Chapter 22 Thibault

 "I think I want to be an astronaut," Ben said. Thibault was playing chess with him on the back porch and trying to figure out his next move. He had yet to win a game, and though he wasn't absolutely sure, the fact that Ben had started talking struck him as a bad sign. They'd been playing a lot of chess lately; there hadn't been a day without steady, heavy rain since October began nine days earlier. Already, the eastern part of the state was flooding, with additional rivers rising daily. "Sounds good." "Either that or a fireman." Thibault nodded. "I've known a couple of firemen." "Or a doctor." 'Hmm," Thibault said. He began reaching for his bishop. "I wouldn't do that," Ben said. Thibault looked up. I know what you're thinking you should do," Ben added. "It won't work." "What should I do?" "Not that." Thibault drew his hand back. It was one thing to lose, it was another thing to lose continually. Worse, he didn't seem to be closing the gap. If anything, Ben was getting better faster than he was. The previous game had lasted all of twenty-one moves. "Would you like to see my tree house?" Ben said. "It's really cool. It's got the big platform that hangs out over the creek, and this shaky bridge." "I'd love to see it." "Not now. Some other time, I mean." "Sounds great," Thibault said. He reached for his rook. "I wouldn't move that one either." Thibault arched his brow as Ben leaned back. "I'm just telling you," he added. "What should I do?" He shrugged, looking and sounding like the ten-year-old he was. "Whatever you want." "Except move the bishop and the rook?" Ben pointed to another piece. "And your other bishop. Knowing you, that's what you'll try next, since you're trying to set up your knight. But it won't work either, since I'll sacrifice the bishop for mine, and move my queen in to take the pawn over there. That freezes your queen, and after I castle my king, I'll move my knight there. Two moves after that, I'll have you in checkmate." Thibault brought his hand to his chin. "Do I have any chance in this game?" "No." "How many moves do I have left?" "Anywhere from three to seven." "Then maybe we should start over." Ben pushed his glasses up on his nose. "Maybe." "You could have told me earlier." "You seemed so serious about the game. I didn't want to bother you." The next game was no better. If anything, it was worse because Elizabeth had decided to join them and their conversation proceeded in much the same way. He could see Elizabeth trying to stifle her giggles. Over the last week and a half, they'd settled into a routine. After work, with overpowering rain coming down continuously, he'd come up to the house to play a few games of chess with Ben and stay for dinner, where the four of them would sit at the table, chatting amiably. After that, Ben would go upstairs to shower and Nana would send them outside to sit on the porch while she stayed in the kitchen to clean up, saying things like, "Cleaning to me is like being naked to a monkey." Thibault knew she wanted to give them time alone before he left. It still amazed him that she was able to stop being the boss as soon as his workday was done and shift so easily to the role of grandmother of the woman he was dating. He didn't think there were many people who would be able to pull that off. It was getting late, though, and Thibault knew it was time to leave. Nana was talking on the phone, Elizabeth had gone inside to tuck Ben into bed, and as Thibault sat on the porch, he could feel the exhaustion in his shoulders. He hadn't been sleeping much since his confrontation with Clayton. That night, unsure how Clayton would respond, he'd gone back to his house and made it appear as though he planned to spend a normal evening at home. Instead, once he turned out the lights, he'd climbed out the window in his bedroom at the rear of the house and trotted into the woods, Zeus by his side. Despite the rain, he'd stayed out most of the night, watching for Clayton. The next night, he'd watched Elizabeth's; on the third night, he'd alternated between his house and hers. The endless rain didn't bother him or Zeus in the slightest; he'd rigged a couple of camouflaged lean-tos that kept them dry. The hard part for him was working after sleeping only the last few hours before dawn. Since then, he'd been alternating nights, but it still wasn't enough sleep for him to catch up. He wouldn't stop, though. The man was unpredictable, and he looked for signs of Clayton's presence when he was at work and when he ran errands in town. In the evening, he took different routes home, cutting through wooded areas at a run and then watching the road to make sure Clayton wasn't following. He wasn't afraid of the man, but he wasn't stupid, either. Clayton was not only a member of the First Family of Hampton County, but also in law enforcement, and it was the latter that most concerned him. How hard would it be to plant something—drugs, stolen items, even a gun that had been used in a crime—in Thibault's home? Or claim that Thibault had them in his possession and arrange to have that evidence discovered? Not hard. Thibault was certain that any jury in the county would side with testimony provided by law enforcement over a stranger's, no matter how flimsy the evidence might be or what genuine alibi he had. Add to that the deep pockets and influence of the Claytons, and it wouldn't be hard to line up witnesses fingering Thibault for any number of crimes. The scary part was that he could imagine Clayton doing any of those things, which was why he'd gone to see Clayton and told him about both the disk and the videotape in the first place. Though he had neither—he'd cracked and tossed the disk soon after taking the camera, and the motion-activated recorder had been an inspired invention—bluffing seemed to be the only option he had to buy him enough time to figure out his next step. The animosity Clayton felt for him was dangerous and unpredictable. If he'd been willing to break into Thibault's house, if he'd manipulated Elizabeth's personal life, the man would probably do whatever he thought necessary to get rid of Thibault. The other threats—about the newspaper and the sheriff, the hint about informing the grandfather—simply reinforced the bluff. He knew that Clayton was searching for the disk because he believed Thibault could use it against him. It was either because of his job or because of his family, and a few hours researching the illustrious family history in the library on Sunday afternoon had been enough to convince Thibault that it was probably a bit of both. But the problem with bluffs was that they worked until they didn't. How long would it be until Clayton called it? A few more weeks? A month? More than that? And what would Clayton do! Who could tell? Right now, Clayton thought Thibault had the upper hand, and Thibault had no doubt that was only enraging Clayton even further. In time, the anger would get the better of him and Clayton would react, to either him, Elizabeth, or Ben. When Thibault didn't follow through in the aftermath and produce the disk, Clayton would be free to act as he pleased. Thibault still wasn't sure what to do about that. He couldn't imagine leaving Elizabeth … or Ben and Nana, for that matter. The longer he stayed in Hampton, the more it felt to him like this was the place he belonged, and that meant he had to not only watch out for Clayton, but avoid the man as much as possible. He supposed his hope was that after enough time, Clayton would simply accept the matter and let it rest. Unlikely, he knew, but for now, it was all he had. "You look distracted again," Elizabeth said, opening the screen door behind him. Thibault shook his head. "Just tired from the week. I thought the heat was hard, but at least I could dodge some of that- There's no avoiding the rain." She took a seat beside him on the porch swing. "You don't like being drenched?" "Let's just say it's not the same as being on vacation." "Well, I'm sorry." "It's okay. And I'm not complaining. I really don't mind it most of the time, and it's better me getting wet than Nana. And tomorrow's Friday, right?" She smiled. "Tonight I'm driving you home. No arguments this time." "Okay," he said. Elizabeth peeked in the window before turning her attention to Thibault again. "You weren't lying when you said you could play the piano, right ?" "I can play." "When was the last time you played?" He shrugged, thinking about it. "Two or three years ago." "In Iraq?" He nodded. "One of my commanding officers was having a birthday. He loved Willie Smith, who was one of the great jazz pianists of the 1940s and 1950s. When word got out that I knew how to play, I got roped into doing a performance." "In Iraq," she said again, not hiding her disbelief. "Even marines need a break." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I take it you can read music." "Of course," he said. "Why? Do you want me to teach Ben?" She didn't seem to hear him. "How about church? Do you ever go?" For the first time, he looked at her. "I'm getting the sense there's more to this conversation than simply the two of us getting to know each other better." "When I was inside, I heard Nana talking on the phone. You know how much Nana loves the choir, right? And that she just started to sing solos again?" He considered his response, suspicious of where this was going and not bothering to hide it. "Yes." "Her solo this Sunday is even longer. She's so excited about it." "Aren't you?" "Kind of." She sighed, a pained expression on her face. "It turns out that Abigail fell yesterday and broke her wrist. That's what Nana has been talking about on the phone." "Who's Abigail?" "The pianist with the church. She accompanies the choir every Sunday." Elizabeth started to move the swing back and forth, staring out into the storm. "Anyway, Nana said she'd find someone to fill in. In fact, she promised." "Oh?" he said. "She also said that she already had someone in mind." "I see." Elizabeth shrugged. "I just thought you'd want to know. I'm pretty sure Nana will want to talk to you in a few minutes, but I didn't want her to blindside you. I figured it would be better if I did it." "I appreciate that." For a long moment, Thibault said nothing. In the silence, Elizabeth put a hand on his knee. "What do you think?" "I'm getting the sense I don't really have a choice." "Of course you have a choice. Nana won't force you to do it." "Even though she promised?" "She'd probably understand. Eventually." She placed a hand over her heart. "Once her broken heart healed, I'm sure she'd even forgive you." "Ah," he said. "And most likely it wouldn't make her health any worse, either. What with the stroke and all and the disappointment she'd feel. I'm sure she wouldn't end up bedridden or anything." Thibault cracked a smile. "Don't you think you're overdoing it?" Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Maybe. But the question is, will you do it?" "I suppose." "Good. And you know you're going to have to practice tomorrow." "Okay." "It might be a long rehearsal. Friday rehearsals are always long. They really love their music, you know." "Great," he said, and sighed. "Look at it this way: You won't have to work in the rain all day." "Great," he said again. She kissed him on the cheek. "You're a good man. I'll be si-fcndy cheering for you in the pews." Thanks." "Oh, and when Nana comes out, don't let her know I told you." "I won't." "And try to be more excited. Honored, even. Like you couldn't imagine that you'd ever be offered such a wonderful opportunity." "I can't just say yes?" "No. Nana will want you to be thrilled. Like I said, it means a lot to her." "Ah," he said again. He took her hand in his. "You do realize you simply could have asked me. I didn't need the whole guilt-inducing story." "I know," she said. "But it was a lot more fun to ask the other way." As if on cue, Nana stepped outside. She flashed a quick smile at both of them before wandering to the railing and turning toward him. "Do you ever play the piano anymore?" Nana asked. It was all Thibault could do not to laugh. Thibault met with the music director the following afternoon, and despite her initial dismay at his jeans, T-shirt, and long hair, it didn't take long for her to realize that Thibault not only could play, but was obviously an accomplished musician. Once he'd warmed up, he made very few errors, though it helped that the chosen musical pieces weren't terribly challenging. After rehearsal, when the pastor showed up, he was walked through the service so he'd know exactly what to expect. Nana, meanwhile, alternately beamed at Thibault and chattered away with her friends, explaining that Thibault worked at the kennel and was spending time with Beth. Thibault could feel the gazes of the women sweep over him with more than a little Interest and, for the most part, approval. On their way out the door, Nana looped her arm through his. "You were better than a duck on a stick," she said. "Thanks," he said, mystified. "Are you up for a little drive?" "Where?" "Wilmington. If we go now, I think I can have you back in time to take Beth to dinner. I'll watch Ben." "What am I going to buy?" "A sport jacket and chinos. A dressier shirt. I don't mind you in jeans, but if you're going to play the piano at the service on Sunday, you're going to need to dress up." "Ah," he said, recognizing at once that he had no choice in the matter. That evening, while dining at Cantina, the only Mexican restaurant downtown, Elizabeth stared over her margarita at Thibault. "You know you're in like Flynn now," she said. "With Nana?" "She couldn't stop talking about how good you were, and how polite you were to her friends, and how respectful you sounded when the pastor showed up." "You make it sound like she expected me to be a troglodyte." She laughed. "Maybe she did. I heard you were covered in mud before you went." "I showered and changed." "I know. She told me that, too." "What didn't she tell you?" "That the other women in the choir were swooning." "She said that?" "No. She didn't have to, but I could see it in her face. They were. It's not every day a young and handsome stranger comes into their church and dazzles them on the piano. How could they not swoon?" "I think you're probably overstating things." "I think," she said, dabbing her finger on the rim of her glass and tasting the salt, "that you still have a lot to learn about living in a small southern town. This is big news. Abigail has played for fifteen years." "I'm not going to take her spot. This is temporary." "Even better. It'll give people a chance to pick sides. They'll talk about it for years." "This is what people do here?" "Absolutely," she said. "And by the way, there's no faster way to get accepted around here." "I don't need to be accepted by anyone but you." "Always the sweet talker." She smiled. "Okay, how about this? It'll drive Keith crazy." "Why?" "Because he's a member of the church. In fact, Ben will be with him when he sees you. It'll kill him to see how much everyone appreciates the way you pitched in to help." "I'm not sure I want him any angrier. I'm already worried about what he's going to do." "He can't do anything. I know what he's been up to." "I wouldn't be so sure," Thibault cautioned. "Why do you say that?" Thibault noted the crowded tables surrounding them. She seemed to read his mind and slid out from her side of the booth to sit beside him. "You know something you're not telling me," she whispered. "What is it?" Thibault took a sip of his beer. When he put the bottle back on the table, he described his encounters with her ex. As he told the story, her expression changed from disgusted to amused, finally settling into something resembling concern. "You should have told me earlier," she said, frowning. "I didn't get concerned until he broke into my house." "And you really think he's capable of setting you up?" "You know him better than I do." She realized she wasn't hungry anymore. "I thought I did." Because Ben was with his father—a situation that felt somewhat surreal to both of them considering the circumstances—Thibault and Elizabeth went to Raleigh on Saturday, which made it easy to avoid dwelling on what Keith Clayton might or might not do. In the afternoon, they had lunch at a sidewalk cafe downtown and visited the Museum of Natural History; on Saturday evening, they made their way to Chapel Hill. North Carolina was playing Clemson, and the game was being broadcast on ESPN. Though the game was in South Carolina, the bars downtown were packed, full of students watching it on giant flat-screen televisions. As Thibault heard them cheering and booing, as if the future of the world hung on the outcome of the game, he found himself thinking about the kids their age serving in Iraq and wondered what they would make of these college students. They didn't stay long. After an hour, Elizabeth was ready to leave. On their way back to the car, as they walked with their arms around each other, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "That was fun," she said. "But it was so loud in there." "You just say that because you're getting old." She squeezed his waist, liking the fact that there was nothing but skin and muscle there. "Watch it, bub, or you might not get lucky tonight." "Bub?" he repeated. "It's a term of endearment. I say it to all the guys I date." "All of them?" "Yep. Strangers, too. Like if they give me their seat on the bus, I might say, 'Thanks, bub.'" "I guess I should feel special." "And don't you forget it." They walked among the throngs of students on Franklin Street, peeking in windows and soaking up the energy. It made sense to Thibault that she'd wanted to come here. This was an experience she'd missed because of Ben. Yet what impressed him most was that although she was obviously enjoying herself, she didn't seem wistful or bitter about what she'd missed. If anything, she acted more like an observant anthropologist, intent on studying newfound cultures. When he said as much, she rolled her eyes. "Don't ruin the evening. Trust me, I'm not thinking that deep. I just wanted to get out of town and have some fun." They went to Thibault's and stayed up late, talking and kissing and making love well into the night. When Thibault woke in the morning, he found Elizabeth lying beside him, studying his face. "What are you doing?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. "Watching you," she said. "Why?" "I wanted to." He smiled as he ran a finger over her arm, feeling a surge of gratitude for her presence in his life. "You're pretty awesome, Elizabeth." "I know." That's it? You're just going to say, 'I know'?" he demanded in mock outrage. "Don't get needy on me. I hate needy guys." "And I'm not sure I like women who hide their feelings." She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "I had a great time yesterday." "I did, too." "I mean it. These last few weeks, being with you, have been the best weeks of my life. And yesterday, just being with you,, -…; you have no idea what that was like. Just being… a woman. Not a mother, not a teacher, not a granddaughter. Just me. It's been a long time since that has happened." "We've gone out before." "I know. But it's different now." She was talking about the future, he knew, a future that had acquired a clarity and purpose it never had before. Staring at her, he knew exactly what she meant. "So what's next?" he asked, his tone serious. She kissed him again, her breath on his lips warm and moist. "Next is getting up. You have to be at the church in a couple of hours." She swatted him on the hip. "That's a lot of time." "Maybe for you. But I'm here and my clothes are at home. You've got to get up and start getting ready, so I have time to get ready." "This church stuff is tough." "Sure," she said. "But it's not like you have an option. And by the way?" She reached for his hand before going on. "You're pretty awesome, too, Logan."