The Lucky One(71)

Getting his ducks in a row?

Probably. But the question was, to what end? To run Thibault out of town, at the very least. Still, Thibault couldn’t shake the feeling that this wouldn’t be the end. As Victor had said, there is more.

He’d wanted to share with Elizabeth what he knew about her ex, but he couldn’t come right out and tell her about the comment he’d overheard at the pool hall. That would mean telling her about the photograph, and he couldn’t do that yet. Instead, he wanted to point her in the right direction, hoping she would begin to make the connections herself. Together, once they both knew the extent to which Clayton was willing to sabotage her relationships, they would be able to handle whatever he chose to do. They loved each other. They would know what to expect. It would all work out.

Was this the reason he’d come? To fall in love with Elizabeth and make a life together? Was this his destiny?

For some reason, it didn’t feel right. Victor’s words seemed to confirm that. There was another reason that he’d come here. Falling in love with Elizabeth may have been part of it. But that wasn’t all. Something else was coming.

There is more.

Thibault slept the rest of the night without waking, just as he had since arriving in North Carolina. A military thing—or, more accurately, a combat thing, something he’d learned out of necessity. Tired soldiers made mistakes. His father had said that. Every officer he’d ever known had said that. His wartime experience confirmed the truth of their statements. He’d learned to sleep when it was time to sleep, no matter how chaotic things were, trusting he’d be better for it the following day.

Aside from the brief period after Victor’s death, sleep had never been a problem. He liked sleep, and he liked the way his thoughts seemed to coalesce while he was dreaming. On Sunday, when he woke, he found himself visualizing a wheel with spokes extending from the center. He wasn’t sure why, but a few minutes later, when he was walking Zeus outside, he was suddenly struck by the notion that Elizabeth wasn’t the center of the wheel, as he’d unconsciously assumed. Instead, he realized, everything that had happened since he’d arrived in Hampton seemed to revolve around Keith Clayton.

Clayton, after all, had been the first person he’d met in town. He’d taken Clayton’s camera. Clayton and Elizabeth had been married. Clayton was Ben’s father. Clayton had sabotaged Elizabeth’s relationships. Clayton had seen them spending an evening together on the night he’d brought Ben home with the black eye; in other words, he’d been the first to know about them. Clayton had broken into his house. Clayton—not Elizabeth—was the reason he’d come to Hampton.

In the distance, thunder sounded, low and ominous. There was a storm on the way, and the heaviness in the air portended a big one.

Aside from what Elizabeth had told him about Clayton, he realized he knew very little about Elizabeth’s former husband. As the first drops began to fall, Thibault went back inside. Later, he would visit the library. He had a little research ahead of him if he hoped to get a better feel for Hampton and the role the Claytons played in it.





20

Beth

Doesn’t surprise me,” Nana snorted. “I wouldn’t put anything past your late husband.”

“He’s not dead, Nana.”

Nana sighed. “Hope springs eternal.”

Beth took a sip of her coffee. It was Sunday, and they had just returned from church. For the first time since Nana’s stroke, Nana had had a small solo in one of the musical numbers, and Beth hadn’t wanted her to be distracted. She knew how much the choir meant to her.

“You’re not helping me,” Beth said.

“What’s to help?”

“I was just saying . . .”

Nana leaned across the table. “I know what you’re saying. You’ve already told me, remember? And if you’re asking whether I think Keith actually broke into Thibault’s house, I’m simply saying that it wouldn’t surprise me. I’ve never liked that man.”

“Gee, really?”

“There’s no reason to get fresh about it.”

“I’m not getting fresh.”

Nana didn’t seem to hear her. “You look tired. Do you want more coffee? Or how about some cinnamon toast?”

Beth shook her head. “I’m not hungry.”

“Even so, you still have to eat. It’s not healthy to skip meals, and I know you’ve already skipped breakfast.” She got up from the table. “I’m making toast.”

Beth knew there was no point in arguing. Once Nana made up her mind about something, there was no way to dissuade her.

“What about the other part? About whether Keith had something to do with . . .” She trailed off.

Nana shrugged as she put two pieces of bread in the toaster. “About running other men off? Nothing that man did would surprise me. And it kind of explains things, doesn’t it?”

“But it doesn’t make sense. I can name at least half a dozen women he’s gone out with, and it’s not like he’s even hinted that he wants to get back together. Why would he care whether or not I date?”

“Because he’s no better than a spoiled child,” Nana declared. She put a couple of dabs of butter into a saucepan and turned on the burner. A small blue flame whooshed to life. “You were his toy, and even though he’s got new toys, it doesn’t mean he wants anyone to play with his old toys.”