There was honesty in the way he spoke to her, but there was a line in the sand as well: She understood that she wasn’t to rock the boat. He knew she was a far better parent than Keith and that Ben was turning into a fine young man because of her, but that knowledge didn’t override the fact that Ben was, and always would be, a Clayton.
Still, she liked him—despite everything, despite Keith, despite the line in the sand. Ben liked him, too, and half the time she got the sense that Gramps demanded Keith show up with Ben to spare Ben from having to be alone with his father for the entire weekend.
All of those realities were far from her mind as she watched Logan play the piano. She hadn’t known what to expect. How many people took lessons? How many people claimed to be able to play well? It didn’t take long to realize Logan was exceptionally skilled, far above the level she’d expected. His fingers moved effortlessly and fluidly over the keys; he didn’t even seem to read the music in front of him. Instead, as Nana sang, he focused his attention on her while keeping perfect rhythm and pace, more interested in her performance than his own.
As he continued to play, she couldn’t help thinking about the story that Nana had recounted in the car. Tuning out the service, she found herself recalling easy conversations with Logan, the feel of his solid embrace, his natural way with Ben. Admittedly, there was a lot she still didn’t know about him, but she did know this: He completed her in a way that she’d never thought possible. Knowledge isn’t everything, she told herself, and she knew then that, in Nana’s words, he was the toast to her butter.
After the service, Beth stood in the background, amused by the thought that Logan was being treated like a rock star. Okay, a rock star with fans who collected Social Security checks, but as far as she could tell, he seemed both flattered and flustered by the unexpected attention.
She caught him looking at her, silently pleading for her to rescue him. Instead, she simply shrugged and smiled. She didn’t want to intrude. When the pastor came up to thank him a second time for filling in, he suggested that Logan might want to consider playing even after Abigail’s wrist was healed. “I’m sure we’d be able to work something out,” the pastor urged.
She was most surprised when Gramps, with Ben at his side, made his way over to Logan as well. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, Gramps didn’t have to wait amid the throng to offer his compliments. In the distance, Beth saw Keith, his expression a mixture of anger and disgust.
“Fine job, young man,” Gramps said, offering his hand. “You play as if you’ve been blessed.”
She could see from Logan’s expression that he recognized the man, though she had no idea how. He shook Gramps’s hand.
“Thank you, sir.”
“He works at the kennel with Nana,” Ben piped up. “And I think him and Mom are dating.”
At that, a stillness fell over the throng of admirers, punctuated by a few uncomfortable coughs.
Gramps stared at Logan, though she couldn’t read his reaction. “Is that right?” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Logan answered.
Gramps said nothing.
“He was in the marines, too,” Ben offered, oblivious to the social currents eddying around him. When Gramps seemed surprised, Logan nodded.
“I served with the First, Fifth out of Pendleton, sir.”
After a pregnant pause, Gramps nodded. “Then thank you for your service to our country as well. You did a marvelous job today.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said again.
“You were so polite,” Beth observed when they were back home. She’d said nothing about what had gone on until Nana was out of earshot. Outside, the lawn was beginning to resemble a lake, and still the rain continued to fall. They’d picked up Zeus on the way back, and he lay nestled at their feet.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
She made a face. “You know why.”
“He’s not your ex.” He shrugged. “I doubt he has any idea what your ex is doing. Why? Do you think I should have clocked him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I didn’t think so. But I did happen to see your ex while I was talking to the grandfather. He looked as though he’d just swallowed a worm.”
“You noticed that, too? I thought it was kind of funny.”
“He’s not going to be happy.”
“Then he can join the club,” she said. “After what he did, he deserves to eat a worm.”
Logan nodded, and she snuggled up to him. He lifted his arm and pulled her close.
“You looked mighty handsome up there while you were playing.”
“Yeah?”
“I know I shouldn’t have been thinking that since I was at church, but I couldn’t help it. You should wear a sport jacket more often.”
“I don’t have the kind of job that requires one.”
“Maybe you have the kind of girlfriend who does.”
He pretended to be puzzled. “I have a girlfriend?”
She nudged him playfully before looking up at him. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for coming to Hampton. And deciding to stay.”
He smiled. “I didn’t have a choice.”
Two hours later, right before dinner, Beth saw Keith’s car plow through puddles on his way up the drive. Ben scrambled out of the car. Keith already had the car in reverse and was pulling away before Ben reached the porch steps.
“Hey, Mom! Hey, Thibault!”
Logan waved as Beth stood up. “Hey, sweetie,” Beth said. She gave him a hug. “Did you have a good time?”
“I didn’t have to clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash.”
“Good,” she said.
“And you know what?”
“What?”
Ben shook the water from his raincoat. “I think I want to learn how to play the piano.”
Beth smiled, thinking, Why am I not surprised.
“Hey, Thibault?”
Logan raised his chin. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to see my tree house?”
Beth cut in. “Honey . . . with the storm and all, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“It’s fine. Grandpa built it. And I was there just a couple of days ago.”
“The water’s probably higher.”
“Please? We won’t stay long. And Thibault will be with me the whole time.”
Against her better judgment, Beth agreed.
Clayton
C
layton didn’t want to believe it, but there was Gramps actually complimenting Thigh-bolt after church. Shaking his hand, acting like he was some sort of hero while Ben stared up at Thigh-bolt with big puppy-dog eyes.
It was all he could do to make it through brunch without cracking open a beer, and since dropping Ben at his mother’s, he’d already gone through four. He was pretty sure he’d finish off the twelve-pack before turning in. In the past two weeks, he’d had a lot of beer. He knew he was overdoing it, but it was the only thing that kept him from dwelling on the latest run-in with Thigh-bolt.
Behind him, the phone rang. Again. Fourth time in the last couple of hours, but he wasn’t in the mood to answer it.
Okay, he admitted it. He had underestimated the guy. Thigh-bolt had been one step ahead of him from the very beginning. He used to think Ben knew how to press his buttons; this guy dropped bombs. No, Clayton thought suddenly, he didn’t drop bombs. He directed cruise missiles with pinpoint accuracy, all geared toward the destruction of Clayton’s life. Even worse, Clayton hadn’t seen it coming. Not once.
It was beyond frustrating, especially since the situation seemed to be getting worse. Now, Thigh-bolt was
telling
him what to do. Ordering him around, like he was some flunkie on payroll, and for the life of him, Clayton couldn’t figure a way out. He wanted to believe that Thigh-bolt had been bluffing about videotaping the break-in. He had to be bluffing—no one was that smart. He had to be. But what if he wasn’t?
Clayton went to the refrigerator and opened another beer, knowing he couldn’t risk it. Who knew what the guy was planning next? He took a long pull, praying for the numbing effect to kick in soon.
This should have been easier to handle. He was a deputy sheriff, and the guy was new in town. Clayton should have had the power all along, but instead he found himself sitting in a messy kitchen because he hadn’t wanted to ask Ben to clean it for fear the kid would tell Thigh-bolt, which just might spell the end of Clayton’s life as he knew it.
What did the guy have against him? That’s what Clayton wanted to know. Clayton wasn’t the one causing problems, Thigh-bolt was the one making things difficult—and to rub salt in the wound, the guy was sleeping with Beth as well.
He took another drink, wondering how his life could have turned to crap so quickly. Sunk in misery, he barely registered the sound of someone knocking at the front door. He pushed back from the table and stumbled through the living room. When he opened the door, he saw Tony standing on the porch, looking like a drowned rat. As if everything else weren’t bad enough, the worm was here.
Tony took a slight step back. “Whoa, dude. You okay? You smell like you’ve been drinking.”
“What do you want, Tony?” He wasn’t in the mood for this.
“I’ve been trying to call you, but you didn’t pick up.”
“Get to the point.”
“I haven’t seen you around much lately.”
“I’ve been busy. And I’m busy now, so go away.” He started to close the door, and Tony raised his hand.
“Wait! I have something to tell you,” he whined. “It’s important.”
“What is it?”
“Do you remember when I called you? I don’t know, it must have been a couple of months ago?”
“No.”
“You remember. I called you from Decker’s about this guy showing Beth’s picture around?”
“And?”
“That’s what I wanted to tell you.” He pushed a clump of greasy hair out of his eyes. “I saw him again today. And I saw him talking to Beth.”
“What are you talking about?”
“After church. He was talking to Beth and your grandfather. He was the dude on the piano today.”
Despite the buzz, Clayton felt his head begin to clear. It came back to him vaguely at first, then sharper. That was the weekend Thigh-bolt had taken the camera and disk.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I’d remember that dude anywhere.”
“He had Beth’s picture?”
“I already told you that. I saw it. I just thought it was weird, you know? And then I see them together today? I thought you’d want to know.”
Clayton processed Tony’s news. “I want you to tell me everything you can remember about the picture.”
Tony the worm had a surprisingly good memory, and it didn’t take long for Clayton to get the full story. That the picture was a few years old and had been taken at the fair. That Thigh-bolt didn’t know her name. That Thigh-bolt was looking for her.
After Tony left, Clayton continued to ponder what he’d learned.
No way had Thigh-bolt been here five years ago and forgotten her name. So where did he get the picture? Had he walked across the country to find her? And if so, what did that mean?
That he’d stalked her?
He wasn’t sure yet, but something wasn’t right. And Beth, naive as usual, had allowed him not only into her bed, but into Ben’s life as well.
He frowned. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all, and he was pretty sure Beth wouldn’t like it, either.
Thibault
S
o that’s it, huh?”
Despite the canopy offered by the trees, Thibault was drenched by the time he and Ben reached the tree house. Water poured from the raincoat he was wearing, and his new pants were soaked below the knees. Inside his boots, his socks squished unpleasantly. Ben, on the other hand, was bundled from head to toe in a hooded rain suit; on his feet, he wore Nana’s rubber boots. Aside from his face, Thibault doubted he even noticed the rain.
“This is how we reach it. It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Ben motioned to an oak tree on the near side of the creek. A series of nailed two-by-fours climbed the side of the trunk. “All we have to do is climb the tree ladder here so we can cross the bridge.”
Thibault noticed with apprehension that the creek had already swollen to twice its normal size, and the water was moving fast.
Turning his attention to the small bridge, he saw that it was composed of three parts: A fraying rope bridge led from the oak tree on the near side toward a central landing station in the center of the creek that was supported by a four listing pillars; this landing was connected by another rope bridge section to the platform on the tree house. Thibault noticed the debris deposited around the pillars by the rushing waters. Though he hadn’t previously inspected the bridge, he suspected that the relentless storms and rapid flow of water had weakened the landing’s support. Before he could say anything, Ben had already scaled the tree ladder to the bridge.
Ben grinned at him from above. “C’mon! What are you waiting for?”
Thibault raised his arm to shield his face from the rain, feeling a sudden sense of dread. “I’m not sure this is a good idea—”
“Chicken!” Ben taunted. He started across, the bridge swaying from side to side as he ran.
“Wait!” Thibault shouted to no effect. By then, Ben had already reached the central landing.
Thibault climbed the tree ladder and stepped cautiously onto the rope bridge. The waterlogged boards sagged under his weight. As soon as Ben saw him coming, he scrambled up the last section to the tree house. Thibault’s breath caught in his throat as Ben hopped up on the tree house’s platform. It bowed under Ben’s weight but held steady. Ben turned around, his grin wide.
“Come on back!” Thibault shouted. “I don’t think the bridge will hold me.”
“It’ll hold. My grandpa built it!”
“Please, Ben?”
“Chicken!” Ben taunted again.
It was obvious that Ben considered the whole thing a game. Thibault took another look at the bridge, concluding that if he moved slowly, it might be safe. Ben had run—lots of torque and impact pressure. Would it hold the weight of Thibault’s body?
With his first step, the boards, drenched and ancient, sagged under his weight. Dry rot, no doubt. Thibault’s mind flashed on the photograph in his pocket. The creek swirled and spun, a torrent beneath his feet.
No time to lose. He walked slowly and reached the central landing, then started up the last suspended section of the rope bridge. Noting the rickety platform, he doubted it would support their combined weight simultaneously. In his pocket, the photograph felt as if it were on fire.