Thibault shook his head. "No. Have you?"
"Yes," Victor said.
The air was typically crisp for autumn, and a light morning mist floated just above the water. But the sky was cloudless, and Thibault knew the temperature would rise, making for a gorgeous afternoon.
"The same as before?" Thibault asked.
"Worse," he said. He reeled in his line and cast again. "I see dead people." He gave a wry half-smile, fatigue written into the lines of his face. "Like in that movie with Bruce Willis? The Sixth Sense?"
Thibault nodded.
"Kind of like that." He paused, somber now. "In my dreams, I relive everything we went through, except there are changes. In most of them, I get shot, and I scream for help, but no one comes, and I realize everyone else has been shot as well. And I can feel myself dying little by little." He rubbed his eyes before going on. "As hard as that is, it's worse when I see them during the day--the ones who died, I mean. I'll be at the store, and I'll see them all, standing there blocking the aisle. Or they're on the ground bleeding as medics work on them. But they never make a sound. All they do is stare at me, like it's my fault they were wounded, or my fault that they're dying. And then I blink and take a deep breath and they're gone." He stopped. "It makes me think I'm going crazy."
"Have you talked to anyone about it?" Thibault asked.
"No one. Except for my wife, I mean, but when I say those things to her, she gets frightened and starts to cry. So I don't talk to her about it anymore."
Thibault said nothing.
"She's pregnant, you know," Victor went on.
Thibault smiled, grasping at this ray of hope. "Congratulations."
"Thank you. It's a boy. I'm going to name him Logan."
Thibault sat up straight and nodded at Victor. "I'm honored."
"It frightens me sometimes--the thought of having a son. I'm worried I won't be a good father." He stared out over the water.
"You'll be a great dad," Thibault assured him.
"Maybe."
Thibault waited.
"I have no patience anymore. So many things make me angry. Little things, things that shouldn't mean anything, but for some reason they do. And even though I try to push the anger back down, it sometimes comes out anyway. It hasn't caused me any problems yet, but I wonder how long I can keep pushing it down before it gets away from me." He adjusted the line with his fishing rod. "This happens to you, too?"
"Sometimes," Thibault admitted.
"But not too often?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. I forgot that things are different for you. Because of the picture, I mean."
Thibault shook his head. "That's not true. It hasn't been easy for me, either. I can't walk down the street without looking over my shoulder or scanning the windows above to make sure no one has a gun pointed at me. And half the time, it's like I don't remember how to have an ordinary conversation with people. I can't relate to most of their concerns. Who works where and how much they earn, or what's on television, or who's dating who. I feel like asking, Who cares?"
"You never were any good at making small talk," Victor snorted.
"Thanks."
"But as for looking over your shoulder, that's normal. I do that, too."
"Yeah?"
"But so far, no guns."
Thibault laughed under his breath. "Good thing, huh?" Then, because he wanted to change the subject, he asked, "How do you like roofing?"
"It's hot in the summer."
"Like Iraq?"
"No. Nothing is hot like Iraq. But hot enough." He smiled. "I got a promotion. I'm a crew leader now."
"Good for you. How's Maria?"
"Getting bigger, but she's happy. And she is my life. I am so lucky to have married her." He shook his head in wonder.
"I'm glad."
"There is nothing like love. You should try it."
Thibault shrugged. "Maybe one day."
Elizabeth.
He'd seen something cross her face when he'd called her Elizabeth, some emotion he couldn't identify. The name captured her essence far more than plain and simple "Beth." There was an elegance to it that matched the graceful way she moved, and though he hadn't planned on calling her that, the syllables had rolled off his tongue as if he'd had no choice.
On his walk back home, he found himself replaying their conversation and recalling how natural it felt to sit beside her. She was more relaxed than he'd imagined, but he could sense that, like Nana, she wasn't sure what to think of him. Later, as he lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling, he wondered what she thought of him.
On Friday morning, Thibault made sure everything was taken care of before driving Nana to Greensboro in Elizabeth's car. Zeus rode in the backseat with his head out the window for most of the trip, his ears blown back, intrigued by the ever changing smells and scenery. Thibault hadn't expected Nana to allow Zeus to ride along, but she'd waved the dog into the car. "Beth won't care. And besides, my case will fit in the trunk."
The drive back to Hampton seemed to go faster, and when he pulled in he was pleased to see Ben near the house, tossing a ball into the air. Zeus bounded toward him expectantly, and Ben sent the ball flying. Zeus zoomed after it, his ears back, tongue hanging out. As Thibault approached, he saw Elizabeth walk out onto the front porch and realized with sudden certainty that she was one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen. Dressed in a summer blouse and shorts that revealed her shapely legs, she gave a friendly wave when she spotted them, and it was all he could do not to stare.
"Hey, Thibault!" Ben called from the yard. He was chasing after Zeus, who pranced with the ball in his mouth, proud of his ability to stay just a couple of steps ahead of Ben no matter how fast the boy ran.
"Hey, Ben! How was school?"
"Boring!" he shouted. "How was work?"
"Exciting!"
Ben kept running. "Yeah, right!"
Since Ben had started school, they'd shared pretty much the same exchange every day. Thibault shook his head in amusement just as Elizabeth stepped down from the porch.
"Hi, Logan."
"Hello, Elizabeth."
She leaned against the railing, a slight smile on her face. "How was the drive?"
"Not too bad."
"Must have been strange, though."
"How so?"
"When was the last time you drove for five hours?"
He scratched at the back of his neck. "I don't know. It's been a long time."
"Nana said you were kind of fidgety as you drove, like you couldn't get comfortable." She motioned over her shoulder. "I just hung up the phone with her. She's already called twice."
"Bored?"
"No, the first time she called to talk to Ben. To see how school went."
"And?"
"He told her it was boring."
"At least he's consistent."
"Sure, but I wish he would say something different. Like, 'I learned a lot and have so much fun doing it.'" She smiled. "Every mother's dream, right?"
"I'll take your word for it."
"Are you thirsty?" she asked. "Nana left some lemonade in a pitcher. She made it before she left this morning."
"I'd love some. But I should probably check on the dogs' water first."
"Already done." She turned and went to the door. She held it open for him. "Come on in. I'll be just a minute, okay?"
He went up the steps, paused to wipe his feet, and stepped inside. Taking in the room, he noted the antique furniture and original paintings that hung on the wall. Like a country parlor, he thought, which wasn't what he had pictured.
"Your home is lovely," he called out.
"Thank you." Her head poked out from the kitchen. "Haven't you seen it before?"
"No."
"I just assumed you had. Feel free to take a look around."
She vanished from view, and Thibault wandered around the room, noting the collection of Hummels displayed on the shelves of the dining room hutch. He smi
led. He'd always liked those things.
On the mantel, he spotted a collection of photographs and moved to study them. Two or three were of Ben, including one in which he was missing a couple of his front teeth. Beside them was a nice shot of Elizabeth in a cap and gown, standing beside her grandparents, and a portrait of Nana and her husband. In the corner, he noted a portrait of a young marine in dress blues, standing at ease.
The young marine who'd lost the photo in Iraq?
"That's Drake," she said from behind him. "My brother."
Thibault turned. "Younger or older?"
"A year younger."
She handed him the glass of lemonade without further comment, and Thibault sensed that the subject was closed. She took a step toward the front door.
"Let's go sit on the porch. I've been inside all day, and besides, I want to keep an eye on Ben. He has a tendency to wander."
Elizabeth took a seat on the steps out front. The sun drilled down through the clouds, but the shade from the porch stretched to cover them. Elizabeth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. This is the best I can do. I've been trying to talk Nana into getting a porch swing, but she says it's too country."
In the distance, Ben and Zeus were running through the grass, Ben laughing as he tried to grab for the stick in Zeus's mouth. Elizabeth smiled. "I'm glad to see him getting his energy out. He had his first violin lesson today, so he didn't have a chance after school."
"Did he enjoy it?"
"He liked it. Or at least he said he did." She turned toward him. "Did you like it when you were a kid?"
"Most of the time. Until I got older, anyway."
"Let me guess. Then you got interested in girls and sports?"
"Don't forget cars."
"Typical," she groaned. "But normal. I'm just excited because it was his choice. He's always been interested in music, and his teacher is a gem. She's got all the patience in the world."
"That's good. And it'll be good for him."
She pretended to scrutinize him. "I don't know why, but I see you as more of an electric guitar player than someone who played the violin."
"Because I walked from Colorado?"
"Don't forget your hair."
"I had a buzz cut for years."
"And then your clippers went on strike, right?"
"Something like that."
She smiled and reached for her glass. In the silence that followed, Thibault took in the view. Across the yard, a flock of starlings broke from the trees, moving in unison before settling again on the opposite side. Puffy clouds drifted past, changing shape as they moved in the afternoon breeze, and he could sense Elizabeth watching him.
"You don't feel the need to talk all the time, do you," she said.
He smiled. "No."
"Most people don't know how to appreciate silence. They can't help talking."
"I talk. I just want to have something to say first."
"You're going to have a tough time in Hampton. Most people around here either talk about their family, their neighbors, the weather, or the championship prospects of the high school football team."
"Yeah?"
"It gets boring."
He nodded. "I can see that." He took another drink, finishing his glass. "So how does the football team look this year?"
She laughed. "Exactly." She reached for his glass. "Would you like more?"
"No, I'm fine. Thank you. Very refreshing."
She set his glass beside hers. "Homemade. Nana squeezed the lemons herself."
He nodded. "I noticed she has a forearm like Popeye."
She circled the rim of her glass with her finger, secretly admitting to herself that she liked his wit. "So I guess it'll be just you and me this weekend."
"What about Ben?"
"He's going to see his father tomorrow. He goes every other weekend."
"Yeah?"
She sighed. "But he doesn't want to go. He never wants to go."
Thibault nodded, studying Ben from a distance.
"Nothing to say?" she prodded.
"I'm not sure what I should say."
"But if you would have said something . . ."
"I would have said that Ben probably has a good reason."
"And I would have said you're right."
"You two don't get along?" Thibault asked carefully.
"Actually, we get along okay. Not great, mind you. But okay. It's Ben and his dad who don't get along. My ex has problems with Ben," she said. "I think he wanted a different kind of kid."
"Why do you let Ben go, then?" His gaze focused on her with surprising intensity.
"Because I don't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Not in this case there isn't." She leaned off to the side, plucking a marigold from beside the stairs. "The dad has joint custody, and if I tried to fight him on it, let's just say the courts would probably rule in his favor. If anything, Ben would probably have to go even more than he does now."
"That doesn't sound fair."
"It isn't. But for now, there's not much else I can do but tell Ben to try to make the best of it."
"I get the sense there's a lot more to the story."
She laughed. "You have no idea."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
Whatever urge Thibault might have had to press further was contained by the sight of Ben walking toward the porch. He was drenched in sweat, his face red. His glasses were slightly crooked. Zeus trailed behind, panting hard.
"Hey, Mom!"
"Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good time?"
Zeus lapped at Thibault's hand before collapsing at his feet.
"Zeus is great! Did you see us playing keep-away?"
"Of course," she said, drawing Ben close. She ran a hand through his hair. "You look hot. You should drink some water."
"I will. Are Thibault and Zeus staying for dinner?"
"We haven't talked about it."
Ben pushed his glasses up on his nose, oblivious to the fact that they were cockeyed. "We're having tacos," he announced to Thibault. "They're awesome. Mom makes her own salsa and everything."
"I'm sure they are," Thibault said, his tone neutral.
"We'll talk about it, okay?" She brushed the grass from his shirt. "Now go on. Get some water. And don't forget to wash up."
"I want to play hide-and-go-seek with Zeus," Ben whined. "Thibault said I could."
"Like I said, we'll talk about it," Elizabeth said.
"Can Zeus come inside with me? He's thirsty, too."
"Let's leave him out here, okay? We'll get him some water. What happened to your glasses?"
Ignoring Ben's protests, she slid them off. "It'll only take a second." She bent the frame, examined her handiwork, and bent them once more before handing them back to him. "Try them now."
Ben's eyes darted toward Thibault as he put them on; Thibault pretended not to notice. Instead, he petted Zeus as the dog lay quietly next to him. Elizabeth leaned back to get a better view.
"Perfect," she said.
"Okay," Ben conceded. He headed up the steps, pulled open the screen door, and let it close with a loud bang. When he was gone, Elizabeth turned to Thibault.
"I embarrassed him."
"That's what mothers do."
"Thanks," she said, not hiding the sarcasm. "Now what's this about Zeus and hide-and-go-seek?"
"Oh, I told him about it when we were down at the creek. He was asking what Zeus could do and I mentioned it. But we don't have to do it tonight."
"No, that's fine," she said, reaching for her glass of lemonade. She rattled the ice cubes, debating, before finally turning toward him. "Would you like to stay for dinner?"
He met her eyes. "Yeah," he said, "I'd like that very much."
"It's only tacos," she qualified.
"I heard. And thank you. Tacos sound like a treat." He smiled and stood. "But for now, let me get this guy some water. And he's probably hungry, to
o. Would you mind if I got him some food from the kennel?"
"Of course not. There's plenty. Someone just unloaded a bunch of bags yesterday."
"Who could that have been?"
"I don't know. Some long-haired drifter, I think."
"I thought he was a college-educated veteran."
"Same thing." Picking up the glasses, she rose as well. "I'm going to make sure Ben washed up. He tends to forget to do that. See you in a few minutes."
At the kennel, Thibault filled Zeus's bowls with water and food, then took a seat on one of the empty cages, waiting. Zeus took his time, drinking a bit, then nibbling at a few bites of his food, peering occasionally over at Thibault as if to ask, Why are you watching me? Thibault said nothing; he knew that any comment would slow Zeus down even more.
Instead, he checked the other kennels even though Elizabeth had said she'd already done so, making sure none of the other dogs were low on water. They weren't. Nor did they stir much. Good. He turned out the lights in the office and locked the door before returning to the house. Zeus trailed behind him, his nose to the ground.
At the door, he motioned for Zeus to lie down and stay, then pulled open the screen door.
"Hello?"
"Come on in. I'm in the kitchen."
Thibault stepped inside and made his way to the kitchen. Elizabeth had put on an apron and was standing at the stove, browning ground beef. On the counter beside her was an open bottle of Michelob Light.
"Where's Ben?" Thibault asked.
"He's in the shower. He should be down in a couple of minutes." She added some packaged taco seasoning and water to the beef, then rinsed her hands. After drying them on the front of her apron, she reached for her beer. "Would you like one? I always have a beer on taco night."
"I'd love one."
She pulled a beer from the refrigerator and handed it to him. "It's light. It's all I have."
"Thank you."
He leaned against the counter and took in the kitchen. In some ways, it reminded him of the one in the house he'd rented. Cabinets original with the house, stainless-steel sink, older appliances, and a small dining room set pushed beneath a window, but all in slightly better condition, with women's touches here and there. Flowers in a vase, a bowl of fruit, window treatments. Homey.
From the refrigerator, Elizabeth pulled out some lettuce and tomatoes, along with a block of cheddar cheese, and put them on the counter. She followed that with green peppers and onions, moved the whole lot to the butcher block, then pulled out a knife and cheese grater from a counter drawer. She started slicing and dicing the onion, her movements quick and fluid.
"Need a hand?"
She shot him a skeptical look. "Don't tell me that in addition to training dogs, fixing cars, and being a musician, you're an expert chef."
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