“And yet,” Victor observed, “you think about her often.”
To this, Thibault said nothing, for there was nothing he could say.
On Saturday morning, Thibault arrived early and went straight to work at the kennels, feeding, cleaning, and training as usual. While he worked, Ben played with Zeus until Elizabeth called him inside to get ready to go. She waved from her spot on the porch, but even from a distance, he could see she was distracted.
She had gone back inside by the time he took the dogs out; he usually walked them in groups of three, with Zeus trailing behind him. Away from the house, he would let the dogs off the leash, but they tended to follow behind him no matter what direction he headed. He liked to vary the route he took; the variety kept the dogs from wandering too far away. Like people, dogs got bored if they did the same thing every day. Usually, the walks lasted about thirty minutes per group. After the third group, he noticed that Elizabeth’s car was gone, and he assumed she’d gone to drop Ben off at his father’s.
He didn’t like Ben’s father, mostly because Ben and Elizabeth didn’t. The guy sounded like a piece of work, but it wasn’t his place to do much more than listen when she talked about him. He didn’t know enough to offer any advice, and even if he did, she wasn’t asking for any. In any event, it wasn’t his business.
But what was his business, then? Why was he here? Despite himself, his thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Victor, and he knew he was here because of what Victor had said to him that morning at the lake. And, of course, because of what happened later.
He forced the memory away. He wasn’t going to go there. Not again.
Calling to the dogs, Thibault turned and made for the kennels. After putting the dogs away, he went to explore the storage shed. When he turned on the light in the shed, he stared at the walls and shelves in amazement. Elizabeth’s grandfather didn’t have just a few tools—the place resembled a cluttered hardware store. He wandered inside, scanning the racks and sorting through the Snap-on tool cabinets and piles of items on the workbench. He eventually picked out a socket wrench set, a couple of adjustable and Allen wrenches, and a jack and carried them out to the truck. As Elizabeth had promised, the keys were under the mat. Thibault drove down the driveway, heading for the auto supply store he vaguely remembered seeing near downtown.
The parts were in stock—replacement pads, C-clamp, and some high-temp grease—and he was back at the house in less than half an hour. He put the jack in place and raised the car, then removed the first wheel. He retracted the piston with the C-clamp, removed the old pad, checked the rotors for damage, and reinstalled a new pad before replacing the wheel and repeating the process with the other wheels.
He was finishing the third brake pad when he heard Elizabeth pull up, rolling to a stop next to the old truck. He glanced over his shoulder just as she got out, realizing she’d been gone for hours.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“Just about done.”
“Really?” She sounded amazed.
“It’s just brake pads. It’s not a big deal.”
“I’m sure that’s the same thing a surgeon would say. It’s just an appendix.”
“You want to learn?” Thibault asked, staring up at her figure silhouetted against the sky.
“How long does it take?”
“Not long.” He shrugged. “Ten minutes?”
“Really?” she repeated. “Okay. Just let me get the groceries inside.”
“Need help?”
“No, it’s just a couple of bags.”
He slipped the third wheel back on and finished tightening the lug nuts before moving to the final wheel. He loosened the nuts just as Elizabeth reached his side. When she squatted beside him, he could smell a hint of the coconut lotion she’d applied earlier that morning.
“First, you take the wheel off . . . ,” he began, and methodically walked her through the process, making sure she understood each step. When he lowered the jack and started to collect the tools, she shook her head.
“That seemed almost too easy. I think even I could do it.”
“Probably.”
“Then why do they charge so much?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m in the wrong line of work,” she said, rising and gathering her hair into a loose ponytail. “But thank you for taking care of it. I’ve