The Lucky One

Chapter 8

Thibault

Thibault didn't want to return to Iraq, but once more, in February 2005, the First, Fifth was called up. This time, the regiment was sent to Ramadi, the capital of Al Anbar province and the southwest point of what was commonly referred to as "the triangle of death." Thibault was there for seven months.

Car bombs and IEDs-improvised explosive devices-were common. Simple devices but scary: usually a mortar shell with a fuse triggered by a cellular phone call. Still, the first time Thibault was riding in a Humvee that hit one, he knew the news could have been worse.

"I'm glad I heard the bomb," Victor had said afterward. By then, Victor and Thibault nearly always patrolled together. "It means I'm still alive."

"You and me both," Thibault had answered. But I'd rather not hit one again."

"You and me both."

But bombs weren't easy to avoid. On patrol the following day, hit another one. A week after that, their Humvee was struck by a car bomb-but Thibault and Victor weren't unusual in that regard. Humvees were hit by one or the other on almost every Patrol. Most of the marines in the platoon could honestly claim that they'd survived two or three bombs before they went back to Pendleton. A couple had survived four or five. Their sergeant had survived six. It was just that kind of place, and nearly everyone had heard the story of Tony Stevens, a marine from the Twenty-fourth MED-Marine Expeditionary Unit-who'd survived nine bombs. One of the major newspapers had written an article about him entitled "The Luckiest Marine." His was a record no one wanted to break.

Thibault broke it. By the time he left Ramadi, he'd survived eleven explosions. But there was the one explosion he'd missed that continued to haunt him.

It would have been explosion number eight. Victor was with him. Same old story with a much worse ending. They were in a convoy of four Humvees, patrolling one of the city's major thoroughfares. An RPG struck the Humvee in front, with fortunately little damage, but enough to bring the convoy to a temporary halt. Rusted and decaying cars lined both sides of the road. Shots broke out. Thibault jumped from the second Humvee in the convoy line to get a better line of sight. Victor followed him. They reached cover and readied their weapons. Twenty seconds later, a car bomb went off, knocking them clear and destroying the Humvee they'd been in only moments before. Three marines were killed; Victor was knocked unconscious. Thibault hauled him back to the convoy, and aftet collecting the dead, the convoy returned to the safe zone.

It was around that time that Thibault began to hear whispers. He noticed that the othet marines in his platoon began to act differently around him, as if they believed Thibault were somehow immune to the rules of war. That others might die, but he would not. Worse than that, his fellow marines seemed to suspect that while Thibault was especially lucky, those who patrolled with him were especially unlucky. It wasn't always overt, but he couldn't deny the change in his platoon members' attitude toward him. He was in Ramadi for two more months after those three marines died. The last few bombs he survived only intensified the whispers. Other marines began to avoid him. Only Victor seemed to treat him the same. Toward the end of their tour in Ramadi, while on duty guarding a gas station, he noticed Victor's hands shaking as he lit a cigarette. Above them, the night sky glittered with stars. "You okay?" he asked.

"I'm ready to go home," Victor said. "I've done my part."

"You're not going to reup next year?"

He took a long drag from his cigarette. "My mother wants me home, and my brother has offered me a job. In roofing. Do you think I can build roofs?"

"Yeah, I think you can. You'll be a great roofer."

"My girl, Maria, is waiting for me. I've known her since I was fourteen."

"I know. You've told me about her."

"I'm going to marry her."

"You told me that, too."

"I want you to come to the wedding."

In the glow of Victor's cigarette, he saw the ghost of a smile. "I wouldn't miss it."

Victor took a long drag and they stood in silence, considering a future that seemed impossibly distant. "What about you?" Victor said, his words coming out with a puff" of smoke. "You going to reup?"

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 dark-ness. "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 pro-vided 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 sigh, 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 tell 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 ehess 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."

"My tree house is over there," he said. He pointed. "It's my secret hideout."

"It's a good thing to have," Thibault said. He motioned to the branch beside him. "You want to sit down?"

"I can't get too close."

"No?"

"My mom says you're a stranger."

"It's a good idea to listen to your mom."

Ben seemed satisfied with Thibault's response but uncertain about what to do next. He turned from Thibault to Zeus, debating, before deciding to take a seat on a toppled tree near where he'd been standing, preserving the distance between them.

"Are you going to work here?" he asked.

"I am working here."

"No. I mean are you going to quit?"

"I don't plan to." He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because the last two guys quit. They didn't like cleaning up the poop."

"Not everyone does."

"Does it bother you?"

"Not really."

"I don't like the way it smells." Ben made a face. "Most people don't. I just try to ignore it." Ben pushed his glasses up on his nose again. "Where'd you get the name Zeus?"

Thibault couldn't hide a smile. He'd forgotten how curious kids could be. "That was his name when I got him."

"Why didn't you change it to something you wanted?"

"I don't know. Didn't think about it, I guess."

"We had a German shepherd. His name was Oliver."

"Yeah?"

"He died."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Ben assured him. "He was old."

Thibault finished his sandwich, stuffed the plastic wrap back in the bag, and opened the bag of nuts he'd packed. He noticed Ben staring at him and gestured toward the bag.

"You want some almonds?"

Ben shook his head. "I'm not supposed to accept food from strangers."

"Okay. How old are you?"

"Ten. How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

"You look older."

"So do you."

Ben smiled at that. "My name's Ben."

"Nice to meet you, Ben. I'm Logan Thibault."

"Did you really walk here from Colorado?" Thibault squinted at him. "Who told you that?"

"I heard Mom talking to Nana. They said that most normal people would have drove."

"They're right."

"Did your legs get tired?"

"At first they did. But after a while, I got used to all the walking. So did Zeus. Actually, I think he liked the walk. There was always something new to see, and he got to chase a zillion squirrels."

Ben shuffled his feet back and forth, his. expression serious. "Can Zeus fetch?"

"Like a champ. But only for a few throws. He gets bored after that. Why? Do you want to throw a stick for him?"

"Can I?"

Thibault cupped his mouth and called for Zeus to come; the dog came bounding out of the water, paused a few feet away, and shook the water from his coat. He focused on Thibault.

"Get a stick."

Zeus immediately put his nose to the ground, sifting through myriad fallen branches. In the end, he chose a small stick and trotted toward Thibault.

Thibault shook his head. "Bigger," he said, and Zeus stared at him with what resembled disappointment before turning away. He dropped the stick and resumed searching. "He gets excited when he plays, and if the stick is too small, he'll snap it in half," Thibault explained. "He does it every time."

Ben nodded, looking solemn.

Zeus returned with a larger stick and brought it to Thibault. Thibault broke off a few of the remaining twigs, making it a bit smoother, then gave it back to Zeus.

"Take it to Ben."

Zeus didn't understand the command and tilted his head, ears pricked. Thibault pointed toward Ben. "Ben," he said. "Stick."

Zeus trotted toward Ben, stick in his mouth, then dropped it at Ben's feet. He sniffed Ben, took a step closer, and allowed Ben to pet him.

"He knows my name?"

"Now he does."

"Forever?"

"Probably. Now that he's smelled you."

"How could he learn it so fast?"

"He just does. He's used to learning things quickly."

Zeus sidled closer and licked Ben's face, then retreated, his gaze flickering from Ben to the stick and back again.

Thibault pointed to the stick. "He wants you to throw it. That's his way of asking."

Ben grabbed the stick and seemed to debate his next move. "Can I throw it in the water?"

"He'd love that."

Ben heaved it into the slow-moving creek. Zeus bounded into the water and began to paddle. He retrieved the stick, stopped a few feet from Ben to shake off, then got close and dropped the stick again.

"I trained him to shake off before he gets too close. I don't like getting wet," Thibault said. "That's cool."

Thibault smiled as Ben threw the stick again. "What else can he do?" Ben asked over his shoulder. "Lots of things. Like… he's great at playing hide-and-go-seek. If you hide, he'll find you."

"Can we do that sometime?"

"Anytime you want."

"Awesome. Is he an attack dog, too?"

"Yes. But mostly he's friendly."

Finishing the rest of his lunch, Thibault watched as Ben continued to throw the stick. On the last throw, while Zeus retrieved it, he didn't trot toward Ben. Instead, he walked off to the side and lay down. Holding one paw over the stick, he began to gnaw.

"That means he's done," Thibault said. "You've got a good arm, by the way. Do you play baseball?"

"Last year. But I don't know if I'll play this year. I want to learn how to play the violin."

"I played the violin as a kid," Thibault remarked.

"Really?" Ben's face registered surprise.

"Piano, too. Eight years."

Off to the side, Zeus raised his head from the stick, becoming alert. A moment later, Thibault heard the sound of someone coming up the path as Elizabeth's voice floated through the trees.

"Ben?"

"Over here, Mom!" Ben shouted.

Thibault raised his palm toward Zeus. "It's okay."

"There you are," she said, stepping into view. "What are you doing out here?"

Her friendly expression froze as soon as she spotted Thibault, and he could plainly read the question in her eyes: Why is my son in the woods with a man I barely know? Thibault felt no need to defend himself. He'd done nothing wrong. Instead, he nodded a greeting.

"Hey."

"Hi," she said, her tone cautious. By that time, Ben was already running toward her.

"You should see what his dog can do, Mom! He's supersmart. Even smarter than Oliver was."

"That's great." She put an arm around him. "You ready to come inside? I have lunch on the table."

"He knows me and everything…"

"Who?"

"The dog. Zeus. He knows my name." She turned her gaze to Thibault. "Does he?" Thibault nodded. "Yeah."

"Well… good."

"Guess what? He played the violin."

"Zeus?"

"No, Mom. Mr. Thibault did. As a kid. He played the violin."

"Really?" She seemed startled by that.

Thibault nodded. "My mom was kind of a music fanatic. She wanted me to master Shostakovich, but I wasn't that gifted. I could play a decent Mendelssohn, though."

Her smile was forced. "I see."

Despite her apparent discomfort, Thibault laughed. "What?" she asked, obviously remembering their earlier encounter as well. "Nothing."

"What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing," she said. "It's just that you should have told me where you were going."

"I come out here all the time."

"I know," she said, "but next time, let me know, okay?"

So I can keep an eye on you, she didn't say. So I know you're safe. Again, Thibault understood the message, even if Ben didn't.

"I should probably head back to the office," he said, rising from the branch. He collected the remains of his lunch. "I want to check the mastiff's water. He was hot, and I'm sure he finished his bowl. See you later, Ben. You too." He turned. "Zeus! Let's go."

Zeus sprang from his spot and went to Thibault's side; a moment later, they stood at the head of the footpath.

"Bye, Mr. Thibault," Ben called.

Thibault turned around, walking backward. "Nice talking to you, Ben. And by the way, it's not Mr. Thibault. Just Thibault."

With that, he turned back around, feeling the weight of Elizabeth's gaze on him until he vanished from sight.