The Lucky One(86)

“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.





25

Thibault

So 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.