few feet away, and shook the water from his coat. He focused on Thibault.
“Get a stick.”
Zeus immediately put his nose to the ground, sifting through myriad fallen branches. In the end, he chose a small stick and trotted toward Thibault.
Thibault shook his head. “Bigger,” he said, and Zeus stared at him with what resembled disappointment before turning away. He dropped the stick and resumed searching. “He gets excited when he plays, and if the stick is too small, he’ll snap it in half,” Thibault explained. “He does it every time.”
Ben nodded, looking solemn.
Zeus returned with a larger stick and brought it to Thibault. Thibault broke off a few of the remaining twigs, making it a bit smoother, then gave it back to Zeus.
“Take it to Ben.”
Zeus didn’t understand the command and tilted his head, ears pricked. Thibault pointed toward Ben. “Ben,” he said. “Stick.”
Zeus trotted toward Ben, stick in his mouth, then dropped it at Ben’s feet. He sniffed Ben, took a step closer, and allowed Ben to pet him.
“He knows my name?”
“Now he does.”
“Forever?”
“Probably. Now that he’s smelled you.”
“How could he learn it so fast?”
“He just does. He’s used to learning things quickly.”
Zeus sidled closer and licked Ben’s face, then retreated, his gaze flickering from Ben to the stick and back again.
Thibault pointed to the stick. “He wants you to throw it. That’s his way of asking.”
Ben grabbed the stick and seemed to debate his next move. “Can I throw it in the water?”
“He’d love that.”
Ben heaved it into the slow-moving creek. Zeus bounded into the water and began to paddle. He retrieved the stick, stopped a few feet from Ben to shake off, then got close and dropped the stick again.
“I trained him to shake off before he gets too close. I don’t like getting wet,” Thibault said.
“That’s cool.”
Thibault smiled as Ben threw the stick again.
“What else can he do?” Ben asked over his shoulder.
“Lots of things. Like . . . he’s great at playing hide-and-go-seek. If you hide, he’ll find you.”
“Can we do that sometime?”
“Anytime you want.”
“Awesome. Is he an attack dog, too?”
“Yes. But mostly he’s friendly.”
Finishing the rest of his lunch, Thibault watched as Ben continued to throw the stick. On the last throw, while Zeus retrieved it, he didn’t trot toward Ben. Instead, he walked off to the side and lay down. Holding one paw over the stick, he began to gnaw.
“That means he’s done,” Thibault said. “You’ve got a good arm, by the way. Do you play baseball?”
“Last year. But I don’t know if I’ll play this year. I want to learn how to play the violin.”
“I played the violin as a kid,” Thibault remarked.
“Really?” Ben’s face registered surprise.
“Piano, too. Eight years.”
Off to the side, Zeus raised his head from the stick, becoming alert. A moment later, Thibault heard the sound of someone coming up the path as Elizabeth’s voice floated through the trees.
“Ben?”
“Over here, Mom!” Ben shouted.
Thibault raised his palm toward Zeus. “It’s okay.”
“There you are,” she said, stepping into view. “What are you doing out here?”
Her friendly expression froze as soon as she spotted Thibault, and he could plainly read the question in her eyes: Why is my son in the woods with a man I barely know? Thibault felt no need to defend himself. He’d done nothing wrong. Instead, he nodded a greeting.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” she said, her tone cautious. By that time, Ben was already running toward her.
“You should see what his dog can do, Mom! He’s supersmart. Even smarter than Oliver was.”
“That’s great.” She put an arm around him. “You ready to come inside? I have lunch on the table.”
“He knows me and everything. . . .”
“Who?”
“The dog. Zeus. He knows my name.”
She turned her gaze to Thibault. “Does he?”
Thibault nodded. “Yeah.”
“Well . . . good.”
“Guess what? He played the violin.”
“Zeus?”
“No, Mom. Mr. Thibault did. As a kid. He played the violin.”
“Really?” She seemed startled by that.
Thibault nodded. “My mom was kind of a music fanatic. She wanted me to master Shostakovich, but I wasn’t that gifted. I could play a decent Mendelssohn, though.”
Her smile was forced. “I see.”
Despite her apparent discomfort, Thibault laughed.
“What?” she asked, obviously remembering their earlier encounter as well.
“Nothing.”
“What’s wrong, Mom?”
“Nothing,” she said. “It’s just that you should have told me where you were going.”
“I come out here all the time.”
“I know,” she said, “but next time, let me know, okay?”
So I can keep an eye on you, she didn’t say. So I know you’re safe. Again, Thibault understood the message, even if Ben didn’t.