The Lucky One(87)

“I’ll meet you inside,” Thibault said, trying to sound offhand. “You don’t have to wait in the rain for an old man like me.”

Thankfully, Ben laughed and ducked into the tree house. Thibault breathed a sigh of relief as he made the shaky rise to the platform. He took a large, quick step to avoid the platform and stumbled into the tree house.

“This is where I keep my Pokémon cards,” Ben said, ignoring his entrance and motioning to the tin boxes in the corner. “I’ve got a Charizard card. And a Mewtwo.”

Thibault wiped the rain from his face as he collected himself and sat on the floor. “That’s great,” he said, puddles from his rain gear collecting around him.

He took in the tiny room. Toys lay heaped in the corners, and a cutout window exposed much of the interior to the elements, soaking the unsanded planks. The only piece of furniture was a single beanbag chair in the corner.

“This is my hideout,” Ben said, collapsing into the chair.

“Yeah?”

“I come here when I get mad. Like when kids at school are mean.”

Thibault leaned back against the wall, shaking the water from his sleeves. “What do they do?”

“Stuff. You know.” He shrugged. “Teasing me about how I play basketball or kick ball or why I have to wear glasses.”

“That must be hard.”

“It doesn’t bother me.”

Ben didn’t seem to notice his obvious contradiction, and Thibault went on. “What do you like most about being here?”

“The quiet,” said Ben. “When I’m here, no one asks me questions or asks me to do stuff. I can sit here and think.”

Thibault nodded. “Makes sense.” Through the window, he could see the rising wind beginning to drive the rain sideways. The storm was getting worse.

“What do you think about?” he asked.

Ben shrugged. “Like growing up and stuff. Getting older.” He paused. “I wish I was bigger.”

“Why?”

“There’s this kid in my class who always picks on me. He’s mean. Yesterday, he pushed me down in the cafeteria.”

The tree house rocked in a gust of wind. Again, the photo seemed to burn, and Thibault absently found his hand wandering to his pocket. He didn’t understand the compulsion, but before he realized what he was doing, he pulled out the photo.

Outside, the wind continued to howl and he could hear branches slapping against the structure. With every passing minute, he knew, the rain was engorging the creek. All at once, an image arose of the tree house platform collapsing, with Ben trapped in the raging water beneath it.

“I want to give you something,” Thibault said, the words out before he’d even consciously thought them. “I think it’ll take care of your problem.”

“What is it?”

Thibault swallowed. “It’s a picture of your mom.”

Ben took the photo and looked at it, his expression curious. “What do I do with it?”

Thibault leaned forward and tapped the corner of the photo. “Just carry it with you. My friend Victor called it a lucky charm. He said it’s what kept me safe in Iraq.”

“For real?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? After a long moment, Thibault nodded. “I promise.”

“Cool.”

“Will you do me a favor?” Thibault asked.

“What?”

“Will you keep this between the two of us? And promise to keep it with you?”

Ben considered it. “Can I fold it?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

Ben thought about it. “Sure,” he finally said, folding it over and slipping it into his pocket. “Thanks.”

It was the first time in over five years that the photo had ever been farther from him than the distance to the shower or the sink, and the sense of loss disoriented him. Somehow, Thibault hadn’t expected to feel its absence so acutely. As he watched Ben cross the bridge and he caught sight of the raging creek, the feeling only intensified. When Ben waved to him from the other side of the creek and began to descend the tree ladder, Thibault reluctantly stepped onto the platform, before moving onto the bridge as fast as he could.

He felt exposed as he crossed the bridge step by step, ignoring the certainty that the bridge would plunge into the creek, ignoring the fact that he no longer carried the photo. When he reached the oak tree on the other side, he breathed a shaky sigh of relief. Still, as he climbed down, he felt a nagging premonition that whatever he had come here for still wasn’t over—and was, in fact, only beginning.





26

Beth

On Wednesday, Beth stared out her classroom window at lunchtime. She had never seen anything like it—hurricanes and nor’easters had nothing on the series of storms that had recently pounded Hampton County as well as every county from Raleigh to the coast. The problem was that unlike most tropical storms, these weren’t passing quickly out to sea. Instead, they had lingered day after thunderous day, bringing nearly every river in the eastern part of the state to flood levels. Small towns along the Pamlico, Neuse, and Cape Fear rivers were already knee-deep in water, and Hampton was getting close. Another day or two of rain would mean that most of the businesses downtown would be reachable only by canoe.