Page 110 of What Boys Learn

I thought about the day I came home with Benjamin after his night in jail. The intervention by Curtis. The kindness, and the patience, and the pad thai. The question,And your brother, was he the same way?

But Curtis didn’t know about my brother. I hadn’t talked about my brother. Twenty minutes at the pool, and less than a week later, twenty minutes eating takeout. There wasn’t time, never mind the fact that I didn’t discuss my biggest source of familial shame with just anyone. I hadn’t even told Robert why Ewan had gone to prison until we’d been dating half a year.

Curtis knew about Ewan. Maybe he’d heard about him from another psychologist, or maybe he’d met him long ago, at Menkoka, when Ewan was first held there.

I tried to picture that day at the pool. Curtis watching Benjamin with such interest.

And then I thought farther back, to that day in college when I’d brought Benjamin with me, because he’d gotten in trouble at school and I couldn’t find anyone to watch him and I couldn’t risk failing a psych class, either. All of which I’d explained to Curtis, feeling embarrassed that I had a disobedient young child and a chaotic life, unlike most of the other undergrads.

I pictured the look on Dr. Curtis Campbell’s face, then—the tilt of his head, the softening of his features, that moment when my crush started, because it was just incredible that this professor cared, that he was interested—reallyinterested. In me. In my son.

Especially in my son.

39

BENJAMIN

“Idon’t know what to say to her.”

“Go ask her about her dog. Say you’re thinking of getting a new one. But not until the current one passes away. Say you have an old black Lab, on its last legs—”

“I’m supposed to pretend I have an old dog?”

“Yes, and you’ll get a new puppy, but only after the old one dies. You just haven’t decided on the breed.”

I must look surprised.

“Pretend dogs are the best kind, Benjamin,” he says, smiling. “A good excuse for why you have to be home, or why you can’t do a favor when asked. Pretendpeople, too.”

I don’t ask what that means. I’m too nervous about the girl. One thing at a time.

I wander over, we chat, the dog opener works just like he said it would. At one point I look toward the car and I don’t see Matt at all, but I know he’s watching from somewhere. I point to the Jag. She’s impressed, enough to take out her phone. I ask her what’s in Stevens Point. Her sister, at college. We joke around. I’m in no hurry and neither is she. Everything’s going great when suddenly Matt’s at my side, harsh-whispering into my ear. “Get the fuck back to the car.”

Jade—that’s her name—makes a face and I make a face back.Sorry?

He’s got my arm, literally dragging me.

“Get in.”

He speeds out of the rest stop, blasting some piece of classical music, only one shade better than the jazz. I know a lecture’s coming but I don’t have a clue. He told me to talk to her. He even told me what to say. I don’t get it.

He kills the music.

“You never,everlet them take a photo.”

“Sorry. What?”

“She was taking a photo of my car, over your shoulder.”

“I don’t think you were in it.”

“Doesn’t matter. You tried to show off, pointing to the Jag. She pulled out her phone. One snap and she’s sending it to her family or her social media, and that ends the whole game.”

What game. I don’t say it.

He bangs the side of his hand against the steering wheel. “Every person in the world would know she got in my car.”

I don’t think it’s illegal to give someone a ride, but maybe it is? In some cases?