Page 11 of The Lucky One

Thibault shook his head. "No. I'm done."

"What are you going to do when you get out?"

"I don't know. Do nothing for a while, maybe go fishing in Minnesota. Someplace cool and green, where I can just sit in a boat and relax."

Victor sighed. "That sounds nice."

"You want to come?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll call you when I plan the trip," Thibault promised.

He could hear the smile in Victor's voice. "I'll be there." Victor cleared his throat. "Do you want to know something?"

"Only if you want to tell me."

"Do you remember the firefight? The one where Jackson and the others died when the Humvee blew up?"

Thibault picked up a small pebble and tossed it into the darkness. "Yeah."

"You saved my life."

"No, I didn't. I just hauled you back."

"Thibault, I followed you. When you jumped from the Humvee. I was going to stay, but when I saw you go, I knew I had no choice."

"What are you talking ab--?"

"The picture," Victor interrupted. "I know you carry it with you. I followed your luck and it saved me."

At first, Thibault didn't understand, but when he finally figured out what Victor was saying, he shook his head in disbelief. "It's just a picture, Victor."

"It's luck," Victor insisted, bringing his face close to Thibault's. "And you're the lucky one. And when you are finished with your tour, I think you should go find this woman in the picture. Your story with her is not finished."

"No--"

"It saved me."

"It didn't save the others. Too many others."

Everyone knew that the First, Fifth had suffered more casualties in Iraq than any other regiment in the Marine Corps.

"Because it protects you. And when I jumped from the Humvee, I believed it would save me, too, in the same way you believe it will always save you."

"No, I don't," Thibault began.

"Then why, my friend, do you still carry it with you?"

It was Friday, his third day working at the kennel, and though Thibault had shed most traces of his former life, he was always aware of the photograph in his pocket. Just as he always thought about everything Victor had said to him that day.

He was walking a mastiff on a shady trail, out of sight of the office but still on the property. The dog was enormous, at least the size of a Great Dane, and had a tendency to lick Thibault's hand every ten seconds. Friendly.

He'd already mastered the simple routines of the job: feeding and exercising the dogs, cleaning the cages, scheduling appointments. Not hard. He was fairly certain that Nana was considering allowing him to help train the dogs as well. The day before, she'd asked him to watch her work with one of the dogs, and it reminded him of his work with Zeus: clear, short, simple commands, visual cues, firm guidance with the leash, and plenty of praise. When she finished, she told him to walk beside her as she brought the dog back to the kennel.

"Do you think you could handle something like that?" she asked.

"Yes."

She peeked over her shoulder at Zeus, who was trailing behind them. "Is it the same way you trained Zeus?"

"Pretty much."

When Nana had interviewed him, Thibault had made two requests. First, he asked that he be allowed to bring Zeus to work with him. Thibault had explained that after spending nearly all their time together, Zeus wouldn't react well to long daily separations. Thankfully, Nana had understood. "I worked with shepherds for a long time, so I know what you're talking about," she'd said. "As long as he doesn't become a bother, it's fine with me."

Zeus wasn't a bother. Thibault learned early on not to bring Zeus into the kennels when he was feeding or cleaning, since Zeus's presence made some of the other dogs nervous. But other than that, he fit right in. Zeus followed along as Thibault exercised the dogs or cleaned the training yard, and he lay on the porch near the doorway when Thibault was doing paperwork. When clients came in, Zeus always went on alert, as he'd been trained to do. It was enough to make most clients stop in their tracks, but a quick, "It's okay," was enough to keep him still.

Thibault's second request to Nana was that he be allowed to start work on Wednesday so he'd have time to get settled. She'd agreed to that as well. On Sunday, on the way home after leaving the kennel, he'd picked up a newspaper and searched the classifieds for a place to rent. It wasn't hard to pare the list; there were only four homes listed, and he was immediately able to eliminate two of the larger ones since he didn't need that much room.

Ironically, the remaining two choices were on opposite ends of town. The first house he found was in an older subdivision just off the downtown area and within sight of the South River. Good condition. Nice neighborhood. But not for him. Houses were sandwiched too close together. The second house, though, would work out fine. It was located at the end of a dirt road about two miles from work, on a rural lot that bordered the national forest. Conveniently, he could cut through the forest to get to the kennel. It didn't shorten his commute much, but it would allow Zeus to roam. The place was one-story, southern rustic, and at least a hundred years old, but kept in relatively good repair. After rubbing the dirt from the windows, he peeked inside. It needed some work, but not the kind that would prevent him from moving in. The kitchen was definitely old-school, and there was a wood-burning stove in the corner, one that probably provided the house's only heat. The wide-plank pine flooring was scuffed and stained, and the cabinets had probably been around since the place was built, but these things seemed to add to the house's character rather than detract from it. Even better, it seemed to be furnished with the basics: couch and end tables, lamps, even a bed.

Thibault called the number on the sign, and a couple of hours later, he heard the owner drive up. They made the requisite small talk, and it turned out the guy had spent twenty years in the army, the last seven at Fort Bragg. The place had belonged to his father, he'd explained, who'd passed away two months earlier. That was good, Thibault knew; homes were like cars in that if they weren't used regularly, they began to decay at an accelerating rate. It meant this one was probably still okay. The deposit and rent seemed a bit high to him, but Thibault needed a place quickly. He paid two months' rent and the deposit in advance. The expression on the guy's face told him that the last thing he'd expected was to receive that much cash.

Thibault slept at the house Monday night, spreading his sleeping bag on top of the mattress; on Tuesday, he trekked into town to order a new mattress from a place that agreed to deliver it that evening, then picked up supplies as well. When he returned, his backpack was filled with sheets and towels and cleaning supplies. It took another two trips to town to stock the refrigerator and get some plates, glasses, and utensils, along with a fifty-pound bag of food for Zeus. By the end of the day, he wished for the first time since he'd left Colorado that he had a car. But he was settled in, and that was enough. He was ready to go to work.

Since starting at the kennel on Wednesday, he'd spent most of his time with Nana, learning the ins and outs of the place. He hadn't seen much of Beth, or Elizabeth, as he liked to think of her; in the mornings, she drove off dressed for work and didn't return until late afternoon. Nana mentioned something about teacher meetings, which made sense, since school would be starting up next week. Aside from an occasional greeting, the only time they'd actually spoken was when she'd pulled him aside on his first day and asked him to look after Nana. He knew what she meant. It was obvious that Nana had suffered a stroke. Their morning training sessions left her breathing harder than seemed warranted, and on her way back to the house, her limp was more pronounced. It made him nervous.

He liked Nana. She had a unique turn of phrase. It amused him, and he wondered how much of it was an act. Eccentric or not, she was intelligent--no doubt about that. He often got the sense she was evaluating him, even in the course of normal conversations. She had opinions about everything, and she wasn't afraid to share them. Nor did she hesitate to tel

l him about herself. In the past few days, he'd learned quite a bit about her. She'd told him about her husband and the kennel, the training she'd done in the past, some of the places she'd visited. She also asked about him, and he dutifully answered her questions about his family and upbringing. Strangely, however, she never asked about his military service or if he'd served in Iraq, which struck him as unusual. But he didn't volunteer the information, because he didn't really want to talk about it either.

The way Nana studiously avoided the topic--and the four-year hole in his life--suggested that she understood his reticence. And maybe even that his time in Iraq had something to do with the reason he was here.

Smart lady.

Officially, he was supposed to work from eight until five. Unofficially, he showed up at seven and usually worked till seven. He didn't like to leave knowing there was still more to do. Conveniently, it also gave Elizabeth the chance to see him when she got home from work. Proximity bred familiarity, and familiarity bred comfort. And whenever he saw her, he was reminded that he'd come here because of her.

After that, his reasons for being here were somewhat vague, even to him. Yes, he'd come, but why? What did he want from her? Would he ever tell her the truth? Where was all this leading? On his trek from Colorado, whenever he'd pondered these questions, he'd simply assumed that he'd know the answers if and when he found the woman in the picture. But now that he'd found her, he was no closer to the truth than he'd been when he'd left.

In the meantime, he'd learned some things about her. That she had a son, for instance. That was a bit of a surprise--he'd never considered the possibility. Ben was his name. Seemed like a nice kid, from what little he could tell. Nana mentioned that he played chess and read a lot, but that was about it. Thibault noticed that since he'd started work, Ben had been watching him from behind the curtains or peeking in Thibault's direction when he spent time with Nana. But Ben kept his distance. He wondered if that was his choice or his mother's.

Probably his mother's.

He knew he hadn't made a good first impression on her. The way he froze when he first saw her didn't help. He'd known she was attractive, but the faded photo didn't capture the warmth of her smile or the serious way she studied him, as if searching for hidden flaws.

Lost in thought, he reached the main training area behind the office. The mastiff was panting hard, and Thibault led him toward the kennel. He told Zeus to sit and stay, then put the mastiff back in his cage. He filled the water bowl, along with a few others that seemed low, and retrieved from the office the simple lunch he'd packed earlier. Then he headed for the creek.

He liked to eat there. The brackish water and shady oak with its low-slung branches draped with Spanish moss lent a prehistoric feeling to the place that he and Zeus both enjoyed. Through the trees and at the edge of his vision, he noted a tree house and wood-planked rope bridge that appeared to have been constructed with scraps, something thrown together by someone not completely sure what they were doing. As usual, Zeus stood in the water up to his haunches, cooling off before ducking his head underwater and barking. Crazy dog.

"What's he doing?" a voice asked.

Thibault turned and saw Ben standing at the edge of the clearing. "No idea." He shrugged. "Barking at fish, I guess."

He pushed up his glasses. "Does he do that a lot?"

"Every time he's out here."

"It's strange," the boy remarked.

"I know."

Zeus took note of Ben's presence, making sure no threat was evident, then stuck his head under the water and barked again. Ben stayed at the edge of the clearing. Unsure what to say next, Thibault took another bite of his sandwich.

"I saw you come out here yesterday," Ben said.

"Yeah?"

"I followed you."

"I guess you did."

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