The Lucky One

  He stared at her, and she saw his jaw clench shut.

  She felt a shudder run through her. She was done with this. Done with him. "I want it back," she gritted out. "I want the photo that I gave to Drake."

  When he didn't respond, she reached over to the window ledge and grabbed a small flower pot. She threw it at him, shouting, "Where is it? I want it!"

  Logan ducked as the pot whizzed overhead and crashed into the wall behind him. For the first time, Zeus barked in confusion.

  "It's not yours!" she shouted.

  Logan stood straight again. "I don't have it."

  "Where is it?" she demanded

  Logan paused before answering. "I gave it to Ben," he admitted.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Get out."

  Logan paused before finally moving toward the door. Beth stepped away, keeping her distance from him. Zeus swiveled his gaze from Logan to Beth and back again before padding slowly after Logan.

  At the door, Logan stopped and turned toward her.

  "I swear on my life I didn't come here to fall in love with you, or try to make you fall in love with me. But I did."

  She stared at him. "I told you to go and I meant it."

  With that, he turned and strode out into the storm.

  29

  Thibault

  Despite the rain, Thibault couldn't imagine going back to his house. He wanted to be outside; it didn't feel right to be warm and dry. He wanted to purge himself of what he had done, of all the lies he had told.

  She'd been right: He hadn't been honest with her. Despite the hurt he felt at some of the things she'd said and her unwillingness to listen, she had been justified in feeling betrayed. But how to explain? He didn't fully understand why he'd come, even when he tried to put it into words. He could see why she interpreted his actions as those of an obsessed madman. And, yes, he was obsessed, just not in the way she imagined.

  He should have told her about the photograph as soon as he'd arrived, and he struggled to remember why he hadn't done so. Odds were, she would have been surprised and asked a few questions, but it would have ended at that. He suspected that Nana would have hired him anyway, and then none of this would have happened.

  More than anything, he wanted to turn around and go back to her. He wanted to explain, to tell his whole story from the beginning.

  He wouldn't, though. She needed time alone--or at least time away from him. Time to recover and maybe, just maybe, understand that the Thibault she'd come to care for was the only Thibault there was. He wondered whether time alone would bring forgiveness.

  Thibault sank in the mud; he noted as a car passed slowly that the water reached its axles. Up ahead, he saw the river stretching across the road. He decided to cut through the woods. Perhaps this would be the last time he would make this walk. Perhaps it was time to return to Colorado.

  Thibault moved forward. The autumn foliage, still hanging on, provided partial cover from the rain, and as he walked deeper into the woods, he felt the distance between them grow with each step he took.

  30

  Beth

  Freshly showered, Beth was standing in her bedroom in an oversize T-shirt when Nana peeked her head in.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Nana said. She jerked her thumb toward the window. "The school called to tell me you were on your way home. The principal seemed a little worried about you, and later I saw you pull up to the office. I figured the two of you were having a spat."

  "It's more than a spat, Nana," Beth said, her tone weary.

  "That I gathered from the fact that he left. And that you stayed on the porch so long afterwards."

  Beth nodded.

  "Was it about Ben? He didn't hurt him, did he? Or you?"

  "No, nothing like that," Beth said.

  "Good. Because that's the one thing that can't be fixed."

  "I'm not sure this can, either."

  Nana stared out the window before heaving a great sigh. "I take it I'll have to feed the dogs tonight, huh?"

  Beth shot her a look of annoyance. "Thanks for being so understanding."

  "Kitty cats and maple trees," she said with a wave of her hand.

  Beth thought about it before finally grunting in frustration. "What does that mean?"

  "It means nothing, but for a second there, you were too exasperated to feel sorry for yourself."

  "You don't understand. . . ."

  "Try me," she said.

  Beth looked up. "He stalked me, Nana. For five years, and then he trekked across the country to search for me. He was obsessed."

  Nana was uncharacteristically silent. "Why don't you start from the beginning," she suggested, taking a seat on Beth's bed.

  Beth wasn't sure she wanted to talk about it, but she figured it was better to get it over with. She began by recounting Keith's visit to her classroom, and over the next twenty minutes, she told Nana about her abrupt departure from school, her agonizing uncertainty, and ended with her confrontation with Logan. When she finished, Nana folded her hands together in her lap.

  "So Thibault admitted he had the picture? And--in your words--babbled about it being a lucky charm and claimed that he came here because he felt that he owed you something?"

  Beth nodded. "Pretty much."

  "What did he mean by it being a lucky charm?"

  "I don't know."

  "You didn't ask?"

  "I didn't care, Nana. The whole thing is . . . creepy and weird. Who would do something like that?"

  Nana's eyebrows knit together. "I'll admit it sounds strange, but I think I would have wanted to know why he believed it was a lucky charm."

  "Why does that matter?"

  "Because you weren't there," she emphasized. "You didn't go through the things he did. Maybe he was telling the truth."

  Beth winced. "The picture isn't a lucky charm. That's crazy."

  "Maybe," Nana responded, "but I've been around long enough to know that strange things happen in war. Soldiers come to believe all sorts of things, and if they think something keeps them safe, what's the harm?"

  Beth exhaled. "It's one thing to believe it. It's entirely different to become obsessed with a photograph and stalk the subject."

  Nana put a hand on Beth's knee. "Everyone acts crazy at times."

  "Not like this," Beth insisted. "There's something scary about this."

  Nana was quiet before letting out a sigh. "You might be right." She shrugged.

  Beth studied Nana's face, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. "Will you do me a favor?"

  "What is it?"

  "Will you call the principal and ask him to bring Ben home after school? I don't want you driving in this weather, but I'm not really up to doing it myself."

  31

  Clayton

  Clayton tried and failed to negotiate the lake that had formed in front of Beth's house, his boots disappearing into the mud. He stifled the urge to issue a string of profanities. He could see the windows open near the front door, and he knew that Nana would hear him. Despite her age, the woman had the hearing of an owl, and the last thing he wanted to do was make a poor impression. The woman already disliked him enough.

  He climbed the steps and knocked on the door. He thought he heard someone moving inside, saw Beth's face in the window, and finally watched as the door swung open.

  "Keith? What are you doing here?"

  "I was worried," he said. "I wanted to make sure everything was okay."

  "It's fine," she said.

  "Is he still here? Do you want me to talk to him?"

  "No. He's gone. I don't know where he is."

  Clayton shuffled his feet, trying to look contrite. "I'm sorry about this, and I hate that I had to be the one to tell you. I know you really liked him."

  Beth nodded, her lips pursed.

  "I also wanted to tell you not to be so hard on yourself. Like I mentioned earlier, people like that . . . they've learned to hide it. They're sociopaths, and there's no way you could have known."

>   Beth crossed her arms. "I don't want to talk about it."

  Clayton held up his hands, knowing he'd pushed too hard, knowing he had to backtrack. "I figured. And you're right. It's not my place, especially given the crappy way I've treated you in the past." He tucked his thumb into his belt and forced a smile. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

  "I'm fine. And thanks."

  Clayton turned to leave, then stopped. "I want you to know that from what Ben said, Thibault seemed like a nice guy."

  She looked up in surprise.

  "I just wanted to tell you that, because had it been different--had anything happened to Ben--Thibault would have regretted the day he was born. I would die before I let anything happen to our son. And I know you feel the same way. That's why you're such a great mom. In a life where I've made a ton of mistakes, one of the best things I've done is to let you raise him."

  She nodded, trying to stop the tears, and turned away. When she swiped at her eyes, Clayton took a step toward her.

  "Hey," he said, his voice soft. "I know you don't want to hear this now, but trust me, you did the right thing. And in time, you're going to find someone, and I'm sure he's going to be the best guy ever. You deserve that."

  Her breath hiccuped, and Clayton reached out for her. Instinctively, she leaned into him. "It's okay," he whispered, and for a long moment, they stood on the porch, their bodies close together as he held her.

  Clayton didn't stay long. There was no need, he thought: He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Beth now saw him as the kind, caring, and compassionate friend, someone who'd atoned for his sins. The hug was just the icing on the cake--nothing he'd planned, but a nice conclusion to their encounter.

  He wouldn't press her. That would be a mistake. She needed some time to get over Thigh-bolt. Even if he was a sociopath, even if the guy left town, feelings aren't turned on and off like a switch. But they would pass as surely as the rain would continue to fall. Next step: to make sure that Thigh-bolt was on his way back to Colorado.

  And then? Be the nice guy. Maybe invite Beth over while he and Ben were doing something, ask her to stay for a barbecue. Keep it casual at first, so she didn't suspect anything, and then suggest doing something with Ben on another night of the week. It was essential that he keep the whole thing far from Nana's prying eyes, which meant staying away from here. Though he knew Beth wouldn't be thinking straight for at least a few weeks, Nana would be, and the last thing he wanted was for Nana to get in Beth's ear about what he was likely up to.

  After that, as they got used to each other again, maybe they'd have a few beers together while Ben was sacked out, sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe spike her beer with a bit of vodka so she couldn't drive home. Then offer to let her sleep in the bed while he took the couch. Be the perfect gentleman, but keep the beer flowing. Talk about the old times--the good ones--and let her cry about Thigh-bolt. Let the emotions flow and slip a comforting arm around her.

  He smiled as he started the car, pretty sure he knew what would happen after that.

  32

  Beth

  Beth didn't sleep well and woke up exhausted.

  The storm had hit in full fury last night, bringing heavy winds and massive amounts of rain, dwarfing the previous deluge. The day before, she couldn't have imagined the water getting any deeper, but when she looked out the window, the office looked like an isolated island in the midst of the ocean. Last night, she'd pulled her car onto a spit of higher land near the magnolia tree; good thing, she realized now. It, too, was its own little island, while the water nearly reached the high floorboards of Nana's truck. The truck had always managed well in floods, but it was a good thing that the brakes had been fixed. Otherwise they would have been stranded.

  Last night, she'd taken it into town to buy a gallon of milk and a few other basic necessities, but the trip had been pointless. Everything was closed, and the only other vehicles that she'd seen on the road were utility trucks and SUVs driven by the sheriff's department. Half the town was without power, but so far their house was unaffected. If there was one bright spot, it was that TV and radio reports predicted the last of the storms would roll through today; tomorrow, hopefully, the water would begin to recede.

  She sat in the porch swing outside while Nana and Ben were playing gin rummy at the kitchen table. It was the one game in which they were equally matched, and it kept Ben from getting bored. Later, she figured she'd let him splash around in the front yard while she went to check on the dogs. She'd probably give up any attempt to keep him dry and simply let him wear his swimsuit; when she'd gone out earlier in the morning to feed the dogs, her raincoat had been useless.

  Listening to the sound of the rain drumming steadily on the roof, she found her thoughts drifting to Drake. She wished for the thousandth time that she could talk to him and wondered what he would have said about the photograph. Had he, too, believed in its power? Drake had never been particularly superstitious, but her heart lurched every time she recalled his inexplicable panic at the loss of the photo.

  Nana was right. She didn't know what Drake had experienced over there, and she didn't know what Logan had, either. As informed as she tried to be, none of it felt real to her. She wondered about the stress they felt, thousands of miles from home, wearing flak jackets, living among people who spoke a foreign language, trying to stay alive. Was it impossible to believe that anyone would latch on to something he believed would keep him safe?

  No, she decided. It was no different from carrying a St. Christopher medal or a rabbit's foot. It didn't matter that there was nothing logical about it--logic didn't matter. Nor did an absolute belief in magic powers. If it made someone feel safer, it simply did.

  But tracking her down? Stalking her?

  That's where her understanding broke down. As skeptical as she was about Keith's intentions--or even his attempt to appear genuinely concerned for her well-being --she had to admit that the situation made her feel acutely vulnerable.

  What had Logan said? Something about owing her? For his life, she assumed, but how?

  She shook her head, drained by the thoughts chasing endlessly through her mind. She looked up when she heard the door creak open.

  "Hey, Mom?"

  "Yeah, sweetie."

  Ben came over and took a seat beside her. "Where's Thibault? I haven't seen him yet."

  "He's not coming in," she said.

  "Because of the storm?"

  She hadn't told him yet, nor was she ready to. "He had some things to do," she improvised.

  "Okay," Ben said. He looked out into the yard. "You can't even see the grass anymore."

  "I know. But the rain's supposed to stop soon."

  "Has it ever been like this before? When you were little?"

  "A couple of times. But always with a hurricane."

  He nodded before pushing his glasses up. She ran a hand through his hair.

  "I heard Logan gave you something."

  "I'm not supposed to talk about it," he said, his voice serious. "It's a secret."

  "You can tell your mom. I'm good at keeping secrets."

  "Nice try," he teased. "I'm not falling for that one."

  She smiled and leaned back, pushing the swing into motion with her feet. "That's okay. I already know about the picture."

  Ben looked over at her, wondering how much she knew.

  "You know," she went on, "for protection?"

  His shoulders slumped. "He told you?"

  "Of course."

  "Oh," he said, his disappointment evident. "He told me to keep it between the two of us."

  "Do you have it? I'd like to see it if you do."

  Ben hesitated before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a folded snapshot and handed it over. Beth opened the photo and stared, feeling a surge of memories overtake her: her last weekend with Drake and the conversation they'd had, the sight of the Ferris wheel, the shooting star.

  "Did he say anything else when he gave it
to you?" she asked, handing the photo back to him. "Aside from it being a secret, I mean?"

  "He said his friend Victor called it a lucky charm, and that it kept him safe in Iraq."

  She felt her pulse pick up tempo, and she brought her face close to Ben's.

  "Did you say Victor called it a lucky charm?"

  "Uh-huh." Ben nodded. "That's what he said."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure."

  Beth stared at her son, feeling at war with herself.

  33

  Thibault

  Thibault loaded his backpack with the few provisions he had in the house. The wind was gusting and the rain still coming down hard, but he'd walked through worse weather before. Still, he couldn't seem to summon the energy he needed to walk out the door.

  It had been one thing to walk here; it was different to walk away. He was different. He'd left Colorado feeling more alone than he'd ever felt before; here, his life seemed full and complete. Or it had until yesterday.

  Zeus was finally settled in the corner. He'd spent most of the day pacing, restless because Thibault hadn't taken him for his walk. Every time Thibault got up to get a glass of water, Zeus scrambled to his feet, anxious to know if it was time to go.

  It was midafternoon, but the cloudy, rainy sky made it darker. The storm continued to lash the house, but he sensed it was in its dying stages; like a recently caught fish flopping on the dock, it wasn't going to go quietly.

  He spent most of the day trying not to think about what had happened or how it all could have been avoided: that was a fool's game. He had messed it up, simple as that, and the past couldn't be undone. He'd always tried to live his life without dwelling on things that couldn't be undone, but this was different. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over it.

  At the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't yet over, that something remained unfinished. Was it simply closure that he was missing? No, it was more than that; his wartime experience had taught him to trust his instincts, even though he'd never been sure where they'd come from. Inasmuch as he knew he should leave Hampton, if only to get as far away from Keith Clayton as possible--he was under no illusions that Clayton would forgive and forget--he couldn't bring himself to walk out the door.

  Clayton was the center of the wheel. Clayton--and Ben and Elizabeth--was the reason he had come. He just couldn't figure out why or what he was supposed to do.