The Lucky One(80)

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 Clayon 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.”

“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?”