Page 51 of For Your Own Good

“But remember when we first looked up?” she says. “And we saw how far the dock was?”

“Yeah.”

“Everyone had gone inside or something. No one heard us when we yelled.”

“I remember.”

“That’s how it feels in here,” she says, looking at him with hollow eyes. “The same way it felt on that raft.”

33

ALL FRANK WANTSis for everyone to shut up. They won’t.

Before class, during class, after class, at breaks, at lunch, after school, at home. Yesterday, he stopped at the CVS after work and a reporter tried to talk to him. The asshole had followed him from Belmont, then walked right up behind him in line and asked him a question about Courtney.

“No comment,” Frank said.

“Look, I get it,” the reporter said. His breath smelled like cigarettes. “A lot of reporters out here are just looking for a juicy story. A byline. I’m looking for the truth.”

“No comment.”

“I won’t use your name.”

“No comment.”

The reporter had tried three or four more times before giving up and walking away.

This morning, as Frank drove into school, he saw that same reporterstanding outside the fence. It wasn’t snowing, but the temperature was below freezing and Frank hoped that reporter was cold.

A second later, he scolded himself for thinking such a thing.

He could imagine what that reporter would say if he knew the truth about Frank.

If he saw that picture.

The first time Frank saw it was a week after he got drunk with Ingrid. She’d called, saying she wanted to continue their conversation. He’d said yes. In part because he was embarrassed, but also because he couldn’t say no. Not to a board member.

The bar was out-of-the-way, dark, and quiet. Ingrid looked good. Then again, she always looked good. But that night, especially so. At first, the conversation was mundane—work, school, the change in weather. Then she brought up Courtney.

“I understand she’s been having some trouble in your class.”

Frank shrugged, not wanting to talk about Ingrid’s daughter at that moment. “It’s AP Calculus. Most students have trouble with it.” And Courtney wasn’t doing that badly, though she was usually a straight-A student. In his class, she was averaging a B+, but there was plenty of time left in the semester.

He didn’t say any of that to her mother.

“Is there anything you can do to help her?” Ingrid asked.

“Like tutoring?” he said. “I can give you some names, if that’s what you mean. There are several good math tutors that Belmont recommends.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Frank’s hand froze midair, his drink suspended between the table and his lips. Something in her tone was different. Not so flirty anymore. In fact, not flirty at all. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.

“I think you do.”

He smiled a little, trying to bring back the lightness. “Do I?”

“Don’t be stupid, Frank.” Ingrid took out her phone. She swiped it open, clicked a few times, and slid it across the table.