed the bridge step by step, ignoring the certainty that the bridge would plunge into the creek, ignoring the fact that he no longer carried the photo. When he reached the oak tree on the other side, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Still, as he climbed down, he felt a nagging premonition that whatever he had come here for still wasn't over--and was, in fact, only beginning.

  26

  Beth

  On Wednesday, Beth stared out her classroom window at lunchtime. She had never seen anything like it--hurricanes and nor'easters had nothing on the series of storms that had recently pounded Hampton County as well as every county from Raleigh to the coast. The problem was that unlike most tropical storms, these weren't passing quickly out to sea. Instead, they had lingered day after thunderous day, bringing nearly every river in the eastern part of the state to flood levels. Small towns along the Pamlico, Neuse, and Cape Fear rivers were already knee-deep in water, and Hampton was getting close. Another day or two of rain would mean that most of the businesses downtown would be reachable only by canoe.

  The county had already decided to close the schools for the rest of the week, since the school buses could no longer make their routes and only a little more than half the teachers had been able to make it in. Ben, of course, was thrilled by the idea of staying home and playing in the puddles with Zeus, but Beth was a little more leery. Both the newspap
ers and the local news had reported that while the South River had already risen to dangerous levels, it was going to get far worse before it got better as the creeks and tributaries fed the rise. The two creeks that surrounded the kennel, usually a quarter mile away, could now be seen from the windows of the house, and Logan was even keeping Zeus away because of the debris washed out with the deluge.

  Being trapped indoors was hard on the kids, which was one of the reasons she'd stayed in her classroom. After lunch, they'd return to their classrooms, where in theory they'd happily color or draw or read quietly in lieu of playing kick ball or basketball or tag outside. In reality, kids needed to get their energy out, and she knew it. For years, she'd been asking that on days like this, they simply fold up the cafeteria lunch tables and allow the kids to run or play for twenty minutes, so they could concentrate when they returned to class after lunch. Not a chance, she was told, because of regulatory issues, liability issues, janitorial union issues, and health and safety issues. When asked what that meant, she was given a long explanation, but to her, it all came down to French fries. As in, We shouldn't allow kids to slip on French fries, or, If they do slip on French fries, the school district will get sued, or, The janitors would have to renegotiate their contract if they didn't clean the French fries from the cafeteria at the time they were scheduled to do so, and finally, If someone slipped on a French fry that had fallen on the floor, the children might be exposed to harmful pathogens.

  Welcome to the world of lawyers, she thought. Lawyers, after all, didn't have to teach the kids after keeping them cooped up inside the classroom all day with no recess.

  Usually, she would have retreated to the teacher's lounge for lunch, but with so little time to set up the classroom for activities, she'd decided to stay and get things ready. In the corner, she was setting up a beanbag-tossing game--stored in the closet for just such emergencies--when she noted movement from the doorway. She turned that way, and it took her an instant to register who it was. The shoulders of his uniform were wet, and a few water droplets dripped from the belt where he stored his gun. In his hand was a manila file.

  "Hi, Beth," he said. His voice was quiet. "Do you have a minute?"

  She stood. "What is it, Keith?"

  "I came to apologize," he said. He clasped his hands in front of him, the picture of contrition. "I know you don't have a lot of time, but I wanted to talk to you when you were alone. I took a chance that you'd be here, but if it's not a good time, maybe we could set up another time that's better for you."