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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."
