But he'd! searched because of Victor…

He blinked and reminded himself that he didn't believe anything Victor had told him.

What Victor believed was just superstition. It couldn't be true. At least not all of it.

Zeus seemed to sense his struggle and lifted his head to stare. With his ears raised, he gave a soft whine and wandered up the stairs to lick Thibault's hand. Thibault raised Zeus's head, and the dog nuzzled his face.

"What am I doing here?" Thibault whispered. "Why did I come?"

As he waited for an answer that would never come, he heard the screen door slam behind him. "Are you talking to yourself or to your dog?" Elizabeth asked. "Both," he said.

She sat next to him and handed him his spoon. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing important," he said. He motioned for Zeus to lie down, and the dog squished himself onto the step in an attempt to remain close to both of them.

Elizabeth opened the ice-cream maker and scooped some ice cream into each of the bowls. "I hope you like it," she said, handing him a bowl.

She dipped her spoon in and had a taste before turning toward him, her expression earnest. "I want to apologize," she said. "For what?"

"For what I said before… When I asked why you made it and my brother didn't."

"It's a fair question." He nodded, uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"No, it isn't," she said. "And it was wrong to ask you. So I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said.

She ate another spoonful, hesitating before going on. "Do you remember when I told you that I didn't want to hire you because you were in the marines?"

He nodded.

"It's not what you probably think. It wasn't because you reminded me of Drake. It's because of the way Drake died." She tapped her spoon against the bowl. "Drake was killed by friendly fire."

Thibault turned away as she went on.

"Of course, I didn't know that at first. We kept getting the runaround. 'The investigation is continuing' or 'We're looking into the matter,* things like that. It took months to find out how he was killed, and even then, we never really learned who was responsible."

She groped for the right words. "It just… didn't seem right, you know? I mean, I know it was an accident, I know whoever did it didn't mean to kill him, but if something like that happened here in the States, someone would be charged with manslaughter. But if it happens in Iraq, no one wants the truth to come out. And it never will."

"Why are you telling me this?" Thibault said, his voice quiet.

"Because," she said, "that's the real reason I didn't want to hire you. After I found out what happened, it seemed like every time I saw a marine, I'd be asking myself, Was he the one who killed Drake? Or is he covering up for someone who killed him? I knew it wasn't fair, I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help it. And after a while, the anger I felt just sort of became part of me, like it was the only way I knew how to handle the grief. I didn't like who I'd become, but I was stuck in this horrible cycle of questions and blame. And then, out of the blue, you walked into the office and applied for a job. And Nana, even though she knew exactly how I was feeling-maybe because of the way I was feeling-decided to hire you."

She set her bowl aside. "That's why I didn't have much to say to you the first couple of weeks. I didn't know what I could say. I figured I wouldn't have to say anything, since more than likely you'd quit within a few days like everyone else. But you didn't. Instead, you work hard and stay late, you're wonderful to Nana and my son… and all of a sudden, you're not so much a marine as you are just a man." She paused as if lost in thought, then finally nudged him with her knee. "And not only that, you're a man who allows emotional women to ramble on without telling them to stop."

He nudged her back to show her it was okay. "It's Drake's birthday."

"Yes, it is." She raised her bowl. "To my little brother, Drake," she said.

Thibault tapped his bowl against hers. "To Drake," he echoed.

Zeus whined and stared up at them anxiously. Despite the tension, she reached out and ruffled his fur. "You don't need a toast. This is Drake's moment."

He tilted his head in puzzlement, and she laughed.

"Blah, blah, blah. He doesn't understand a word I'm saying."

"True, but he can tell you were upset. That's why he stayed close."

"He's really amazing. I don't think I've ever seen a dog so intuitive and well trained. Nana said the same thing, and believe me, that's saying a lot."

"Thanks," he said. "Good bloodlines."

"Okay," she said. "Your turn to talk. You pretty much know everything there is to know about me."

"What do you want to know?"

She picked up her bowl and spooned more ice cream into her mouth before asking, "Have you ever been in love?"

When he raised his eyebrows at the nonchalant way she'd said it, she waved him off. "Don't even think I'm being too personal. Not after everything I've told you. 'Fess up."

"Once," he admitted.

"Recently?"

"No. Years ago. When I was in college."

"What was she like?"

He seemed to search for the right word. "Earthy," he offered. She said nothing, but her expression told him she wanted more.

"Okay," he continued. "She was a women's studies major, and she favored Birkenstocks and peasant skirts. She despised makeup. She wrote opinions for the student newspaper and championed the causes of pretty much every sociological group in the world except white males and the rich. Oh, and she was a vegetarian, too."

She studied him. "For some reason, I can't see you with someone like that."

"Neither could I. And neither could she. Not in the long run, anyway. But for a while, it was surprisingly easy to overlook out obvious differences. And we did."

"How long did it last?"

"A little more than a year."

"Do you ever hear from her anymore?"

He shook his head. "Never."

"And that's it?"

"Aside from a couple of high school crushes, that's it. But bear in mind that the last five years haven't exactly been conducive to starting new relationships."

"No, I don't suppose so."

Zeus got up and stared down the drive, his ears twitching. Alert. It took a moment, but Thibault heard the faint sound of a car engine, and in the distance, a broad, dispersed light flashed in the trees before it began to narrow. Someone pulling up the drive. Elizabeth frowned in confusion before a sedan slowly rounded the corner and came toward the house. Even though the lights from the porch didn't illuminate the drive, Thibault recognized the car and sat up straighter. It was either the sheriff or one of his deputies.

Elizabeth recognized it as well. "This can't be good," she muttered. "What do you think they want?"

She stood from her spot on the porch. "It's not a they. It's a him. My ex-husband." She started down the steps and motioned toward him. "Just wait here. I'll handle this."

Thibault motioned for Zeus to sit and stay as the car pulled to a stop beside Elizabeth's car at the far end of the house. Through the bushes, he saw the passenger door open and watched as Ben got out, dragging his backpack behind him. He started toward his mother, keeping his head down. When the driver's-side door opened, Deputy Keith Clayton stepped out.

Zeus let out a low growl, alert and ready, waiting for Thibault's command to go after the guy. Elizabeth glanced at Zeus in surprise until Ben stepped into the light. Thibault noticed the absence of Ben's glasses and the black-and’ blue bruises around Ben's eye at the same moment Elizabeth did.

"What happened!" she cried, hurrying toward her son. She squatted to get a better look. "What did you do?"

"It's nothing," Clayton responded, approaching them. "It's just a bruise."

Ben turned away, not wanting her to see.

"What about his glasses?" Elizabeth said, still trying to make sense of it. "Did you hit him?"

"No, I didn't hit him. Christ! I wouldn't hit him. Who do you think I am?"

Elizabeth didn't seem to hear him and focused her attention on her son. "Are you all right? Oh, that looks bad! What happened, sweetie? Are your glasses broken?"

She knew he wouldn't say anything until after Clayton left. Tilting his face up to hers, she could see the vessels had burst in his eye, leaving it bloody.

"How hard did you throw it?" she demanded, her expression horrified.

"Not too hard. And it's just a bruise. His eye is fine, and we managed to tape his glasses back together."

"It's more than a bruise!" Elizabeth's voice rose, barely controlled.

"Stop acting like this is my fault!" Clayton barked. "It is your fault!"

"He's the one who missed it! We were just playing catch. It was an accident, for God's sake! Wasn't it, Ben? We were having fun, right?"

Ben stared at the ground. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Tell her what happened. Tell her it wasn't my fault. Go ahead."

Ben shifted from one foot to the other. "We were playing catch. I missed the ball and it hit me in the eye." He held up his glasses, crudely taped at the bridge and the top of one lens with duct tape. "Dad fixed my glasses."

Clayton held up his palms. "See? No big deal. Happens all the time. It's part of the game."

"When did this happen?" Elizabeth demanded.

"A few hours ago."

"And you didn't call me?"

"No. I took him to the emergency room."

"The emergency room?"

"Where else was I supposed to take him? I knew I couldn't bring him back here without having him checked out, so I did. I did what any responsible parent would do, just like you did when he fell off the swing and broke his arm. And if you remember, I didn't get all crazy on you, just like I don't get crazy about you letting him play in the tree house. The thing is a death trap."