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train/Nicholas Sparks-The Lucky One.txt

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+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Chapter 1 
+Clayton and Thibault 
+ 
+Deputy Keith Clayton hadn't heard them approach, and up close, he didn't like the looks 
+of them any more than he had the first time he'd seen them. The dog was part of it. He 
+wasn't fond of German shepherds, and this one, though he was standing quietly, 
+reminded him of Panther, the police dog that rode with Deputy Kenny Moore and was 
+quick to bite suspects in the crotch at the slightest command. Most of the time he 
+regarded Moore as an idiot, but he was still just about the closest thing to a friend that 
+Clayton had in the department, and he had to admit that Moore had a way of telling 
+those crotch-biting stories that made Clayton double over in laughter. And Moore would 
+definitely have appreciated the little skinny-dipping party Clayton had just broken up, 
+when he'd spied a couple of coeds sunning down by the creek in all their morning glory. 
+He hadn't been there for more than a few minutes and had snapped only a couple of 
+pictures on the digital camera when he saw a third girl pop up from behind a hydrangea 
+bush. After quickly ditching the camera in the bushes behind him, he'd stepped out from 
+behind the tree, and a moment later, he and the coed were face-to-face. 
+"Well, what have we got here?" he drawled, trying to put her on the defensive. 
+He hadn't liked the fact that he'd been caught, nor was he pleased with his insipid 
+opening line. Usually he was smoother than that. A lot smoother. Thankfully, the girl was 
+too embarrassed to notice much of anything, and she almost tripped while trying to back 
+up. She stammered something like an answer as she tried to cover herself with her 
+hands. It was like watching someone play a game of Twister by herself. 
+He made no effort to avert his gaze. Instead he smiled, pretending not to notice her body, 
+as if he bumped into naked women in the woods all the time. He could already tell she 
+knew nothing about the camera. 
+"Now calm down. What's going on?" he asked. 
+He knew full well what was going on. It happened a few times every summer, but 
+especially in August: Coeds from Chapel Hill or NC State, heading to the beach for a 
+long, last-chance weekend at Emerald Isle before the fall term began, often made a 
+detour onto an old logging road that twisted and bumped for a mile or so into the 
+national forest before reaching the point where Swan Creek made a sharp turn toward 
+the South River. There was a rock-pebble beach there that had come to be known for 
+nude sunbathing—how that happened, he had no idea—and Clayton often made it a 
+point to swing by on the off chance he might get lucky. Two weeks ago, he'd seen six 
+lovelies; today, however, there were three, and the two who'd been lying on their towels 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+were already reaching for their shirts. Though one of them was a bit heavy, the other 
+two—including the brunette standing in front of him—had the kind of figures that made 
+frat boys go crazy. Deputies, too. 
+"We didn't know anyone was out here! We thought it would be okay!" 
+Her face held just enough innocence to make him think, Wouldn't Daddy be proud if he 
+knew what his little girl was up to? It amused him to imagine what she might say to that, 
+but since he was in uniform, he knew he had to say something official. Besides, he knew 
+he was pressing his luck; if word got out that the sheriff's office was actually patrolling 
+the area, there'd be no more coeds in the future, and that was something he didn't want 
+to contemplate. 
+"Let's go talk to your friends." 
+He followed her back toward the beach, watching as she tried unsuccessfully to cover her 
+backside, enjoying the little show. By the time they stepped from the trees into the 
+clearing by the river, her friends had pulled on their shirts. The brunette jogged and 
+jiggled toward the others and quickly reached for a towel, knocking over a couple of cans 
+of beer in the process. Clayton motioned to a nearby tree. 
+"Didn't y'all see the sign?" 
+On cue, their eyes swung that way. People were sheep, waiting for the next order, he 
+thought. The sign, small and partially hidden by the low-slung branches of an ancient 
+live oak, had been posted by order of Judge Kendrick Clayton, who also happened to be 
+his uncle. The idea for the signs had been Keith's; he knew that the public prohibition 
+would only enhance the attraction of the place. 
+"We didn't see it!" the brunette cried, swiveling back to him. "We didn't know! We just 
+heard about this place a couple of days ago!" She continued to protest while struggling 
+with the towel; the others were too terrified to do much of anything except try to wiggle 
+back into their bikini bottoms. "It's the first time we've ever been here!" 
+It came out like a whine, making her sound like a spoiled sorority sister. Which all of 
+them probably were. They had that look. 
+"Did you know that public nudity is a misdemeanor in this county?" 
+He saw their young faces grow even more pale, knowing they were imagining this little 
+transgression on their record. Fun to watch, but he reminded himself not to let it go too 
+far. 
+"What's your name?" 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+"Amy." The brunette swallowed. "Amy White." 
+"Where are you from?" 
+"Chapel Hill. But I'm from Charlotte originally." 
+"I see some alcohol there. Are y'all twenty-one?" 
+For the first time, the others answered as well. "Yes, sir." 
+"Okay, Amy. I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to take you at your word that you 
+didn't see the sign and that you're of legal age to drink, so I'm not going to make a big 
+deal out of this. I'll pretend I wasn't even here. As long as you promise not to tell my boss 
+that I let you three off the hook." 
+They weren't sure whether to believe him. 
+"Really?" 
+"Really," he said. "I was in college once, too." He hadn't been, but he knew it sounded 
+good. "And you might want to put your clothes on. You never know—there might be 
+people lurking around." He flashed a smile. "Make sure you clean up all the cans, okay?" 
+"Yes, sir." 
+"I appreciate it." He turned to leave. 
+"That's it?" 
+Turning around, he flashed his smile again. "That's it. Y'all take care now." 
+Clayton pushed through the underbrush, ducking beneath the occasional branch on the 
+way back to his cruiser, thinking he'd handled that well. Very well indeed. Amy had 
+actually smiled at him, and as he'd turned away, he'd toyed with the idea of doubling 
+back and asking her for her phone number. No, he decided, it was probably better to 
+simply leave good enough alone. More than likely they'd go back and tell their friends 
+that even though they'd been caught by the sheriff, nothing had happened to them. Word 
+would get around that the deputies around here were cool. Still, as he wove through the 
+woods, he hoped the pictures came out. They would make a nice addition to his little 
+collection. 
+All in all, it had been an excellent day. He was about to go back for the camera when he 
+heard whistling. He followed the sound toward the logging road and saw the stranger 
+with a dog, walking slowly up the road, looking like some kind of hippie from the sixties. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+The stranger wasn't with the girls. Clayton was sure of it. The guy was too old to be a 
+college student, for one thing; he had to be late twenties, at least. His long hair reminded 
+Clayton of a rat's nest, and on the stranger's back, Clayton could see the outlines of a 
+sleeping bag poking out from beneath a backpack. This was no day-tripper on the way to 
+the beach; this guy had the appearance of someone who'd been hiking, maybe even 
+camping out. No telling how long he'd been here or what he'd seen. 
+Like Clayton taking pictures? 
+No way. It wasn't possible. He'd been hidden from the main road, the underbrush was 
+thick, and he would have heard someone tramping through the woods. Right? Still, it 
+was an odd place to be hiking. They were in the middle of nowhere out here, and the last 
+thing he wanted was a bunch of hippie losers ruining this spot for the coeds. 
+By then, the stranger had passed him. He was nearly to the cruiser and heading toward 
+the Jeep that the girls had driven. Clayton stepped onto the road and cleared his throat. 
+The stranger and the dog turned at the sound. 
+From a distance, Clayton continued to evaluate them. The stranger seemed unfazed by 
+Clayton's sudden appearance, as did the dog, and there was something in the stranger's 
+gaze that unsettled him. Like he'd almost expected Clayton to show up. Same thing with 
+the German shepherd. The dog's expression was aloof and wary at the same time—
+intelligent, almost—which was the same way Panther often appeared before Moore set 
+him loose. His stomach did a quick flip-flop. He had to force himself not to cover his 
+privates. 
+For a long minute, they continued to stare at each other. Clayton had learned a long time 
+ago that his uniform intimidated most people. Everyone, even innocent people, got 
+nervous around the law, and he figured this guy was no exception. It was one of the 
+reasons he loved being a deputy. 
+"You got a leash for your dog?" he said, making it sound more like a command than a 
+question. 
+"In my backpack." 
+Clayton could hear no accent at all. "Johnny Carson English," as his mother used to 
+describe it. "Put it on." 
+"Don't worry. He won't move unless I tell him to." 
+"Put it on anyway." 
+The stranger lowered his backpack and fished around; Clayton craned his neck, hoping 
+for a glimpse of anything that could be construed as drugs or weapons. A moment later, 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+the leash was attached to the dog's collar and the stranger faced him with an expression 
+that seemed to say, Now what? 
+"What are you doing out here?" Clayton asked. 
+"Hiking." 
+"That's quite a pack you've got for a hike." 
+The stranger said nothing. 
+"Or maybe you were sneaking around, trying to see the sights?" 
+"Is that what people do when they're here?" 
+Clayton didn't like his tone, or the implication. "I'd like to see some identification." 
+The stranger bent over his backpack again and fished out his passport. He held an open 
+palm to the dog, making the dog stay, then took a step toward Clayton and handed it 
+over. 
+"No driver's license?" 
+"I don't have one." 
+Clayton studied the name, his lips moving slightly. "Logan Thibault?" 
+The stranger nodded. 
+"Where you from?" 
+"Colorado." 
+"Long trip." 
+The stranger said nothing. 
+"You going anywhere in particular?" 
+"I'm on my way to Arden." 
+"What's in Arden?" 
+"I couldn't say. I haven't been there yet." 
+Clayton frowned at the answer. Too slick. Too . . . challenging? Too something. 
+Whatever. All at once, he knew he didn't like this guy. "Wait here," he said. "You don't 
+mind if I check this out, do you?" 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+"Help yourself." 
+As Clayton headed back to the car, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Thibault reach 
+into his backpack and pull out a small bowl before proceeding to empty a bottle of water 
+into it. Like he didn't have a care in the world. 
+We'll find out, won't we? In the cruiser, Clayton radioed in the name and spelling before 
+being interrupted by the dispatcher. 
+"It's Thibault, like T-bow, not Thigh-bolt. It's French." 
+"Why should I care how it's pronounced?" 
+"I was just saying—" 
+"Whatever, Marge. Just check it out, will you?" 
+"Does he look French?" 
+"How the hell would I know what a Frenchman looks like?" 
+"I'm just curious. Don't get so huffy about it. I'm a little busy here." 
+Yeah, real busy, Clayton thought. Eating doughnuts, most likely. Marge scarfed down at 
+least a dozen Krispy Kremes a day. She must have weighed at least three hundred 
+pounds. 
+Through the window, he could see the stranger squatting beside the dog and whispering 
+to it as it lapped up the water. He shook his head. Talking to animals. Freak. Like the dog 
+could understand anything other than the most basic of commands. His ex-wife used to 
+do that, too. That woman treated dogs like people, which should have warned him to stay 
+away from her in the first place. 
+"I can't find anything," he heard Marge say. She sounded like she was chewing 
+something. "No outstanding warrants that I can see." 
+"You sure?" 
+"Yeah, I'm sure. I do know how to do my job." 
+As though he'd been listening in on the conversation, the stranger retrieved the bowl and 
+slipped it back into his backpack, then slung his backpack over his shoulder. 
+"Have there been any other unusual calls? People loitering around, things like that?" 
+"No. It's been quiet this morning. And where are you, by the way? Your dad's been trying 
+to find you." 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Clayton's dad was the county sheriff. 
+"Tell him I'll be back in a little while." 
+"He seems mad." 
+"Just tell him I've been on patrol, okay?" 
+So he'll know I've been working, he didn't bother to add. 
+"Will do." 
+That's better. 
+"I gotta go." 
+He put the radio handset back in place and sat without moving, feeling the slightest trace 
+of disappointment. It would have been fun to see how the guy handled lockup, what with 
+that girly hair and all. The Landry brothers would have had a field day with him. They 
+were regulars in lockup on Saturday nights: drunk and disorderly, disturbing the peace, 
+fighting, almost always with each other. Except when they were in lockup. Then they'd 
+pick on someone else. 
+He fiddled with the handle of his car door. And what was his dad mad about this time? 
+Dude got on his nerves. Do this. Do that. You serve those papers yet? Why are you late? 
+Where've you been? Half the time he wanted to tell the old guy to mind his own damn 
+business. Old guy still thought he ran things around here. 
+No matter. He supposed he'd find out sooner or later. Now it was time to get the hippie 
+loser out of here, before the girls came out. Place was supposed to be private, right? 
+Hippie freaks could ruin the place. 
+Clayton got out of the car, closing the door behind him. The dog cocked its head to the 
+side as Clayton approached. He handed the passport back. "Sorry for the inconvenience, 
+Mr. Thibault." This time, he mangled the pronunciation on purpose. "Just doing my job. 
+Unless, of course, you've got some drugs or guns in your pack." 
+"I don't." 
+"You care to let me see for myself?" 
+"Not really. Fourth Amendment and all." 
+"I see your sleeping bag there. You been camping?" 
+"I was in Burke County last night." 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Clayton studied the guy, thinking about the answer. 
+"There aren't any campgrounds around here." 
+The guy said nothing. 
+It was Clayton who looked away. "You might want to keep that dog on the leash." 
+"I didn't think there was a leash law in this county." 
+"There isn't. It's for your dog's safety. Lot of cars out by the main road." 
+"I'll keep that in mind." 
+"Okay, then." Clayton turned away before pausing once more. "If you don't mind my 
+asking, how long have you been out here?" 
+"I just walked up. Why?" 
+Something in the way he answered made Clayton wonder, and he hesitated before 
+reminding himself again that there was no way the guy could know what he'd been up to. 
+"No reason." 
+"Can I go?" 
+"Yeah. Okay." 
+Clayton watched the stranger and his dog start up the logging road before veering onto a 
+small trail that led into the woods. Once he vanished, Clayton went back to his original 
+vantage point to search for the camera. He poked his arm into the bushes, kicked at the 
+pine straw, and retraced his steps a couple of times to make sure he was in the right 
+place. Eventually, he dropped to his knees, panic beginning to settle in. The camera 
+belonged to the sheriff's department. He'd only borrowed it for these special outings, and 
+there'd be a lot of questions from his dad if it turned out to be lost. Worse, discovered 
+with a card full of nudie pictures. His dad was a stickler for protocol and responsibility. 
+By then, a few minutes had passed. In the distance, he heard the throaty roar of an 
+engine fire up. He assumed the coeds were leaving; only briefly did he consider what they 
+might be thinking when they noticed his cruiser was still there. He had other issues on 
+his mind. 
+The camera was gone. 
+Not lost. Gone. And the damn thing sure as hell didn't walk off on its own. No way the 
+girls had found it, either. Which meant Thigh-bolt had been playing him all along. Thigh-
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+bolt. Playing. Him. Unbelievable. He knew the guy had been acting too slick, too I Know 
+What You Did Last Summer. 
+No way was he getting away with that. No grimy, hippie, dogtalking freak was ever going 
+to show up Keith Clayton. Not in this life, anyway. 
+He pushed through branches heading back to the road, figuring he'd catch up to Logan 
+Thigh-bolt and have a little look-see. And that was just for starters. More than that would 
+follow; that much was certain. Guy plays him? That just wasn't done. Not in this town, 
+anyway. He didn't give a damn about the dog, either. Dog gets upset? Bye, bye, doggie. 
+Simple as that. German shepherds were weapons—there wasn't a court in the land where 
+that wouldn't stand up. 
+First things first, though. Find Thibault. Get the camera. Then figure out the next step. 
+It was only then, while approaching his cruiser, that he realized both his rear tires were 
+flat. 
+"What did you say your name was?" 
+Thibault leaned across the front seat of the Jeep a few minutes later, talking over the roar 
+of the wind. "Logan Thibault." He thumbed over his shoulder. "And this is Zeus." 
+Zeus was in the back of the Jeep, tongue out, nose lifted to the wind as the Jeep sped 
+toward the highway. 
+"Beautiful dog. I'm Amy. And this is Jennifer and Lori." 
+Thibault glanced over his shoulder. "Hi." 
+"Hey." 
+They seemed distracted. Not surprising, Thibault thought, considering what they'd been 
+through. "I appreciate the ride." 
+"No big deal. And you said you're going to Hampton?" 
+"If it's not too far." 
+"It's right on the way." 
+After leaving the logging road and taking care of a couple of things, Thibault had edged 
+back to the road just as the girls were pulling out. He'd held out his thumb, thankful that 
+Zeus was with him, and they'd pulled over almost immediately. 
+Sometimes things work out just like they're supposed to. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Though he pretended otherwise, he'd actually seen the three of them earlier that 
+morning as they'd come in—he'd camped just over the ridge from the beach—but had 
+given them the privacy they deserved as soon as they'd started to disrobe. To his mind, 
+what they were doing fell into the "no harm, no foul" category; aside from him, they were 
+completely alone out here, and he had no intention of hanging around to stare. Who 
+cared if they took their clothes off or, for that matter, dressed up in chicken costumes? It 
+wasn't any of his business, and he'd intended to keep it that way—until he saw the deputy 
+driving up the road in a Hampton County Sheriff's Department car. 
+He got a good look at the deputy through the windshield, and there was somethingwrong 
+about the guy's expression. Hard to say what it was, exactly, and he didn't pause to 
+analyze it. He turned around, cutting through the forest, and arrived in time to see the 
+deputy checking the disk in his camera before quietly shutting the door of his cruiser. He 
+watched him slink off toward the ridge. Thibault knew full well that the deputy could 
+have been working officially, but he looked the way Zeus did when he was waiting for a 
+piece of beef jerky. A little too excited about the whole thing. 
+Thibault had Zeus stay where he was, kept enough distance so the deputy wouldn't hear 
+him, and the rest of the plan had come together spontaneously after that. He knew that 
+direct confrontation was out—the deputy would have claimed he was collecting evidence, 
+and the strength of his word against a stranger's would have been unassailable. Anything 
+physical was out of the question, mostly because it would have caused more problems 
+than it was worth, though he would have loved to go toe-to-toe with the guy. Luckily—or 
+unluckily, he supposed, depending on the perspective—the girl had appeared, the deputy 
+had panicked, and Thibault had seen where the camera had landed. Once the deputy and 
+the girl headed back toward her friends, Thibault retrieved the camera. He could have 
+simply left at that point, but the guy needed to be taught a lesson. Not a big lesson, just a 
+lesson that would keep the girls' honor intact, allow Thibault to be on his way, and ruin 
+the deputy's day. Which was why he'd doubled back to flatten the deputy's tires. 
+"Oh, that reminds me," Thibault volunteered. "I found your camera in the woods." 
+"It's not mine. Lori or Jen—did either of you lose a camera?" 
+Both of them shook their heads. 
+"Keep it anyway," Thibault said, putting it on the seat, "and thanks for the ride. I've 
+already got one." 
+"You sure? It's probably expensive." 
+"Positive." 
+"Thanks." 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Thibault noted the shadows playing on her features, thinking she was attractive in a big-
+city kind of way, with sharp features, olive skin, and brown eyes flecked with hazel. He 
+could imagine staring at her for hours. 
+"Hey . . . you doing anything this weekend?" Amy asked. "We're all going out to the 
+beach." 
+"I appreciate the offer, but I can't." 
+"I'll bet you're going to see your girlfriend, aren't you." 
+"What makes you say that?" 
+"You have that way about you." 
+He forced himself to turn away. "Something like that." 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Chapter 2 
+Thibault 
+ 
+It was strange to think of the unexpected twists a man’s life could take. Up until a year 
+ago, Thibault would have jumped at the opportunity to spend the weekend with Amy and 
+her friends. It was probably exactly what he needed, but when they dropped him off just 
+outside the Hampton town limits with the August afternoon heat bearing down hard, he 
+waved good-bye, feeling strangely relieved. Maintaining a facade of normalcy had been 
+exhausting. 
+ 
+Since leaving Colorado five months earlier, he hadn’t voluntarily spent more than a few 
+hours with anyone, the lone exception being an elderly dairy farmer just south of Little 
+Rock, who let him sleep in an unused upstairs bedroom after a dinner in which the 
+farmer talked as little as he did. He appreciated the fact that the man didn’t feel the need 
+to press him about why he’d just appeared the way he had. No questions, no curiosity, no 
+open-ended hints. Just a casual acceptance that Thibault didn’t feel like talking. In 
+gratitude, Thibault spent a couple of days helping to repair the roof of the barn before 
+finally returning to the road, backpack loaded, with Zeus trailing behind him. With the 
+exception of the ride from the girls, he’d walked the entire distance. After dropping the 
+keys to his apartment at the manager’s office in mid-March, he’d gone through eight 
+pairs of shoes, pretty much survived on PowerBars and water during long, lonely 
+stretches between towns, and once, in Tennessee, had eaten five tall stacks of pancakes 
+after going nearly three days without food. Along with Zeus, he’d traveled through 
+blizzards, hailstorms, rain, and heat so intense that it made the skin on his arms blister; 
+he’d seen a tornado on the horizon near Tulsa, Oklahoma, and had nearly been struck by 
+lightning twice. He’d taken numerous detours, trying to stay off the main roads, further 
+lengthening the journey, sometimes on a whim. Usually, he walked until he was tired, 
+and toward the end of the day, he’d start searching for a spot to camp, anywhere he 
+thought he and Zeus wouldn’t be disturbed. In the mornings, they hit the road before 
+dawn so no one would be the wiser. To this point, no one had bothered them. 
+ 
+He figured he’d been averaging more than twenty miles a day, though he’d never kept 
+specific track of either the time or the distance. That wasn’t what the journey was about. 
+He could imagine some people thinking that he was walking to outpace the memories of 
+the world he’d left behind, which had a poetic ring to it; others might want to believe he 
+was walking simply for the sake of the journey itself. But neither was true. He liked to 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+walk and he had someplace to go. Simple as that. He liked going when he wanted, at the 
+pace he wanted, to the place he wanted to be. After four years of following orders in the 
+Marine Corps, the freedom of it appealed to him. His mother worried about him, but 
+then that’s what mothers did. Or his mother, anyway. He called every few days to let her 
+know he was doing okay, and usually, after hanging up, he would think that he wasn’t 
+being fair to her. He’d already been gone for much of the past five years, and before each 
+of his three tours in Iraq, he’d listened as she’d lectured into the phone, reminding him 
+not to do anything stupid. He hadn’t, but there had been more than a few close calls. 
+Though he’d never told her about them, she read the papers. “And now this,” his mother 
+had lamented the night before he’d left. “This whole thing seems crazy to me.” 
+Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t sure yet. 
+ 
+“What do you think, Zeus?” 
+ 
+The dog looked up at the sound of his name and padded to his side. 
+ 
+“Yeah, I know. You’re hungry. What’s new?” 
+ 
+Thibault paused in the parking lot of a run-down motel on the edge of town. He reached 
+for the bowl and the last of the dog food. As Zeus began to eat, Thibault took in the view 
+of the town. 
+ 
+Hampton wasn’t the worst place he’d ever seen, not by a long shot, but it wasn’t the best, 
+either. The town was located on the banks of the South River, about thirty-five miles 
+northwest of Wilmington and the coast, and at first glance, it seemed no different from 
+the thousands of self sufficient, blue-collar communities long on pride and history that 
+dotted the South. There were a couple of traffic lights dangling on droopy wires that 
+interrupted the traffic flow as it edged toward the bridge that spanned the river, and on 
+either side of the main road were low-slung brick buildings, sandwiched together and 
+stretching for half a mile, with business names stenciled on the front windows 
+advertising places to eat and drink or purchase hardware. 
+A few old magnolias were scattered here and there and made the sidewalks swell beneath 
+their bulging roots. In the distance, he saw an old-fashioned barber pole, along with the 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+requisite older men sitting on the bench out in front of it. He smiled. It was quaint, like a 
+fantasy of the 1950s. 
+ 
+On closer inspection, though, he sensed that first impressions were deceiving. Despite 
+the waterfront location—or maybe because of it, he surmised—he noted the decay near 
+the rooflines, in the crumbling bricks near the foundations, in the faded brackish stains a 
+couple of feet higher than the foundations, which indicated serious flooding in the past. 
+None of the shops were boarded up yet, but observing the dearth of cars parked in front 
+of the businesses, he wondered how long they could hold out. Small-town commercial 
+districts were going the way of the dinosaurs, and if this place was like most of the other 
+towns he’d passed through, he figured there was probably another, newer area for 
+businesses, one most likely anchored by a Wal-Mart or a Piggly Wiggly, that would spell 
+the end for this part of town. Strange, though. Being here. He wasn’t sure what he’d 
+imagined Hampton to be, but it wasn’t this. 
+No matter. As Zeus was finishing his food, he wondered how long it would take to find 
+her. The woman in the photograph. The woman he’d come to meet. But he would find 
+her. That much was certain.  
+ 
+He hoisted his backpack. “You ready?” 
+ 
+Zeus tilted his head. 
+ 
+“Let’s get a room. I want to eat and shower. And you need a bath.” 
+ 
+Thibault took a couple of steps before realizing Zeus hadn’t moved. He glanced over his 
+shoulder. 
+ 
+“Don’t give me that look. You definitely need a bath. 
+ 
+You smell.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Zeus still didn’t move. 
+ 
+“Fine. Do what you want. I’m going.” 
+ 
+He headed toward the manager’s office to check in, knowing that Zeus would follow.  In 
+the end, Zeus always followed. 
+ 
+Until he’d found the photograph, Thibault’s life had proceeded as he’d long intended. 
+He’d always had a plan. He’d wanted to do well in school and had; he’d wanted to 
+participate in a variety of sports and had grown up playing pretty much everything. He’d 
+wanted to learn to play the piano and the violin, and he’d become proficient enough to 
+write his own music. After college at the University of Colorado, he’d planned to join the 
+Marine Corps, and the recruiter had been thrilled that he’d chosen to enlist instead of 
+becoming an officer. Shocked, but thrilled. Most graduates had little desire to become a 
+grunt, but that was exactly what he’d wanted. The bombing of the World Trade Center 
+had little to do with his decision. Instead, joining the military seemed the natural thing 
+to do, since his dad had served with the marines for twenty-five years. His dad had gone 
+in as a private and finished as one of those grizzled, steel-jawed sergeants who 
+intimidated pretty much everyone except his wife and the platoons he commanded. He 
+treated those young men like his sons; his sole intent, he used to tell them, was to bring 
+them back home to their mothers alive and well and all grown up. His dad must have 
+attended more than fifty weddings over the years of guys he’d led who couldn’t imagine 
+getting married without having his blessing. Good marine, too. He’d picked up a Bronze 
+Star and two Purple Hearts in Vietnam and over the years had served in Grenada, 
+Panama, Bosnia, and the First Gulf War. His dad was a marine who didn’t mind 
+transfers, and 
+Thibault had spent the majority of his youth moving from place to place, living on bases 
+around the world. In some ways, Okinawa seemed more like home than Colorado, and 
+though his Japanese was a bit rusty, he figured a week spent in Tokyo would rekindle the 
+fluency he’d once known. Like his dad, he figured he’d end up retiring from the corps, 
+but unlike his dad, he intended to live long enough afterward to enjoy it.  
+His dad had died of a heart attack only two years after he’d slipped his dress blues onto 
+the hanger for the last time, a massive infarction that came out of the blue. One minute 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+he was shoveling snow from the driveway, and the next minute he was gone. That was 
+thirteen years ago. Thibault had been fifteen years old at the time. 
+ 
+That day and the funeral that followed were the most vivid memories of his life prior to 
+joining the marines. Being raised as a military brat has a way of making things blur 
+together, simply because of how often you have to move. Friends come and go, clothing 
+is packed and unpacked, households are continually purged of unnecessary items, and as 
+a result, not much sticks. It’s hard at times, but it makes a kid strong in ways that most 
+people can’t understand. Teaches them that even though people are left behind, new 
+ones will inevitably take their place; that every place has something good—and bad—to 
+offer. It makes a kid grow up fast. 
+ 
+Even his college years were hazy, but that chapter of his life had its own routines. 
+Studying during the week, enjoying the weekends, cramming for finals, crappy dorm 
+food, and two girlfriends, one of whom lasted a little more than a year. Everyone who 
+ever went to college had the same stories to tell, few of which had lasting impact. In the 
+end, only his education remained. In truth, he felt like his life hadn’t really started until 
+he’d arrived on Parris Island for basic training. As soon as he’d hopped off the bus, the 
+drill sergeant started shouting in his ear. There’s nothing like a drill sergeant to make a 
+person believe that nothing in his life had really mattered to that point. You were theirs 
+now, and that was that. Good at sports? Give me fifty push-ups, Mr.Point Guard. College 
+educated? Assemble this rifle, Einstein. Father was in the marines? Clean the crapper 
+like your old man once did. Same old clichés. Run, march, stand at attention, crawl 
+through the mud, scale that wall: There was nothing in basic training he hadn’t expected. 
+He had to admit that the drill mostly worked. It broke people down, beat them down 
+even further, and eventually molded them into marines. Or that’s what they said, 
+anyway. He didn’t break down. He went through the motions, kept his head low, did as 
+he was ordered, and remained the same man he’d been before. He became a marine 
+anyway. 
+ 
+He ended up with the First Battalion, Fifth Marines, based out of Camp Pendleton. San 
+Diego was his kind of town, with great weather, gorgeous beaches, and even more 
+beautiful women. But it was not to last. In January 2003, right after he turned twenty-
+three, he deployed to Kuwait as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom. Camp Doha, in an 
+industrial part of Kuwait City, had been in use since the First Gulf War and was pretty 
+much a town unto itself. There was a gym and a computer center, a PX, places to eat, and 
+tents spread as far as the horizon. Busy place made much busier by the impending 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+invasion, and things were chaotic from the start. His days were an unbroken sequence of 
+hours-long meetings, backbreaking drills, and rehearsals of ever changing attack plans. 
+He must have practiced donning his chemical war protection suit a hundred times. There 
+were endless rumors, too. The worst part was trying to figure out which one might be 
+true. Everyone knew of someone who knew someone who’d heard the real story. One 
+day they were going in imminently; next day they’d hear that they were holding off. 
+First, they were coming in from the north and south; then just from the south, and 
+maybe not even that. They heard the enemy had chemical weapons and intended to use 
+them; next day they heard they wouldn’t use them because they believed that the United 
+States would respond with nukes. There were whispers that the Iraqi Republican Guard 
+intended to make a suicide stand just over the border; others swore they intended to 
+make the stand near Baghdad. Still others said the suicide stand would happen near the 
+oil fields. In short, no one knew anything, which only fueled the imaginations of the 
+150,000 troops who’d assembled in Kuwait.  
+For the most part, soldiers are kids. People forget that sometimes. Eighteen, nineteen, 
+twenty—half of the servicemen weren’t old enough even to buy a beer. They were 
+confident and well trained and excited to go, but it was impossible to ignore the reality of 
+what was coming. Some of them were going to die. Some talked openly about it, others 
+wrote letters to their families and handed them to the chaplain. Tempers were short. 
+Some had trouble sleeping; others slept almost all the time. Thibault observed it all with 
+a strange sense of detachment. Welcome to war, he could hear his father saying. It’s 
+always a SNAFU: situation normal, all f—ed up. 
+Thibault wasn’t completely immune to the escalating tension, and like everyone else, 
+he’d needed an outlet. It was impossible not to have one. He started playing poker. His 
+dad had taught him to play, and he knew the game . . . or thought he knew. He quickly 
+found out that others knew more. In the first three weeks, he proceeded to lose pretty 
+much every dime he’d saved since joining up, bluffing when he should have folded, 
+folding when he should have stayed in the game. It wasn’t much money to begin with, 
+and it wasn’t as if he had many places to spend it even if he’d kept it, but it put him in a 
+foul mood for days. He hated to lose. 
+The only antidote was to go for long runs first thing in the morning, before the sun came 
+up. It was usually frigid; though he’d been in the Middle East for a month, it continually 
+amazed him how cold the desert could be. He ran hard beneath a sky crowded with stars, 
+his breaths coming out in little puffs.  
+ 
+Toward the end of one of his runs, when he could see his tent in the distance, he began to 
+slow. By then, the sun had begun to crest the horizon, spreading gold across the arid 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+landscape. With his hands on his hips, he continued to catch his breath, and it was then, 
+from the corner of his eye, that he spotted the dull gleam of a photograph, halfburied in 
+the dirt. He stopped to pick it up and noticed that it had been cheaply but neatly 
+laminated, probably to protect it from the elements. He brushed off the dust, clearing the 
+image, and that was the first time he saw her. 
+The blonde with the smile and the jade-colored mischievous eyes, wearing jeans and a T-
+shirt emblazoned with the words LUCKY LADY across the front. Behind her was a 
+banner showing the words HAMPTON FAIRGROUNDS.A German shepherd, gray in the 
+muzzle, stood by her side. In the crowd behind her were two young men, clustered near 
+the ticket stand and a bit out of focus, wearing T-shirts with logos. Three evergreen trees 
+rose in the distance, pointy ones that could grow almost anywhere. On the back of the 
+photo were the handwritten words, “Keep Safe! E.” 
+Not that he’d noticed any of those things right away. His first instinct, in fact, had been 
+to toss the picture aside. He almost had, but just as he was about to do so, it occurred to 
+him that whoever had lost it might want it back. It obviously meant something to 
+someone. 
+When he returned to camp, he tacked the photo to a message board near the entrance to 
+the computer center, figuring that pretty much every inhabitant of the camp made his 
+way there at one point or another. No doubt someone would claim it. 
+ 
+A week went by, then ten days. The photo was never retrieved. By that point, his platoon 
+was drilling for hours every day, and the poker games had become serious. Some men 
+had lost thousands of dollars; one lance corporal was said to have lost close to ten 
+thousand. Thibault, who hadn’t played since his initial humiliating attempt, preferred to 
+spend his free time brooding on the upcoming invasion and wondering how he’d react to 
+being fired upon. When he wandered over to the computer center three days before the 
+invasion, he saw the photo still tacked to the message board, and for a reason he still 
+didn’t quite understand, he took down the photo and put it in his pocket. 
+Victor, his best friend in the squad—they’d been together since basic training—talked 
+him into joining the poker game that night, despite Thibault’s reservations. Still low on 
+funds, Thibault started conservatively and didn’t think he’d be in the game for more than 
+half an hour. He folded in the first three games, then drew a straight in the fourth game 
+and a full house in the sixth. The cards kept falling his way—flushes, straights, full 
+houses—and by the halfway point in the evening, he’d recouped his earlier losses. The 
+original players had left by then, replaced by others. Thibault stayed. In turn, they were 
+replaced. Thibault stayed. His winning streak persisted, and by dawn, he’d won more 
+than he’d earned in his first six months in the marines. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+It was only when he was leaving the game with Victor that he realized he’d had the 
+photograph in his pocket the entire time. When they were back at their tent, he showed 
+the photo to Victor and pointed out the words on the woman’s shirt. Victor, whose 
+parents were illegal immigrants living near Bakersfield, California, was not only 
+religious, but believed in portents of all kinds. 
+Lightning storms, forked roads, and black cats were favorites, and before they’d shipped 
+out, he’d told Thibault about an uncle who supposedly possessed the evil eye:  “When he 
+looks at you a certain way, it’s only a matter of time before you die.” Victor’s conviction 
+made Thibault feel like he was ten years old again, listening raptly as Victor told the story 
+with a flashlight propped beneath his chin. He said nothing at the time. Everyone had 
+their quirks. Guy wanted to believe in omens? Fine with him. More important was the 
+fact that Victor was a good enough shot to have been recruited as a sniper and that 
+Thibault trusted him with his life. 
+Victor stared at the picture before handing it back. 
+“You said you found this at dawn?” 
+“Yeah.” 
+“Dawn is a powerful time of the day.” 
+“So you’ve told me.” 
+“It’s a sign,” he said. “She’s your good-luck charm. See the shirt she is wearing?” 
+“She was tonight.” 
+“Not just tonight. You found that picture for a reason. No one claimed it for a reason. 
+You took it today for a reason. Only you were meant to have it.” 
+Thibault wanted to say something about the guy who’d lost it and how he’d feel about 
+that, but he kept quiet. Instead, he lay back on the cot and clasped his hands behind his 
+head. 
+Victor mirrored the movement. “I’m happy for you. 
+Luck will be on your side from now on,” he added. 
+“I hope so.” 
+“But you can’t ever lose the picture.” 
+“No?” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“If you do, then the charm works in reverse.” 
+ 
+“Which means what?” 
+“It means you’ll be unlucky. And in war, unlucky is the last thing you want to be.” 
+The motel room was as ugly on the inside as it had been from the outside: wood 
+paneling, light fixtures attached to the ceiling with chains, shag carpet, television bolted 
+to the stand. It seemed to have been decorated around 1975 and never updated, and it 
+reminded Thibault of the places his dad had made them stay in when they took their 
+family vacations through the Southwest, when Thibault was a kid. They’d stayed 
+overnight in places just off the highway, and as long as they were relatively clean, his dad 
+had deemed them fine. His mom less so, but what could she do? It wasn’t as if there had 
+been a Four Seasons across the street, and even if there had been, there was no way they 
+could ever have afforded it. 
+Thibault went through the same routine his dad had when entering a motel room: He 
+pulled back the comforter to make sure the sheets were fresh, he checked the shower 
+curtain for mold, he looked for hairs in the sink. Despite the expected rust stains, a leaky 
+faucet, and cigarette burns, the place was cleaner than he’d imagined it might be. 
+Inexpensive, too. Thibault had paid cash for a week in advance, no questions asked, no 
+extra charge for the dog. All in all, a bargain. Good thing. Thibault had no credit cards, 
+no debit cards, no ATM cards, no official mailing address, no cell phone. He carried 
+pretty much everything he owned. He did have a bank account, one that would wire him 
+money as needed. It was registered under a corporate name, not his own. He wasn’t rich. 
+He wasn’t even middle-class. The corporation did no business. He just liked his privacy. 
+He led Zeus to the tub and washed him, using the shampoo in his backpack. Afterward, 
+he showered and dressed in the last of his clean clothes. Sitting on the bed, he thumbed 
+through the phone book, searching for something in particular, without luck. He made a 
+note to do laundry when he had time, then decided to get a bite to eat at the small 
+restaurant he’d seen just down the street. When he got there, they wouldn’t let Zeus 
+inside, which wasn’t surprising. Zeus lay down outside the front door and went to sleep. 
+Thibault had a cheeseburger and fries, washed it down with a chocolate milk shake, then 
+ordered a cheeseburger to go for Zeus. Back outside, he watched as Zeus gobbled it down 
+in less than twenty seconds and then looked up at Thibault again. “Glad you really 
+savored that. Come on.” 
+Thibault bought a map of the town at a convenience store and sat on a bench near the 
+town square—one of those old-fashioned parks bordered on all four sides by business-
+lined streets. Featuring large shady trees, a play area for the kids, and lots of flowers, it 
+didn’t seem crowded: A few mothers were clustered together, while children zipped 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+down the slide or glided back and forth on the swings. He examined the faces of the 
+women, making sure she wasn’t among them, then turned away and opened the map 
+before they grew nervous at his presence. Mothers with young kids always got nervous 
+when they saw single men lingering in the area, doing nothing purposeful. He didn’t 
+blame them. Too many perverts out there. Studying the map, he oriented himself and 
+tried to figure out his next move. He had no illusions that it was going to be easy. He 
+didn’t know much, after all. All he had was a photograph—no name or address. No 
+employment history. No phone number. No date. Nothing but a face in the crowd. 
+But there were some clues. He’d studied the details of the photo, as he had so many 
+times before, and started with what he knew. The photograph had been taken in 
+Hampton. The woman appeared to be in her early twenties when the photo was taken. 
+She was attractive. She either 
+owned a German shepherd or knew someone who did. Her first name started with the 
+letter E. Emma, Elaine, Elise, Eileen, Ellen, Emily, Erin, Erica . . . they seemed the most 
+likely, though in the South, he supposed there could be names like Erdine or Elspeth, 
+too. She went to the fair with someone who was later posted to Iraq. She had given this 
+person the photograph, and Thibault had found the photograph in February 2003, which 
+meant it had to have been taken before then. The woman, then, was most likely now in 
+her late twenties. There was a series of three evergreen trees in the distance. These things 
+he knew. Facts. Then, there were assumptions, beginning with Hampton. Hampton was 
+a relatively common name. A quick 
+Internet search turned up a lot of them. Counties and towns: South Carolina, Virginia, 
+New Hampshire, Iowa, Nebraska. Georgia. Others, too. Lots of others. And, of course, a 
+Hampton in Hampton County, North Carolina. Though there’d been no obvious 
+landmarks in the background—no picture of Monticello indicating Virginia, for instance, 
+no welcome to iowa! sign in the distance—there had been information. Not about the 
+woman, but gleaned from the young men in the background, standing in line for tickets. 
+Two of them had been wearing shirts with logos. One—an image of Homer Simpson—
+didn’t help. The other, with the word DAVIDSON written across the front, meant 
+nothing at first, even when Thibault thought about it. He’d originally assumed the shirt 
+was an abbreviated reference to Harley-Davidson, the 
+motorcycle. Another Google search cleared that up. Davidson, he’d learned, was also the 
+name of a reputable college located near Charlotte, North Carolina. Selective, 
+challenging, with an emphasis on liberal arts. A review of their bookstore catalog showed 
+a sample of the same 
+shirt. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+The shirt, he realized, was no guarantee that the photo had been taken in North Carolina. 
+Maybe someone who’d gone to the college gave the guy the shirt; maybe he was an out-
+of-state student, maybe he just liked the colors, maybe he was an alum and had moved 
+someplace new. 
+But with nothing else to go on, Thibault had made a quick phone call to the Hampton 
+Chamber of Commerce before he’d left Colorado and verified that they had a county fair 
+every summer. Another good sign. He had a destination, but it wasn’t yet a fact. He just 
+assumed this was the right place. Still, for a reason he couldn’t explain, this place felt 
+right. 
+There were other assumptions, too, but he’d get to those later. The first thing he had to 
+do was find the fairgrounds. Hopefully, the county fair had been held in the same 
+location for years; he hoped the person who could point him in the right direction could 
+answer that question as well. Best place to find someone like that was at one of the 
+businesses around here. Not a souvenir or 
+antiques shop—those were often owned by newcomers to town, people escaping from the 
+North in search of a quieter life in warmer weather. Instead, he thought his best bet 
+would be someplace like a local hardware store. Or a bar. Or a real estate office. He 
+figured he’d know the place when he saw it. He wanted to see the exact place the 
+photograph had been taken. Not to get a better feel for who the woman was. The 
+fairgrounds wouldn’t help with that at all. He wanted to know if there were three tall 
+evergreen trees clustered together, pointy ones that could grow almost anywhere. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Chapter 3 
+Beth 
+ 
+Beth set aside her can of Diet Coke, glad that Ben was having a good time at his friend 
+Zach’s birthday party. She was just wishing that he didn’t have to go to his father’s when 
+Melody came by and sat in the chair beside her. “Good idea, huh? The water guns are a 
+big hit.” Melody smiled, her bleached teeth a bit too white, her skin a shade too dark, as 
+though she’d just come back from a trip to the tanning salon. Which she probably had. 
+Melody had been vain about her appearance since high school, and lately it seemed to 
+have become even more of an obsession. 
+ 
+“Let’s just hope they don’t turn those Super Soakers on us.” 
+ 
+“They better not.” Melody frowned.  
+ 
+“I told Zach that if he did, I’d send everyone home.” She leaned back, making herself 
+more comfortable.  
+ 
+“What have you been doing with yourself this summer? I haven’t seen you around, and 
+you haven’t returned my calls.” 
+ 
+“I know. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been a hermit this summer. It’s just been hard trying 
+to keep up with Nana and the kennel and all the training. I have no idea how Nana kept it 
+up for so long.” 
+ 
+“Nana’s doing okay these days?” 
+ 
+Nana was Beth’s grandmother. She’d raised Beth since the age of three, after Beth’s 
+parents died in a car accident. She nodded. “She’s getting better, but the stroke took a lot 
+out of her. Her left side is still really weak. She can manage some of the training, but 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+running the kennel and training is beyond her. And you know how hard she pushes 
+herself. I’m always worried she might be overdoing it.” 
+ 
+“I noticed she was back in the choir this week.” 
+ 
+Nana had been in the First Baptist Church choir for over thirty years, and Beth knew it 
+was one of her passions. “Last week was her first week back, but I’m not sure how much 
+singing she actually did. Afterward, she took a two hour nap.” 
+ 
+Melody nodded. “What’s going to happen when school starts up?” 
+ 
+“I don’t know.” 
+ 
+“You are going to teach, aren’t you?” 
+ 
+“I hope so.” 
+ 
+“You hope? Don’t you have teacher meetings next week?” 
+ 
+Beth didn’t want to think about it, let alone discuss it, but she knew Melody meant well. 
+“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’ll be there. I know it would leave the school in a bind, but 
+it’s not as if I can leave Nana alone all day. Not yet, anyway. And who would help her run 
+the kennel? There’s no way she could train the dogs all day.” 
+ 
+“Can’t you hire someone?” Melody suggested. 
+ 
+“I’ve been trying. Did I tell you what happened earlier in the summer? I hired a guy who 
+showed up twice, then quit as soon as the weekend rolled around. Same thing with 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+the next guy I hired. After that, no one’s even bothered to come by. The ‘Help Wanted’ 
+sign has become a permanent fixture in the window.” 
+ 
+“David’s always complaining about the lack of good employees.” 
+ 
+“Tell him to offer minimum wage. Then he’d really complain. Even high school kids don’t 
+want to clean the cages anymore. They say it’s gross.” 
+ 
+“It is gross.” 
+ 
+Beth laughed. “Yeah, it is,” she admitted. “But I’m out of time. I doubt if anything will 
+change before next week, and if it doesn’t, there are worse things. I do enjoy training the 
+dogs. Half the time they’re easier than students.” 
+ 
+“Like mine?” 
+ 
+“Yours was easy. Trust me.” 
+ 
+Melody motioned toward Ben. “He’s grown since the last time I saw him.” 
+ 
+“Almost an inch,” she said, thinking it was nice of Melody to notice. Ben had always been 
+small for his age, the kid always positioned on the left side, front row, of the class picture, 
+half a head shorter than the child seated next to him. Zach, Melody’s son, was just the 
+opposite: righthand side, in the back, always the tallest in class. 
+ 
+“I heard a rumor that Ben isn’t playing soccer this fall,” Melody commented. 
+ 
+“He wants to try something different.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“Like what?” 
+ 
+“He wants to learn to play the violin. He’s going to take lessons with Mrs. Hastings.” 
+ 
+“She’s still teaching? She must be at least ninety.” 
+ 
+“But she’s got patience to teach a beginner. Or at least that’s what she told me. And Ben 
+likes her a lot. That’s the main thing.” 
+ 
+ 
+“Good for him,” Melody said. “I’ll bet he’ll be great at it. But Zach’s going to be bummed.” 
+ 
+“They wouldn’t be on the same team. Zach is going to play for the select team, right?” 
+ 
+“If he makes it.” 
+ 
+“He will.” 
+ 
+And he would. Zach was one of those naturally confident, competitive kids who matured 
+early and ran rings around other, less talented players on the field. Like Ben. 
+ 
+Even now, running around the yard with his Super Soaker, Ben couldn’t keep up with 
+him. Though good-hearted and sweet, Ben wasn’t much of an athlete, a fact that 
+endlessly infuriated her ex-husband. Last year, her ex had stood on the sidelines of 
+soccer games with a scowl on his face, which was another reason Ben didn’t want to play. 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“Is David going to help coach again?” 
+ 
+David was Melody’s husband and one of two pediatricians in town. “He hasn’t decided 
+yet. Since Hoskins left, he’s been on call a lot more. He hates it, but what can he do? 
+They’ve been trying to recruit another doctor, but it’s been hard. Not everyone wants to 
+work in a small town, especially with the nearest hospital in Wilmington forty-five 
+minutes away. Makes for much longer days. Half the time he doesn’t get home until 
+almost eight. Sometimes it’s even later than that.” 
+ 
+Beth heard the worry in Melody’s voice, and she figured her friend was thinking about 
+the affair David had confessed to last winter. Beth knew enough not to comment on it. 
+She’d decided when she’d first heard the whispers that they would talk about it only if 
+Melody wanted to. And if not? That was fine, too. It was none of her business. 
+ 
+“How about you, though? Have you been seeing anyone?” 
+ 
+Beth grimaced. “No. Not since Adam.” 
+ 
+“Whatever happened with that?” 
+ 
+“I have no idea.” 
+ 
+Melody shook her head. “I can’t say that I envy you. I never liked dating.” 
+ 
+“Yeah, but at least you were good at it. I’m terrible.” 
+ 
+“You’re exaggerating.” 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“I’m not. But it’s not that big of a deal. I’m not sure I even have the energy for it 
+anymore. Wearing thongs, shaving my legs, flirting, pretending to get along with his 
+friends. The whole thing seems like a lot of effort.” Melody wrinkled her nose.  
+ 
+“You don’t shave your legs?” 
+ 
+“Of course I shave my legs,” she said. Then, lowering her voice, “Most of the time, 
+anyway.”  
+ 
+She sat up straighter. 
+ 
+“But you get the point. Dating is hard. Especially for someone my age.” 
+ 
+“Oh, please. You’re not even thirty, and you’re a knockout.” 
+ 
+Beth had heard that for as long as she could remember, and she wasn’t immune to the 
+fact that men—even married men—often craned their necks when she walked past them. 
+In her first three years teaching, she’d had only one parent-teacher conference with a 
+father who came alone. 
+ 
+In every other instance, it was the mother who attended the conference. She 
+remembered wondering aloud about it to Nana a few years back, and Nana had said, 
+“They don’t want you alone with the hubbies because you’re as pretty as a tickled 
+pumpkin.” 
+ 
+Nana always had a unique way of putting things. 
+ 
+“You forget where we live,” Beth offered. “There aren’t a lot of single men my age. And if 
+they are single, there’s a reason.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“That’s not true.” 
+ 
+“Maybe in a city. But around here? In this town? Trust me. I’ve lived here all my life, and 
+even when I was in college, I commuted from home. On the rare occasions that I have 
+been asked out, we’ll go on two or three dates and then they stop calling. Don’t ask me 
+why.” She waved a hand philosophically. “But it’s no big deal. I’ve got Ben and Nana. It’s 
+not like I’m living alone, surrounded by dozens of cats.” 
+ 
+“No. You’ve got dogs.” 
+ 
+“Not my dogs. Other people’s dogs. There’s a difference.” 
+ 
+“Oh yeah,” Melody snorted.  
+ 
+“Big difference.” 
+ 
+Across the yard, Ben was trailing behind the group with his Super Soaker, doing his best 
+to keep up, when he suddenly slipped and fell. His glasses tumbled off into the grass. 
+Beth knew enough not to get up and see if he was okay: The last time she’d tried to help, 
+he’d been visibly embarrassed. He felt around until he found his glasses and was up and 
+running again. 
+ 
+“They grow up so fast, don’t they?” said Melody, interrupting Beth’s thoughts. “I know 
+it’s a cliché, but it’s true. I remember my mom telling me they would and thinking she 
+didn’t know what she was talking about. I couldn’t wait for Zach to get a little older. Of 
+course, at the time, he had colic and I hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours a night in 
+over a month. But now, just like that, they’ll be starting middle school already.” 
+ 
+“Not yet. They’ve got another year.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“I know. But it still makes me nervous.” 
+ 
+“Why?” 
+ 
+“You know . . . it’s a hard age. Kids are in that stage where they’re beginning to 
+understand the world of adults, without having the maturity of adults to deal with 
+everything going on around them. Add to that all the temptations, and the fact that they 
+stop listening to you the way 
+they once did, and the moods of adolescence, and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not 
+looking forward to it. You’re a teacher. You know.” 
+ 
+“That’s why I teach second grade.” 
+ 
+“Good choice.” Melody grew quiet. “Did you hear about Elliot Spencer?” 
+ 
+“I haven’t heard much of anything. I’ve been a hermit, remember?” 
+ 
+“He was caught selling drugs.” 
+ 
+“He’s only a couple of years older than Ben!” 
+ 
+“And still in middle school.” 
+ 
+“Now you’re making me nervous.” 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Melody rolled her eyes. “Don’t be. If my son were more like Ben, I wouldn’t have reason 
+to be nervous. Ben has an old soul. He’s always polite, he’s always kind, always the first 
+to help the younger kids. He’s empathetic. I, on the other hand, have Zach.” 
+ 
+“Zach’s a great kid, too.” 
+ 
+ “I know he is. But he’s always been more difficult than Ben. And he’s more of a follower 
+than Ben.” 
+ 
+“Have you seen them playing? From where I’m sitting, Ben’s been doing all the 
+following.” 
+ 
+“You know what I mean.” 
+ 
+Actually, she did. Even from a young age, Ben had been content to forge his own path. 
+Which was nice, she had to admit, since it had been a pretty good path. Though he didn’t 
+have many friends, he had a lot of interests he pursued on his own. Good ones, too. He 
+had little interest in 
+video games or surfing the Web, and while he occasionally watched television, he’d 
+usually turn it off on his own after thirty minutes or so. Instead, he read or played chess 
+(a game that he seemed to understand on some intuitive level) on the electronic game 
+board he’d received for Christmas. He loved to read and write, and though he enjoyed 
+the dogs at the kennel, most of them were anxious because of the long hours they spent 
+in a kennel and tended to ignore him. 
+He spent many afternoons throwing tennis balls that few, if any, were ever retrieved. 
+ 
+“It’ll be fine.” 
+“I hope so.” Melody set aside her drink. “I suppose I should go get the cake, huh? Zach 
+has practice at five.” 
+“It’ll be hot.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Melody stood. “I’m sure he’ll want to bring the Super Soaker. Probably squirt the coach.” 
+“Do you need some help?” 
+“No thanks. Just sit here and relax. I’ll be right back.” 
+ 
+Beth watched Melody walk away, realizing for the first time how thin she’d become. Ten, 
+maybe fifteen pounds lighter than she’d been the last time Beth had seen her. Had to be 
+stress, she thought. David’s affair had crushed her, but unlike Beth when it had 
+happened to her, Melody was determined to save her marriage. Then again, they’d had 
+different sorts of marriages. David made a big mistake and it hurt Melody, but overall, 
+they’d always struck Beth as a happy couple. Beth’s marriage, on the other hand, had 
+been a fiasco from the beginning. Just as Nana had predicted. Nana had the ability to 
+size people up in an instant, and she had this way of shrugging when she didn’t like 
+someone. When Beth announced she was pregnant and that instead of going to college, 
+she and her ex planned to get married, Nana began shrugging so much that it resembled 
+a nervous tic. Beth, of course, ignored it at the time, thinking, She hasn’t given him a 
+chance. She doesn’t really know him. We can make this work. Nosiree. Never happened. 
+Nana was always polite, always cordial when he was around, but the shrugging didn’t 
+stop until Beth moved back home ten years ago. The marriage had lasted less than nine 
+months; Ben was five weeks old. Nana had been right about him all along. 
+ 
+Melody vanished inside the house, only to reemerge a few minutes later, David right 
+behind her. He was carrying paper plates and forks, obviously preoccupied. She could 
+see the tufts of gray hair near his ears and deep lines in his forehead. The last time she’d 
+seen him, the lines hadn’t been as evident, and she figured it was another sign of the 
+stress he was under. 
+Sometimes, Beth wondered what her life would be like if she were married. Not to her ex, 
+of course. That thought made her shudder. Dealing with him every other weekend was 
+more than enough, thank you very much. But to someone else. Someone . . . better. It 
+seemed like it might be a good idea, at least in the abstract, anyway. After ten years, she 
+was used to her life, and though it might be nice to have someone to share her evenings 
+with after work or get a 
+back rub from now and then, there was also something nice about spending all day 
+Saturday in her pajamas if she wanted to. Which she sometimes did. Ben, too. They 
+called them “lazy days.” They were the best days ever. Sometimes they’d cap off a day of 
+doing absolutely nothing by ordering pizza and watching a movie. Heavenly. 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Besides, if relationships were hard, marriage was even harder. It wasn’t just Melody and 
+David who struggled; it seemed like most couples struggled. It went with the territory. 
+What did Nana always say? Stick two different people with two different sets of 
+expectations under one roof and 
+it ain’t always going to be shrimp and grits on Easter. Exactly. Even if she wasn’t 
+completely sure where Nana came up with her metaphors. 
+ 
+Glancing at her watch, she knew that as soon as the party ended, she’d have to head back 
+to check in on Nana. No doubt she’d find her in the kennel, either behind the desk or 
+checking on the dogs. Nana was stubborn like that. Did it matter that her left leg could 
+barely support her? My leg ain’t perfect, but it’s not beeswax, either. Or that she might 
+fall and get hurt? I’m not a bucket of fine china. Or that her left arm was basically 
+useless? As long as I can eat soup, I don’t need it anyway. 
+ 
+She was one of a kind, bless her heart. Always had been. 
+ 
+“Hey, Mom?” 
+ 
+Lost in thought, she hadn’t seen Ben approaching. His freckled face was shiny with 
+sweat. Water dripped from his clothes, and there were grass stains on his shirt she was 
+certain would never come out. 
+ 
+“Yeah, baby?” 
+“Can I spend the night at Zach’s tonight?” 
+“I thought he had soccer practice.” 
+“After practice. There’s going to be a bunch of people staying over, and his mom got him 
+Guitar Hero for his birthday.” 
+She knew the real reason he was asking. 
+“Not tonight. You can’t. Your dad’s coming to pick you up at five.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“Can you call him and ask?” 
+“I can try. But you know . . .” 
+Ben nodded, and as it usually did when this happened, her heart broke just a little.  
+“Yeah, I know.” 
+ 
+The sun glared through the windshield at baking temperature, and she found herself 
+wishing she’d had the car’s air conditioner fixed. With the window rolled down, her hair 
+whipped in her face, making it sting. She reminded herself again to get a real haircut. She 
+imagined saying to her hairdresser, Chop it all off, Terri. Make me look like a man! But 
+she knew she’d end up asking for her regular trim when the time came. In some things, 
+she was a coward. 
+“You guys looked like you were having fun.” 
+“I was.” 
+“That’s all you can say?” 
+“I’m just tired, Mom.” 
+She pointed toward the Dairy Queen in the distance. 
+“You want to swing by and get some ice cream?” 
+“It’s not good for me.” 
+“Hey, I’m the mother here. That’s what I’m supposed to say. I was just thinking that if 
+you’re hot, you might want some.” 
+“I’m not hungry. I just had cake.” 
+“All right. Suit yourself. But don’t blame me if you get home and realize you should have 
+jumped at the opportunity.” 
+ 
+“I won’t.” He turned toward the window. 
+“Hey, champ. You okay?” 
+When he spoke, his voice was almost inaudible over the wind. “Why do I have to go to 
+Dad’s? It’s not like we’re going to do anything fun. He sends me to bed at nine o’clock, 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+like I’m still in second grade or something. I’m never even tired. And tomorrow, he’ll 
+have me do chores all day.” 
+“I thought he was taking you to your grandfather’s house for brunch after church.” 
+“I still don’t want to go.” 
+I don’t want you to go, either, she thought. But what could she do? 
+“Why don’t you bring a book?” she suggested.  
+“You can read in your room tonight, and if you get bored tomorrow, you can read there, 
+too.” 
+“You always say that.” 
+Because I don’t know what else to tell you, she thought. 
+“You want to go to the bookstore?” 
+“No,” he said. But she could tell he didn’t mean it. 
+“Well, come with me anyway. I want to get a book for myself.” 
+“Okay.” 
+“I’m sorry about this, you know.” 
+“Yeah. I know.” 
+ 
+Going to the bookstore did little to lift Ben’s mood. Though he’d ended up picking out a 
+couple of Hardy Boys mysteries, she’d recognized his slouch as they’d stood in line to pay 
+for them. On the ride home, he opened one of the books and pretended to be reading. 
+Beth was pretty sure he’d done it to keep her from peppering him with questions or 
+trying, with forced cheerfulness, to make him feel better about his overnight at his dad’s. 
+At ten, Ben was already remarkably adept at predicting her behavior. She hated the fact 
+that he didn’t like going to his dad’s. 
+She watched him walk inside their house, knowing that he was heading to his room to 
+pack his things. Instead of following him, she took a seat on the porch steps and wished 
+for the thousandth time she’d put up a swing. It was still hot, and from the whimpering 
+coming from the kennel across the yard, it was clear that the dogs, too, were suffering 
+from the heat. She strained for the sound of Nana inside. Had she been in the kitchen 
+when Ben walked through, she definitely would have heard her. Nana was a walking 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+cacophony. Not because of the stroke, but because it went part and parcel with her 
+personality. Seventy-six going on seventeen, she laughed loud, banged pans with the 
+spoon when she cooked, adored baseball, and turned the radio up to ear-shattering levels 
+whenever NPR featured the Big Band era. “Music like that doesn’t just grow like 
+bananas, you know.” Until the stroke, she’d worn rubber boots, overalls, and an oversize 
+straw hat nearly every day, tromping through the yard as she taught dogs to heel or come 
+or stay. 
+ 
+Years ago, along with her husband, Nana had taught them to do pretty much everything. 
+Together, they’d bred and trained hunting dogs, service dogs for the blind, drug sniffing 
+dogs for the police, security dogs for home protection. Now that he was gone, she did 
+those things only occasionally. Not because she didn’t know what to do; she’d always 
+handled most of the training anyway. But to train a dog for home protection took 
+fourteen months, and given the fact that Nana could fall in love with a squirrel in less 
+than three seconds, it always broke her heart to have to give up the dog when the training 
+was completed. Without Grandpa around to say, “We’ve already sold him, so we don’t 
+have a choice,” Nana had found it easier to simply fold that part of the business. 
+ 
+Instead, these days Nana ran a thriving obedience school. People would drop off their 
+dogs for a couple of weeks—doggie boot camp, she called it—and Nana would teach them 
+how to sit, lie down, stay, come, and heel. They were simple, uncomplicated commands 
+that nearly every dog could master quickly. Usually, somewhere between fifteen and 
+twenty-five dogs cycled through every two weeks, and each one needed roughly twenty 
+minutes of training per day. Any more than that, and the dogs would lose interest. It 
+wasn’t so bad when there were fifteen, but boarding twenty-five made for long days, 
+considering each dog also needed to be walked. And that didn’t factor in all the feeding, 
+kennel maintenance, phone calls, dealing with clients, and paperwork. For most of the 
+summer, Beth had been working twelve or thirteen hours a day. 
+ 
+They were always busy. It wasn’t difficult to train a dog—Beth had been helping Nana on 
+and off since she was twelve—and there were dozens of books on the subject. In addition, 
+the veterinary clinic offered lessons for dogs and their owners every Saturday morning 
+for a fraction of the price. Beth knew that most people could spare twenty minutes a day 
+for a couple of weeks to train their dog. But they didn’t. Instead, people came from as far 
+away as 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Florida and Tennessee to drop off their dogs to have someone else do it. Granted, Nana 
+had a great reputation as a trainer, but she was really only teaching dogs to sit and come, 
+heel and stay. It wasn’t rocket science. Yet people were always extremely grateful. And 
+always, always, amazed. 
+ 
+Beth checked her watch. Keith—her ex—would be here soon. Though she had issues with 
+the man—Lord knows she had serious issues—he had joint custody, simple as that, and 
+she’d tried to make the best of it. She liked to tell herself that it was important for Ben to 
+spend time with his dad. Boys needed to spend time with their dads, especially those 
+coming up on their teenage years, and she had to admit that he wasn’t a bad guy. 
+Immature, yes, but not bad. He had a few beers now and then but wasn’t an alcoholic; he 
+didn’t take drugs; he had never been abusive to either of them. He went to church every 
+Sunday. He had a steady job and paid his child support on time. Or, rather, his family 
+did. The money came from a trust, one of many that the family had established over the 
+years. And for the most part, he kept his never-ending string of girlfriends away on those 
+weekends he spent with his son. Key words: “for the most part.” Lately, he’d been better 
+about that, but she was fairly sure it had less to do with a renewed commitment to 
+parenting than the likelihood that he was between girlfriends right now. She wouldn’t 
+really have minded so much, except for the fact that his girlfriends were usually closer in 
+age to Ben than they were to him and, as a general rule, had the IQs of salad bowls. She 
+wasn’t being spiteful; even Ben realized it. A couple of months back, Ben had to help one 
+of them make a second batch of Kraft macaroni and cheese after the first attempt 
+burned. The whole “add milk, butter, mix, and stir” sequence was apparently beyond her. 
+ 
+That wasn’t what bothered Ben the most, however. The girlfriends were okay—they 
+tended to treat him more like a younger brother than a son. Nor was he truly upset about 
+the chores. He might have to rake the yard or clean the kitchen and take out the trash, 
+but it wasn’t as if her ex 
+treated Ben like an indentured servant. And chores were good for him; Ben had weekend 
+chores when he was with her, too. No, the problem was Keith’s childish, relentless 
+disappointment in Ben. Keith wanted an athlete; instead he got a son who wanted to play 
+the violin. He wanted someone to hunt with; he got a son who would rather read. He 
+wanted a son who could play catch or shoot baskets; he was saddled with a clumsy son 
+with poor vision. 
+ 
+He never said as much to Ben or to her, but he didn’t have to. It was all too apparent in 
+the scornful way he watched Ben play soccer, in the way he refused to give Ben credit 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+when he won his last chess tournament, in the way he continually pushed Ben to be 
+someone he wasn’t. It drove Beth crazy and broke her heart at the same time, but for 
+Ben, it was worse. For years, he’d tried to please his dad, but over time, it had just 
+exhausted the poor kid. Take learning to play catch. No harm in that, right? Ben might 
+learn to enjoy it, he might even want to play Little League. Made perfect sense when her 
+ex had suggested it, and Ben was gung ho in the beginning. But after a while, Ben came 
+to hate the thought of it. If he caught three in a row, his dad would want him to try to 
+catch four. When he did that, it had to be five. When he got even better, his dad wanted 
+him to catch all of them. And then catch while he was running forward. Catch while he 
+was running backward. Catch while he was sliding. Catch while he was diving. Catch the 
+one his dad threw as hard as he could. And if he dropped one? You’d think the world was 
+coming to an end. His dad wasn’t the kind of guy who’d say, Nice try, champ! or, 
+Good effort! No, he was the kind of guy who’d scream, C’mon! Quit screwing up! 
+Oh, she’d talked to him about it. Talked to him ad nauseam. It went in one ear and out 
+the other, of course. Same old story. Despite—or perhaps because of—his immaturity, 
+Keith was stubborn and opinionated about many things, and raising Ben was one of 
+them. He wanted a certain kind of son, and by God, he was going to get him. Ben, 
+predictably, began reacting in his own passive aggressive way. He began to drop 
+everything his dad threw, even simple lobs, while ignoring his father’s growing 
+frustration, until his father finally slammed his glove to the 
+ground and stormed inside to sulk the rest of the afternoon. Ben pretended not to notice, 
+taking a seat beneath a loblolly pine to read until she picked him up a few hours later. 
+She and her ex didn’t battle just about Ben; they were fire and ice as well. As in, he was 
+fire and she was ice. He was still attracted to her, which irritated her to no end. Why on 
+earth he could believe that she’d want anything to do with him was beyond her, but no 
+matter what she said to him, it didn’t seem to deter his overtures. Most of the time, she 
+could barely remember the reasons she’d been attracted to him years ago. She could 
+recite the reasons for marriage— she’d been young and stupid, foremost among them, 
+and pregnant to boot—but nowadays, whenever he stared her up and down, she cringed 
+inside. He wasn’t her type. Frankly, he’d never been her type. If her entire life had been 
+recorded on video, the marriage would be one of those events she would gladly record 
+over. Except for Ben, of course. 
+She wished her younger brother, Drake, were here, and she felt the usual ache when she 
+thought of him. Whenever he’d come by, Ben followed him around the way the dogs 
+followed Nana. Together, they would wander off to catch butterflies or spend time in the 
+tree house that Grandpa had built, which was accessible only by a rickety bridge that 
+spanned one of the two creeks on the property. Unlike her ex, Drake accepted Ben, which 
+in a lot of ways made him more of a father to Ben than her ex had ever been. Ben adored 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+him, and she adored Drake for the quiet way he built confidence in her son. She 
+remembered thanking him for it once, but he’d just shrugged. “I just like spending time 
+with him,” he’d said by way of explanation. She knew she needed to check on Nana. 
+Rising from her seat, she spotted the light on in the office, but she doubted that Nana 
+was doing paperwork. More likely she was out in the pens behind the kennels, and she 
+headed in that direction. Hopefully, Nana hadn’t got it in her mind to try to take a group 
+of dogs for a walk. There was no way she could keep her balance—or even hold them—if 
+they tugged on the leashes, but it had always been one of her favorite things to do. She 
+was of the opinion that most dogs didn’t get enough exercise, and the property was great 
+for remedying that. At nearly seventy acres, it boasted several open fields bordered by 
+virgin hardwoods, crisscrossed by half a dozen trails and two small streams that flowed 
+all the way to the South River. The property, bought for practically nothing fifty years 
+ago, was worth quite a bit now. 
+ 
+That’s what the lawyer said, the one who’d come by to feel Nana out about the possibility 
+of selling it. She knew exactly who was behind all that. So did Nana, who pretended to be 
+lobotomized while the lawyer spoke to her. She stared at him with wide, blank eyes, 
+dropped grapes onto the floor one by one, and mumbled incomprehensibly. She and 
+Beth giggled about it for hours afterward. 
+ 
+Glancing through the window of the kennel office, she saw no sign of Nana, but she could 
+hear Nana’s voice echoing from the pens. 
+ 
+“Stay . . . come. Good girl! Good come!” 
+ 
+Rounding the corner, Beth saw Nana praising a shih tzu as it trotted toward her. It 
+reminded her of one of those wind-up toy dogs you could purchase from Wal-Mart. 
+ 
+“What are you doing, Nana? You’re not supposed to be out here.” 
+ 
+“Oh, hey, Beth.” Unlike two months ago, now she hardly slurred her words anymore. 
+ 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Beth put her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.” 
+“I brought a cell phone. I figured I’d just call if I got into a problem.” 
+“You don’t have a cell phone.” 
+“I have yours. I snuck it out of your purse this morning.” 
+“Then who would you have called?” 
+She hadn’t seemed to have considered that, and her brow furrowed as she glanced at the 
+dog. “See what I have to put up with, Precious? I told you the gal was sharper than a 
+digging caterpillar.” She exhaled, letting out a sound like an owl. 
+ 
+Beth knew a change of subject was coming. 
+“Where’s Ben?” she asked. 
+“Inside, getting ready. He’s going to his dad’s.” 
+“I’ll bet he’s thrilled about that. You sure he’s not hiding out in the tree house?” 
+“Go easy,” Beth said. “He’s still his dad.” 
+“You think.” 
+“I’m sure.” 
+ 
+“Are you positive you didn’t mess around with anyone else back then? Not even a single 
+one-night stand with a waiter or trucker, or someone from school?” She sounded almost 
+hopeful. She always sounded hopeful when she said it. 
+ 
+“I’m positive. And I’ve already told you that a million times.” 
+She winked. “Yes, but Nana can always hope your memory improves.” 
+“How long have you been out here, by the way?” 
+“What time is it?” 
+“Almost four o’clock.” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+“Then I’ve been out here three hours.” 
+“In this heat?” 
+“I’m not broken, Beth. I had an incident.” 
+“You had a stroke.” 
+“But it wasn’t a serious one.” 
+“You can’t move your arm.” 
+“As long as I can eat soup, I don’t need it anyway. Now let me go see my grandson. I want 
+to say good-bye to him before he leaves.”  
+They started toward the kennel, Precious trailing behind them, panting quickly, her tail 
+in the air. Cute dog. 
+“I think I want Chinese food tonight,” Nana said. “Do you want Chinese?” 
+“I haven’t thought about it.” 
+“Well, think about it.” 
+“Yeah, we can have Chinese. But I don’t want anything too heavy. And not fried, either. 
+It’s too hot for that.” 
+“You’re no fun.” 
+“But I’m healthy.” 
+“Same thing. Hey, and since you’re so healthy, would you mind putting Precious away? 
+She’s in number twelve. I heard a new joke I want to tell Ben.” 
+“Where did you hear a joke?” 
+“The radio.” 
+“Is it appropriate?” 
+“Of course it’s appropriate. Who do you think I am?” 
+“I know exactly who you are. That’s why I’m asking. 
+What’s the joke?” 
+“Two cannibals were eating a comedian, and one of them turns to the other and asks, 
+‘Does this taste funny to you?’” 
+                      
+ 
+ 
+ 
+Beth chuckled. “He’ll like that.” 
+“Good. The poor kid needs something to cheer him up.” 
+“He’s fine.” 
+“Yeah, sure he is. I didn’t just fall off the milk cart, you know.” 
+As they reached the kennel, Nana kept walking toward the house, her limp more 
+pronounced than earlier this morning. She was improving, but there was still a long way 
+to go. 
+ 
+ 
+ 

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+NICHOLAS  
+SPARKS
+SEE ME
+NEW YORK     BOSTON
+SeeMe HCtext1P indd
+iii
+7/31/15
+6:55:46 PM
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+29
+30
+31
+32
+S33
+N34
+This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the 
+product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to 
+actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
+Copyright © 2015 by Willow Holdings, Inc.
+All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the 
+scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the 
+permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s 
+intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than 
+for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting 
+the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the 
+author’s rights.
+Grand Central Publishing
+Hachette Book Group
+1290 Avenue of the Americas
+New York, NY 10104
+www.HachetteBookGroup.com
+Printed in the United States of America
+RRD-C and RRD-H
+First Edition: October 2015
+10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
+Grand Central Publishing is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
+The Grand Central Publishing name and logo is a trademark of Hachette Book 
+Group, Inc.
+The Hachette Speakers Bureau provides a wide range of authors for speaking 
+events. To find out more, go to www.hachettespeakersbureau.com or call (866) 
+ 376-  6591.
+The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not 
+owned by the publisher.
+Library of Congress Control Number: 2015947609
+ISBN (hardcover): 978-1-455- 52061-9
+SeeMe HCtext1P indd
+iv
+7/31/15
+6:55:46 PM
+01
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+03
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+33S
+34N
+PROLOGUE
+He hadn’t been in Wilmington for more than a day before he knew 
+it was the kind of city he’d never settle in for good. It was too tour-
+isty, and the whole place seemed as though it had grown  willy- nilly, 
+without any planning. While the historic district had the kind of 
+ porch- fronted homes he’d anticipated, with columns and detailed 
+wainscoting and sprawling magnolia trees in the yards, those lovely 
+neighborhoods gradually gave way to a commercial area of strip malls, 
+convenience stores, chain restaurants, and car dealerships. Endless 
+traffic snaked through the district, growing even more unbearable in 
+the summers.
+But the grounds of UNC Wilmington had been a pleasant sur-
+prise. Somehow, he’d imagined a campus heavy on the ugly architec-
+ture of the sixties and seventies. There were a few of those buildings, 
+especially at the fringes of the university, but the central quads had 
+proved to be an oasis of  sorts— shaded walkways and manicured 
+lawns, the Georgian columns and brick façades of Hoggard and 
+Kenan Halls gleaming in the  late- afternoon sunlight.
+He admired the commons as well. There was a clock tower there 
+and when he’d first arrived, he’d stared at the image reflected in the 
+pond behind it, time itself mirrored and unreadable at a glance. As 
+long as he had an open textbook in his lap, he could sit and watch the 
+activities, almost invisible to the students who wandered around in 
+their  self- absorbed trances.
+It was warm for late September, students lounging in shorts and 
+tank tops, skin evident everywhere. He wondered if they dressed the 
+same way for class. Like them, he’d come to the campus to learn. 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+He’d visited three times in three days, but there were still too many 
+people around; too many possible memories, and he didn’t want to 
+be remembered. He debated whether to move to another area before 
+finally deciding there was no reason. As far as he could tell, no one 
+cared that he was here.
+He was close, so very close, but for now it was important to 
+remain patient. He drew a long breath, holding it in before finally 
+releasing it. On the walkways, he saw a pair of students walking to 
+their classes, backpacks slung over their shoulders, but at this time of 
+day, they were outnumbered by those classmates who were getting an 
+early start to the weekend. Here and there, students were clustered in 
+groups of three or four, talking and sipping from water bottles he sus-
+pected were filled with alcohol, while a couple of  Abercrombie- model 
+lookalikes were tossing a Frisbee back and forth, their girlfriends chat-
+ting off to the side. He spotted a young man and woman arguing, the 
+woman’s face flushed. He watched as she pushed at her boyfriend, 
+creating space between them. He smiled at that, respecting her anger 
+and the fact that unlike him, she wasn’t compelled to hide the way she 
+was feeling. Beyond the couple, another group of students played a 
+game of touch football with the carefree abandon of those without real 
+responsibility.
+He figured that many of the students he saw were planning to go 
+out tonight and tomorrow night. Fraternity houses. Sorority houses. 
+Bars. Clubs. For many of them, the weekend would start tonight, 
+since many classes didn’t even meet on Fridays. He’d been surprised 
+when he’d first learned that; with the cost of a college education so 
+high, he would have thought that students would have been demand-
+ing more time in class with their professors, not  three- day weekends. 
+Then again, he supposed the schedule suited both the students and 
+the professors. Didn’t everyone want things to be easy these days? To 
+expend the least effort possible? To take shortcuts?
+Yes, he thought. That’s exactly what students were learning here. 
+They were learning that hard decisions weren’t necessary, that mak-
+ing the right choice was unimportant, especially if it entailed extra 
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+work. Why study or try to change the world on a Friday afternoon 
+when you could be out enjoying the sun?
+Shifting his eyes from left to right, he wondered how many of these 
+students even gave much thought to the lives they were going to lead. 
+Cassie used to, he remembered. She thought about the future all the 
+time. She had plans. She’d mapped out her future by seventeen, but 
+he could remember thinking that there was something tentative about 
+the way she’d talked about it, and he’d had the sense that she didn’t 
+quite believe in herself or the face she showed to the world. Why else 
+would she have made the decisions that she had?
+He’d tried to help her. He’d done the right thing, followed the law, 
+filed reports with the police, even talked to the assistant district attor-
+ney. And up until that point, he’d believed in society’s rules. He’d 
+held the naïve view that good would triumph over evil, that danger 
+could be corralled, that events could be controlled. Rules would keep 
+a person safe from harm. Cassie had believed that,  too— after all, 
+wasn’t that what kids were taught when they were young? Why else 
+would parents say the things they did? Look both ways before you 
+cross the road. Don’t get into a car with a stranger. Brush your teeth. 
+Eat your vegetables. Put on your seat belt. The list went on and on, 
+rules to protect and save us.
+But rules could be dangerous, too, he’d learned. Rules were about 
+averages, not specifics, and since people were conditioned since child-
+hood to accept rules, it was easy to follow them blindly. To trust in 
+the system. It was easier not to worry about random possibilities. It 
+meant that people didn’t have to think about potential consequences, 
+and when the sun was shining on Friday afternoons, they could play 
+Frisbee without a care in the world.
+Experience was the most painful of teachers. For nearly two years, 
+the lessons he’d learned had been all he could think about. They 
+had nearly consumed him, but slowly a clarity had begun to emerge. 
+She had known about the danger. He had warned her what would 
+happen. And in the end, she’d cared only about following the rules, 
+because it was convenient.
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+Checking his watch, he saw it was finally time to go. He closed the 
+textbook and rose from his spot, pausing to see if his movement had 
+caused others to notice him. It hadn’t. He set off then, crossing the 
+commons, textbook beneath his arm. In his pocket was a letter he’d 
+written, and he veered toward the mailbox just outside the science 
+building. He dropped the envelope through the slot and waited; a few 
+minutes later, he spotted Serena emerging from the doors, precisely 
+on time.
+He already knew much about her. These days, it seemed that every 
+young person had Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and Snap-
+chat, their lives on display for anyone who cared to put the pieces 
+together. What they liked, who their friends were, where they spent 
+their time. He already knew from a Facebook post that she’d be hav-
+ing brunch at her parents’ house with her sister this Sunday, and as 
+he watched her walking ahead of him, her dark brown hair tumbling 
+past her shoulders, he noted again how beautiful she was. There was 
+a natural grace about her, and she drew appreciative smiles from 
+the guys she passed, though lost in conversation, she didn’t seem to 
+notice. She was walking with a short, heavy blonde, a friend from 
+class. They’d been in an education seminar together; he knew she 
+wanted to become an elementary school teacher. Making plans, just 
+like Cassie used to do.
+He kept his distance, energized by the power he felt in her pres-
+ence. The power he’d been husbanding for the last two years. She had 
+no idea how close he was or what he could do. She never so much as 
+glanced over her shoulder, but why should she? He was no one to her, 
+just another face in the crowd . . .
+He wondered whether she was telling the blonde about her week-
+end plans, rattling off places to go or the people she intended to see. 
+For his part, he planned to join the family for brunch on Sunday, 
+though not as a guest. Instead, he would watch them from a nearby 
+house, located in a neighborhood that was solidly middle class. The 
+house had been empty for a month, the owners having lost it to fore-
+closure, but it was not yet up for sale. Though the locks on the doors 
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+SEE ME 
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+were solid, he’d been able to gain entry through a window along the 
+side of the house without much trouble. He already knew that from 
+the master bedroom, he could see onto their back porch and into the 
+kitchen. On Sunday, he’d watch the  close- knit family laugh and joke 
+at the table on the porch.
+He knew something about each of them. Felix Sanchez was the 
+classic immigrant success story; the newspaper article that was 
+proudly laminated and on display at their restaurant chronicled how 
+he’d arrived in the country illegally as a teenager without speaking 
+a word of English and begun working as a dishwasher in a local res-
+taurant. Fifteen years later, after becoming an American citizen, 
+he’d saved enough money to open his own place in a strip  mall— La 
+Cocina de la  Familia— serving his wife Carmen’s recipes. While she 
+cooked, he did everything else, especially in the early years of the busi-
+ness. Little by little, their restaurant had expanded, and it was now 
+regarded as one of the best Mexican restaurants in the city. Though 
+there were more than fifteen employees, many were relatives, retain-
+ing the restaurant’s family character. Both parents still worked there, 
+and Serena waited tables three times a week, just as her older sister, 
+Maria, once had. Felix was a member of both the Chamber of Com-
+merce and the Rotary Club, and he and his wife attended the seven 
+a.m. mass at St. Mary’s every Sunday, where he also served as a 
+deacon. Carmen was a bit more of a mystery; he knew only that she 
+was still more comfortable speaking Spanish than English and, like 
+her husband, was proud of the fact that Maria had become the first 
+college graduate in the family.
+As for Maria . . .
+He hadn’t yet seen her in Wilmington. She’d been out of town for 
+the last few days at a legal conference, but he knew her best of all. In 
+the past, when she’d lived in Charlotte, he’d seen her many times. 
+He’d talked to her. He’d tried to convince her she was wrong. And in 
+the end, she’d made him suffer as no one should ever suffer, and he 
+hated her for what she’d done.
+When Serena waved  good- bye to her friend and headed toward 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+the parking lot, he continued walking straight. There was no reason 
+to follow her, and he was content knowing that he’d see the small but 
+happy family on Sunday. Especially Maria. Maria was arguably even 
+more beautiful than her sister, though frankly, both had been winners 
+in the genetic lottery, with their dark eyes and nearly perfect bone 
+structure. He tried to imagine them sitting close together at the table; 
+despite the  seven- year age difference, many people might assume they 
+were twins. And yet they were different. Where Serena was outgoing 
+to a fault, Maria had always been quieter and driven, the more seri-
+ous and studious of the two. Even so, they were close, best friends as 
+well as sisters. He speculated that perhaps Serena saw traits in her 
+sister that she wanted to emulate, and vice versa. He felt a frisson of 
+excitement at the thought of the weekend, knowing it might be one 
+of the last times the family would all be together with any semblance 
+of normalcy. He wanted to see how they would act before tension 
+began to infect their sweet happy family . . .  before the fear took hold. 
+Before their lives were  slowly— and then  furiously— brought to ruin.
+He’d come here, after all, for a purpose, and that purpose had a 
+name.
+Its name was vengeance.
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+CHAPTER 1
+Colin
+Colin Hancock stood over the sink in the bathroom at the 
+diner, his shirt raised to better examine the bruise on his ribs. 
+He guessed that it would deepen to a dark purple by the time 
+he woke tomorrow. Even grazing the bruise made him wince, 
+and while he knew from experience that the pain could be 
+overridden for a while, he wondered whether it would hurt to 
+breathe in the morning.
+His face, though . . .
+That might end up being a  problem— not for him, but for 
+others. Certainly his college classmates would stare at him with 
+wide, frightened eyes and whisper about him behind his back, 
+though he doubted that any of them would actually ask him what 
+had happened. During the first few weeks at the university, most 
+of his classmates had seemed nice enough, but it had been clear 
+that none of them knew what to make of him, nor had any tried 
+to speak to him. Not that it bothered him. For one thing, virtu-
+ally all of them were six or seven years younger than he was, all 
+were female, and he suspected that as far as recent life experi-
+ences went, they had little in common with him. In time, like 
+everyone else, they’d end up drawing their own conclusions about 
+him. Frankly, it wasn’t worth worrying about.
+Still, he had to admit that he was particularly ghoulish right 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+now. His left eye was swollen and the white of his right eye was 
+a bloody red. There was a gash in the center of his forehead that 
+had been glued back together, and the  lead-  colored bruise on his 
+right cheekbone resembled a birthmark. His split, swollen lips 
+completed the picture. What he really needed was to put an ice 
+pack on his face as soon as possible if he wanted the girls in his 
+classes to be able to concentrate at all. But first things first; right 
+now, he was starved and he needed fuel. He hadn’t eaten much 
+in the last two days, and he’d wanted something fast, convenient, 
+ and— if  possible— not entirely unhealthy. Unfortunately, at this 
+time of night most places were already closed, so he’d ended up 
+at a  run-  down diner just off the highway with bars on the win-
+dows, water stains on the walls, peeling linoleum on the floor, 
+and booths held together with duct tape. But if the place had 
+one saving grace, it was that none of the other customers cared 
+how he looked when he made his way to the table. People who 
+came to dives like this late at night were good at minding their 
+own business. As far as he could tell, half the people here were 
+trying to sober up after a night of hard drinking, while the other 
+ half— designated drivers, no  doubt— were sobering up, too, only 
+marginally less intoxicated.
+It was the kind of place where it would have been easy to get 
+in trouble, and after he’d turned into the gravel lot with Evan 
+following in his Prius, he’d half expected Evan to keep going. But 
+Evan must have suspected the same thing about possible trouble. 
+It was the only reason he’d ever set foot in an establishment like 
+this, especially at this time of night. Evan didn’t exactly blend 
+in with the  late-  evening crowd here, what with his pink shirt, 
+argyle socks, leather loafers, and neatly parted sandy blond hair. 
+In fact, his Prius might as well have been a neon sign announcing 
+that his goal was to get beaten up by the good old boys in pickup 
+trucks who’d just spent most of the night getting wasted.
+Colin turned on the faucet and wet his hands before bringing 
+them to his face. The water was cold, exactly what he wanted. 
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+His skin felt like it was on fire. The marine he’d fought had hit 
+a lot harder than he’d  expected— and that didn’t count the ille-
+gal  blows— but who would have known by looking at him? Tall 
+and thin, jarhead haircut, goofy eyebrows . . .  He shouldn’t have 
+underestimated the guy, and he told himself he wouldn’t let it 
+happen again. Either that, or he’d end up scaring his classmates 
+all year long, which just might ruin the whole college experience 
+for them. There’s this super scary guy in my class with bruises all 
+over his face and these crazy tattoos, Mom!, he could imagine them 
+saying on the phone. And I have to sit right next to him!
+He shook the water from his hands. Leaving the restroom, 
+he spotted Evan in the corner booth. Unlike him, Evan would 
+have fit right in at the college. He still had a baby face, and as he 
+approached, Colin wondered how many times a week he even 
+had to shave.
+“That took you long enough,” Evan said as Colin slid into the 
+booth. “I was wondering if you got lost.”
+Colin slouched against the vinyl cushion. “I hope you weren’t 
+too nervous all alone out here.”
+“Ha, ha.”
+“I have a question for you.”
+“Go ahead.���
+“How many times a week do you shave?”
+Evan blinked. “You were in the bathroom for ten minutes and 
+that’s what you were thinking about?”
+“I wondered about it while I was walking to the table.”
+Evan stared at him. “I shave every morning.”
+“Why?”
+“What do you mean, why? For the same reason you do.”
+“I don’t shave every morning.”
+“Why are we even talking about this?”
+“Because I was curious and I asked and then you answered,” 
+Colin said. Ignoring Evan’s expression, he nodded toward the 
+menus. “Did you change your mind and decide to order?”
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+Evan shook his head. “Not a chance.”
+“You’re not going to eat anything?”
+“No.”
+“Acid reflux?”
+“Actually, it has more to do with my suspicion that the last 
+time the kitchen was inspected, Reagan was president.”
+“It’s not that bad.”
+“Have you seen the cook?”
+Colin glanced toward the grill behind the counter; the cook 
+was right out of central casting, with a greasy apron straining to 
+cover his ample gut, a long ponytail, and tattoos covering most of 
+his lower arms.
+“I like his tats.”
+“Gee, there’s a surprise.”
+“It’s the truth.”
+“I know. You always tell the truth. That’s part of your problem.”
+“Why is it a problem?”
+“Because people don’t always want the truth. Like when your 
+girlfriend asks if a particular outfit makes her look fat, you should 
+tell her she looks beautiful.”
+“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
+“That’s probably because you told the last one she looked fat 
+without adding the beautiful part.”
+“That’s not what happened.”
+“You get my point, though. Sometimes, you need to . . .  stretch 
+the truth to get along with people.”
+“Why?”
+“Because that’s what normal people do. That’s the way society 
+works. You can’t just tell people whatever pops into your mind. 
+It makes them uncomfortable or hurts their feelings. And just so 
+you know, employers hate it.”
+“Okay.”
+“You don’t believe me?”
+“I believe you.”
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+SEE ME 
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+“But you don’t care.”
+“No.”
+“Because you’d rather tell the truth.”
+“Yes.”
+“Why?”
+“It’s what I’ve learned works for me.”
+Evan stayed silent for a moment. “Sometimes I wish I could be 
+more like that. Just tell my boss what I really think of him with-
+out caring about the consequences.”
+“You can. You choose not to.”
+“I need the paycheck.”
+“That’s an excuse.”
+“Maybe.” Evan shrugged. “But it’s what I’ve learned works for 
+me. Sometimes lying is necessary. For instance, if I told you that 
+I saw a couple of roaches under the table while you were in the 
+bathroom, you might feel the same way about eating here that 
+I do.”
+“You know you don’t have to stay, right? I’ll be okay.”
+“So you say.”
+“You need to worry about yourself, not me. And besides, it’s 
+getting late. Aren’t you heading to Raleigh with Lily tomorrow?”
+“First thing in the morning. We’ll go to service at eleven with 
+my parents, and have brunch right afterwards. But unlike you, 
+I won’t have any trouble getting out of bed tomorrow morning. 
+You look terrible, by the way.”
+“Thanks.”
+“Your eye, especially.”
+“It won’t be as swollen tomorrow.”
+“Your other one. I think you popped a few blood vessels. Either 
+that, or you’re actually a vampire.”
+“I noticed that.”
+Evan leaned back, spreading his arms slightly. “Do me a favor, 
+okay? Keep yourself hidden from the neighbors tomorrow. I’d 
+hate for them to think I had to get rough on you for being late 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+on the rent or whatever. I don’t want to get a bad reputation as a 
+landlord.”
+Colin smiled. He outweighed Evan by at least thirty pounds, 
+and he liked to joke that if Evan had ever set foot in a gym, it was 
+probably to conduct an audit.
+“I promise to stay out of sight,” Colin offered.
+“Good. Considering my reputation and all.”
+Just then, the waitress came by, dropping off a plate loaded 
+with scrambled egg whites and ham, along with a gelatinous 
+bowl of oatmeal. As Colin pulled the bowl closer, he glanced at 
+Evan’s mug.
+“What are you drinking?”
+“Hot water with lemon.”
+“Seriously?”
+“It’s past midnight. If I had coffee, I’d be up all night.”
+Colin scooped a bit of oatmeal into his mouth before swallow-
+ing. “Okay.”
+“What? No snide comment?”
+“I’m just surprised they have lemon here.”
+“And I’m surprised they do scrambled egg whites. You’re prob-
+ably the first person in history who’s ever even attempted to eat a 
+healthy meal here.” He reached for his water. “By the way, what 
+are you planning to do tomorrow?”
+“I have to change the ignition switch in my car. It’s not start-
+ing the way it should. After that, I’ll do the lawn and then hit 
+the gym.”
+“Do you want to come with us?”
+“Brunch isn’t really my thing.”
+“I wasn’t inviting you to brunch. I doubt they’d even let you 
+in the country club looking the way you do. But you could see 
+your parents in Raleigh. Or your sisters. It’s on the way to Chapel 
+Hill.”
+“No.”
+“I just thought I’d ask.”
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+Colin scooped a spoonful of oatmeal. “Don’t.”
+Evan leaned back in his seat. “There were a few great fights 
+tonight, by the way. The one after yours was awesome.”
+“Yeah?”
+“A guy named Johnny Reese had a submission in the first 
+round. Took the guy down like a stud, maneuvered him into a 
+choke hold, and it was lights out. The dude moves like a cat.”
+“Your point is?”
+“He’s way better than you.”
+“Okay.”
+Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “So . . .  are you okay 
+with how your fight went tonight?”
+“It’s over.”
+Evan waited. “And?”
+“That’s it.”
+“Do you still think that what you’re doing is a good idea? I 
+mean . . .  you know.”
+Colin scooped a bite of eggs onto his fork. “I’m still here with 
+you, aren’t I?”
+Half an hour later, Colin was back on the highway. The clouds 
+that had been threatening a storm for the last few hours finally 
+obliged, releasing a torrent of wind and rain punctuated by light-
+ning and thunder. Evan had left a few minutes before Colin did, 
+and as Colin settled in behind the wheel of the Camaro he’d been 
+restoring over the last few years, he found his thoughts drifting to 
+his friend.
+He’d known Evan as long as he could remember. When Colin 
+was young, his family used to spend summers at a beach cottage 
+in Wrightsville Beach, and Evan’s family lived right next door. 
+They’d passed long,  sun-  drenched days walking the beach, play-
+ing catch, fishing, and either surfing or riding boogie boards. 
+More often than not, they’d spent the night at each other’s 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+houses, until Evan’s family moved to Chapel Hill and Colin’s life 
+went completely in the toilet.
+The facts were fairly straightforward: He was the third child and 
+only son of wealthy parents with a fondness for nannies and 
+absolutely no desire for a third child. He was a colicky baby 
+and then a  high-  energy child with a raging case of ADHD, the 
+kind of kid who threw regular temper tantrums, couldn’t focus, 
+and found it impossible to sit still. He drove his parents crazy at 
+home, ran off one nanny after another, and struggled endlessly in 
+school. He had a great teacher in third grade who made things 
+better for a while, but in fourth grade, he started going downhill 
+again. He got in one fight after another on the playground and 
+was nearly held back. It was around that time that he came to 
+be regarded as having serious issues, and in the end, not knowing 
+what else to do, his parents shipped him off to military school, 
+hoping the structure would do him good. His experience that 
+first year was horrific, and he was expelled halfway through the 
+spring semester.
+From there, he was sent to another military school in a differ-
+ent state, and over the next few years, he expended his energies in 
+combat  sports— wrestling, boxing, and judo. He took his aggres-
+sion out on others, sometimes with too much enthusiasm, often 
+just because he wanted to. He cared nothing about grades or dis-
+cipline. Five more expulsions and five different military schools 
+later, he graduated, just barely, as an angry and violent young 
+man with no plans for his life and no interest in finding any. He 
+moved back in with his parents and seven bad years followed. 
+He watched his mother cry and listened to his father plead with 
+him to change, but he ignored them. He worked with a therapist 
+at his parents’ insistence, but he continued his downward spiral, 
+subconscious  self-  destruction his primary goal. The therapists’ 
+words, not his, though he now agreed with them. Whenever his 
+parents kicked him out of the main house in Raleigh, he’d crash 
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+at the family’s beach cottage, biding his time before returning 
+home, the cycle beginning anew. When Colin was  twenty-  five, 
+he was given one final chance to make changes in his life. Unex-
+pectedly, he did just that. And now here he was, in college with 
+plans to spend the next few decades in the classroom, hoping to 
+be a mentor to children, which would make no sense at all to 
+most people.
+Colin knew there was an irony to his wanting to spend the 
+rest of his life in  school— a place he’d always  hated— but that’s 
+the way it was. He didn’t dwell on the irony and he generally 
+didn’t dwell on the past. He wouldn’t have been thinking of any 
+of these things at all if it hadn’t been for Evan’s comment about 
+visiting his parents tomorrow. What Evan still didn’t grasp was 
+that simply being in the same room as them was stressful for both 
+Colin and his  parents— especially if the visit wasn’t planned well 
+in advance. Had he shown up unexpectedly, he knew they’d sit 
+uncomfortably in the living room trying to make small talk while 
+memories of the past filled the air between them like a poison-
+ous gas. He’d feel waves of disappointment and judgment radiat-
+ing out from them, apparent in the things they said or didn’t say, 
+and who needed that? He didn’t, and neither did they. In the last 
+three years, he’d tried to keep his infrequent visits to about an 
+hour, almost always on the holidays, an arrangement that seemed 
+to suit them all.
+His older sisters, Rebecca and Andrea, had tried to talk to 
+him about making amends with his parents, but he’d shut down 
+those conversations the same way he’d done with Evan. Their 
+lives with their parents, after all, had been different from his. 
+They’d both been wanted, while he’d been a big fat whoops seven 
+years later. He knew they meant well, but he didn’t have a lot in 
+common with them. Both of them were college graduates and 
+married with kids. They lived in the same upscale neighborhood 
+as their parents and played tennis on the weekends. The older 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+he’d gotten, the more he’d come to acknowledge that the choices 
+they’d made in their own lives had been a lot smarter than his 
+own. Then again, they didn’t have serious issues.
+He knew that his parents, like his sisters, were essentially 
+good people. It had taken him years in therapy to accept the fact 
+that he’d been the one with the problems, not them. He no lon-
+ger blamed his mother and father for the things that had hap-
+pened to him or for what they had or hadn’t done; if anything, 
+he considered himself a lucky son of two incredibly patient peo-
+ple. So what if he’d been raised by nannies? So what if his folks 
+had finally thrown in the towel and shipped him off to military 
+school? When he’d really needed them, when other parents prob-
+ably would have given up, they’d never lost hope that he could 
+turn his life around.
+And they’d put up with his crap for years. Serious crap. They’d 
+ignored the drinking and the pot smoking and the music cranked 
+way too loud at all hours; they’d put up with the parties he threw 
+whenever they went out of town that left the house in sham-
+bles. They’d overlooked the bar fights and multiple arrests. They 
+never contacted the authorities when he broke into the beach 
+cottage, even though he did serious damage to that place as well. 
+They’d bailed him out more times than he could remember and 
+paid his legal bills, and three years  ago— when Colin was fac-
+ing a long prison sentence after a bar fight in  Wilmington— his 
+dad had pulled some strings to strike a deal that would clear his 
+criminal record entirely. If, of course, Colin didn’t screw it up. 
+As part of his probation, Colin had been required to spend four 
+months at an  anger-  management treatment facility in Arizona. 
+Upon his return and because his parents wouldn’t let him stay 
+at their home, he’d crashed again at the beach cottage, which 
+by then was for sale. He’d also been ordered to meet regularly 
+with Detective Pete Margolis from the Wilmington police 
+department. The man whom Colin had beaten in the bar was a 
+longtime confidential informant of Margolis’s, and as a result of 
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+the fight, a  high-  profile case Margolis was working on had gone 
+suddenly south. Consequently, Margolis hated Colin with a pas-
+sion. Having argued strongly against the deal in the first place, he 
+then insisted on monitoring Colin regularly and at random, like 
+a makeshift probation officer. Finally, the deal stipulated that if 
+Colin was arrested again, for anything, the entirety of his original 
+record would be reinstated and he’d automatically be sentenced 
+to prison for nearly a decade.
+Despite the requirements, despite having to deal with Margo-
+lis, who plainly itched to place him in handcuffs, it was a great 
+deal. An unbelievable deal, and it was all thanks to his father . . . 
+even if he and Colin had trouble speaking these days. Colin was 
+technically banned from ever setting foot in the house again, 
+though his dad had softened on that particular stance lately. 
+Being permanently kicked out of the house after he’d returned 
+from Arizona and then watching from the street as new own-
+ers took possession of the beach cottage had forced Colin to 
+reevaluate his life. He’d ended up sleeping at friends’ places back 
+in Raleigh, drifting from one couch to the next. Little by little, 
+he’d come to the conclusion that if he didn’t change his life, he’d 
+ self-  destruct entirely. The environment there wasn’t good for 
+him, and his circle of friends was as out of control as he was. 
+With nowhere else to go, he’d driven back to Wilmington and 
+surprised himself by showing up at Evan’s door. Evan had been 
+living there after graduating from North Carolina State and had 
+been equally surprised to see his old friend. Cautious and a bit 
+nervous, too, but Evan was Evan, and he had no problem with 
+Colin staying at his place for a while.
+It took some time to earn Evan’s trust again. By that point, 
+their lives had diverged. Evan was a lot more like Rebecca and 
+Andrea, a responsible citizen whose only experience with jail was 
+what he’d seen on television. He worked as an accountant and 
+financial planner, and in keeping with the fiscally prudent ide-
+als of his profession, he’d also purchased a house with a  first-  floor 
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+apartment and separate entrance to help lower his mortgage pay-
+ments, an apartment that happened to be vacant when Colin 
+had shown up. Colin hadn’t intended to stay long, but one thing 
+led to another and when he’d gotten a job tending bar, he’d 
+moved in downstairs for good. Three years later, he was still pay-
+ing rent to the best friend he had in the world.
+So far, it was working out well. He mowed the lawn and 
+trimmed the bushes and paid a reasonable rent in return. He 
+had his own space with his own entrance, but Evan was right 
+there, too, and Evan was exactly what Colin needed in his life 
+right now. Evan wore a suit and tie to work, he kept his tastefully 
+decorated house spotless, and he never drank more than two 
+beers when he went out. He was also just about the nicest guy in 
+the world, and he accepted Colin, faults and all.  And— for God 
+knows what  reason— he believed in him, even when Colin knew 
+he didn’t always deserve it.
+Lily, Evan’s fiancée, was pretty much cut from the same cloth. 
+Though she worked in advertising and had her own condo at the 
+ beach— her parents had bought it for  her— she spent enough 
+time at Evan’s to have become an important part of Colin’s life. 
+It had taken her a while to warm up to  him— when they’d first 
+met, Colin had been sporting a blond Mohawk and had piercings 
+in both ears, and their initial conversation had centered around 
+a bar fight in Raleigh where the other guy had ended up in the 
+hospital. For a while, she simply couldn’t comprehend how Evan 
+could ever be friends with him. A Charleston debutante who’d 
+attended college at Meredith, Lily was prim and polite, and the 
+phrases she used were a throwback to an earlier era. She was also 
+just about the most  drop-  dead gorgeous girl that Colin had ever 
+seen, and it was no wonder that Evan was putty in her hands. 
+With her blond hair and blue eyes and an accent that sounded 
+like honey even when she was angry, she seemed like the last 
+person in the world who would give Colin a chance. And yet, 
+she had. And like Evan, she had eventually come to believe in 
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+him. It had been Lily who’d suggested that he start taking classes 
+at the junior college two years ago, and it had been Lily who’d 
+tutored him in the evenings. And on two separate occasions, it 
+had been Lily and Evan who had kept Colin from making the 
+kind of impulsive mistake that might have landed him in prison. 
+He loved her for those things, just as he loved the relationship 
+between her and Evan. He’d long since decided that if anyone 
+ever threatened the two of them in any way, he would handle it, 
+no matter what the consequences, even if it meant he’d have to 
+spend the rest of his life behind bars.
+But all good things come to an end. Isn’t that what people said? 
+The life he’d lived for the last three years was going to change, if 
+only because Evan and Lily were engaged, with plans for a spring 
+wedding already in the works. While they’d both insisted that 
+Colin could continue to live in the downstairs apartment after 
+they were married, he also knew they’d spent the previous week-
+end walking through model homes in a subdivision closer to 
+Wrightsville Beach, with homes that featured the kind of double 
+porches common in Charleston. They both wanted kids, they 
+both wanted the whole  white-  picket-  fence thing, and Colin had 
+no doubt that within a year, Evan’s current house would be for 
+sale. After that, Colin would be on his own again, and while he 
+knew it wasn’t fair to expect Evan and Lily to be responsible for 
+him, he sometimes wondered whether they were aware of how 
+important they’d become to him in the last few years.
+Like tonight, for instance. He hadn’t asked Evan to come to 
+the fight; that had been Evan’s idea. Nor had he asked Evan to 
+sit with him while he ate. But Evan probably suspected that had 
+he not done those things, Colin might have ended up at a bar 
+instead of the diner, unwinding with shots instead of midnight 
+breakfast. And though Colin worked as a bartender, being on the 
+other side of the bar didn’t exactly work for him these days.
+Finally exiting the highway, Colin steered onto a winding 
+county road, loblolly pine and red oak mingling on either side, 
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+NICHOLAS SPARKS
+kudzu playing no favorites between the two. It was less a shortcut 
+than an attempt to avoid an endless series of stoplights. Light-
+ning continued to strike, turning the clouds silver and illuminat-
+ing the surroundings in otherworldly strobes. The rain and wind 
+intensified, the wipers barely keeping the windshield clear, but he 
+knew this road well. He eased into one of its many blind curves 
+before instinctively stomping on the brakes.
+Up ahead, a car with storage racks across the roof was halfway 
+off the road at a cockeyed angle, its hazards flashing. The trunk 
+stood propped open to the elements. As the Camaro slowed, 
+Colin felt the rear fishtail slightly before the tires caught again. 
+He merged into the oncoming lane to give the car a wide berth, 
+thinking that the guy couldn’t have picked a worse time and 
+place to break down. Not only was the storm limiting visibility, 
+but drunks like the ones back at the diner would be setting out 
+for home right about now, and he could imagine one of them tak-
+ing the corner too fast and plowing into the back of the car.
+Not good, he thought. It was definitely an accident waiting to 
+happen, but at the same time, it wasn’t his business. It wasn’t his 
+job to rescue strangers, and he probably wouldn’t be much help 
+anyway. He understood the engine in his car, but only because 
+the Camaro was older than he was; modern engines had more 
+in common with computers. Besides, the driver had no doubt 
+already called for help.
+As he rolled slowly past the stopped car, however, he noticed 
+the rear tire was flat and behind the trunk, a  woman— soaked to 
+the bone in jeans and a  short- sleeved  blouse— was struggling to 
+remove the spare tire from its compartment. Lightning flashed, a 
+long series of flickering camera strobes that captured her  mascara- 
+ streaked distress. In that instant, he realized that her dark hair 
+and  wide- set eyes reminded him of one of the girls in his classes, 
+and his shoulders slumped.
+A girl? Why did it have to be a girl in trouble out here? For 
+all he knew, it was the girl in his class, and he couldn’t very well 
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+pretend he hadn’t noticed that she needed help. He really didn’t 
+need this right now, but what choice did he have?
+With a sigh, he pulled over to the side of the road, leaving 
+some distance between her car and his. He turned on his haz-
+ards and grabbed his jacket from the backseat. By then the rain 
+was coming down in sheets, instantly soaking him as he exited, 
+like the diagonal spray of an outdoor shower. Running a hand 
+through his hair, he took a deep breath and then started toward 
+her car, calculating how quickly he could change the tire and be 
+on the road again.
+“Need a hand?” he called.
+Surprising him, she didn’t say anything. Instead, staring at 
+him with stricken eyes, she let go of the tire and began slowly 
+backing away.
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