Page 140 of What Boys Learn

“Because he wants people to think he’s in Fond du Lac. Misdirection. An alibi.”

“Stop worrying.”

“But boats are pretty slow, right?”

“Coast Guard boats are faster. They’ll be putting word out to other boats in the area, looking.”

I shake my head. Lake Winnebago is an inland lake, but it’s huge. And can’t you go from the north side of Lake Winnebago up the Fox River into the whole Great Lakes system? Just go and go, and never come back?

Robert puts his hands on my shoulders. “She gave her dad the name of the boat. The CG got it from us, too, so they know we’re onto something. They’re taking this very seriously.”

My relief has seeped away. Dread has taken its place. “They’ve got a girl, Robert.”

“Curtis does, you mean.”

“No. Both of them. He’s talked Benjamin into something.”

“But Benjamin wouldn’t do anything to her—”

I think of Martha, and how I knew she would get hurt. Not die, but get hurt.

I think of the tire iron in my gym bag and how I’d like to hold it like a baseball bat and swing it, hard, right into Curtis’s skull.

“He might, Robert.”

“No, Abby.”

“You don’t understand, but I do.”

No more denial. Love, and no lies. It’s all gone too far. And maybe this is the first time I get it: the real cost of unconditional love. You have to truly know the condition before you can decide to accept it and keep loving, regardless. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn’t really pictured the worst that could happen. What your kid could do. What he could become. Until then, it’s just empty promises.

I drive and Robert phones around until he’s connected with Sheriff Bruckner, in Oshkosh. Twenty minutes later we’re at the dock, hurrying toward the sheriff’s boat, which still hasn’t left its slip, because the sheriff isn’t half as worried as we are. He’s already put out a call to recreational boats in the area and no one has responded with a sighting yet, but it’s no problem, now. The Coast Guard is on its way.

Bruckner keeps talking about how short-staffed they are, down two men who are on vacation and won’t be back until July fourth week, their busiest time, when thereal stuff happens, accidents and alcohol andyou’d never imagine what people get up to.

Robert has a word with him, out of my earshot, and then he’s waving me over. We’re going. All of us.

“Thank you,” I whisper when I reach him. “What’d you tell him?”

“I promised I’d have you out of his hair in under two hours if we could just get going, but if he stayed here at the dock, all bets would be off.”

We’re motoring slowly out of the harbor when Benjamin’s phone starts buzzing again, but this time I grab it and answer in time.

“Mom!” Benjamin shouts. “Mom!”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing—Call the police! AndHelp!—but it’s disrupted by other people shouting, clatter and static, a girl’s voice, too.

The call drops.

Moments later, Curtis’s voice breaks through the crackle of the sheriff’s marine radio, asking for help.

“There you go.” The sheriff nods at Robert, avoiding my glance. “Mystery solved. Everyone accounted for.” He thought I was being hysterical from the start.

Curtis repeats the call. “Mayday, Mayday, this isParadox. I am a twenty-two-foot white Catalina. One man aboard . . .”

I grab Robert from behind, pulling hard on his arm. “One man?”

The sheriff responds laconically. Curtis’s radio message is fragmented. The sheriff repeats back the location to confirm it, but there’s no response.