The Lucky One(51)

“But not all the time?”

“No.”

“Drake loved it. Loved everything about it, in fact.” Though she seemed mesmerized by the movement of the crank, Thibault could tell she was lost in her memories. “I remember when the invasion began. With Camp Lejeune less than an hour away, it was big news. I was scared for him, especially when I heard talk about chemical weapons and suicide stands, but do you want to know what he was worried about? Before the invasion, I mean?”

“What?”

“A picture. A dumb old photograph. Can you believe that?”

The unexpected words made Thibault’s heart suddenly hammer in his chest, but he forced himself to appear calm.

“He took this picture of me when we first arrived at the fair that year,” she said, going on. “It was the last weekend we spent together before he joined, and after we made the usual rounds, we just kind of wandered off to be alone. I remember sitting with him near this giant pine tree and talking for hours as we watched the Ferris wheel. It was one of the big ones, all lit up, and we could hear kids oohing and aahing as it went round and round under this perfect summer sky. We talked about our mom and dad, and we wondered what they would have been like or whether they’d have gray hair or whether we would have stayed in Hampton or moved away, and I remember looking up at the sky. All of a sudden, this shooting star went by, and all I could think was that they were listening to us somehow.”

She paused, lost in the memory, before going on. “He had the picture laminated and kept it with him all through basic training. After he got to Iraq, he e-mailed me and told me that he’d lost it, and asked if I could send him another one. It seemed kind of crazy to me, but I wasn’t there, and I didn’t know what he was going through, so I said I’d send another one. But I didn’t get around to sending it right away. Don’t ask me why. It was like I had some sort of mental block against doing it. I mean, I’d put the disk into my purse, but every time I was near the drugstore, I’d just forget to get the photograph developed. And before I knew it, the invasion had started. I finally got around to sending it, but the letter was eventually returned to me unopened. Drake died in the first week of the invasion.”

She stared at him over the tops of her knees. “Five days. That was how long he lasted. And I never got him the one thing he wanted from me. You know how that makes me feel?”

Thibault felt sick to his stomach. “I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing you can say,” she said. “It’s just one of those terrible, impossibly sad things. And now . . . today, I kept thinking that he’s just slipping away. Nana didn’t remember, Ben didn’t remember. At least with Ben, I can sort of understand it. He wasn’t even five when Drake was killed, and you know how memories are at that age. Only a little bit sticks. But Drake was so good with him because he actually enjoyed being around him.” She shrugged. “Kind of like you.”

Thibault wished she hadn’t said it. He didn’t belong here. . . .

“I didn’t want to hire you,” she continued, oblivious to Thibault’s turmoil. “Did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“But not because you walked here from Colorado. That was part of it, but it was mainly because you’d been in the marines.”

He nodded, and in the silence she reached for the ice-cream maker. “It probably needs some more ice,” she said. She opened the lid, added more ice, and then handed it back to him.

“Why are you here?” she finally asked.

Though he knew what she really meant, he pretended he didn’t. “Because you asked me to stay.”

“I mean, why are you here in Hampton? And I want the truth this time.”

He grasped for the right explanation. “It seemed like a nice place, and so far, it has been.”

He could tell by her expression that she knew there was more, and she waited. When he didn’t add anything else, she frowned. “It has something to do with your time in Iraq, doesn’t it?”

His silence gave him away.

“How long were you there?” she asked.

He shifted in his seat, not wanting to talk about it but knowing he had no choice. “Which time?”

“How many times did you go?”

“Three.”

“Did you see a lot of combat?”

“Yes.”

“But you made it out.”

“Yes.”

Her lips tightened, and she suddenly looked on the verge of tears. “Why you and not my brother?”

He turned the crank four times before answering with what he knew was a lie. “I don’t know.”

When Elizabeth got up to get bowls and spoons for the ice cream, Thibault fought the urge to call Zeus and simply leave, right then, before he changed his mind, and go back home to Colorado.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the photograph in his pocket, the photograph that Drake had lost. Thibault had found it, Drake had died, and now he was here, in the home where Drake had been raised, spending time with the sister he’d left behind.

On the surface, it was all so improbable, but as he fought the sudden dryness in his mouth, he concentrated on those things he knew to be true. The photograph was simply that: a picture of Elizabeth that her brother had taken. There were no such things as lucky charms. Thibault had survived his time in Iraq, but so had the vast majority of marines who’d been posted there. So, in fact, had most of his platoon, including Victor. But some marines had died, Drake among them, and though it was tragic, it had nothing to do with the photograph. It was war. As for him, he was here because he’d made a decision to search for the woman in the picture. It had nothing to do with destiny or magic.