Page 34 of What Boys Learn

“Young man,” Dr. Campbell said, swinging around to face my son, “you are one hell of a swimmer.”

“Not really,” Benjamin mumbled.

“No, you are. Take it from a parent of a former competitive swimmer who wouldn’t do her laps without a coach.”

I spotted the changing angle of Benjamin’s chin as he looked up, taking in the praise. “Yeah, well. Motivation isn’t everything.”

“I’d gamble on you as the next Michael Phelps.”

The compliment was too much, and we both knew it.

Benjamin frowned. “Phelps is six-four with an eighty-inch wingspan. Genetically, he’s made for competitive swimming. I’m pretty much the opposite of Michael Phelps.” He looked at me and gestured toward the locker rooms with his chin, the message clear.

“Hold on a second,” Dr. Campbell said. “You and I have met before.”

Benjamin squinted. “I don’t remember.”

“You were seven or eight years old and sitting in the back of the lecture hall with a coloring book because your mom had to take you out of school that day.”

I winced, remembering the reason: another exasperated call from his school principal.

Dr. Campbell said, “Your mother said you were having a hard day, but you were very well-behaved in my classroom. I remember our conversation because you were my daughter’s age, with the very same birth month. December. Do you remember how we talked about how it’s no fun having a birthday close to Christmas?”

“Not really.” But Benjamin looked more interested now.

“I said you could choose another month to celebrate, and you said, ‘That’s cheating.’”

“Because it is.”

“Exactly. It’s interesting to see morality develop. Fairness and rules are so important between the ages of seven and ten.”

I smiled. “And then a kid becomes a teen and all those concerns about the rules fade away.” I made an exploding gesture with my hands.

Dr. Campbell laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Even older kids care about rules, especially the ones they decide for themselves.”

Benjamin wrapped his towel tighter around his chest. “Mom,” he said, more politely than before.

“Yes?”

“Home?”

“Okay.”

Benjamin headed to the men’s locker room while I packed my bag, looking around my chair to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

Dr. Campbell stopped me. “Abigail.”

“Abby,” I corrected him.

“Abby, I’m sorry about your job situation, and the work you have ahead, sorting out your own grief, never mind helping others. You’ll find a way to do that, I promise. On top of that, lawsuits against school counselors are rarely successful.”

He was trying to be reassuring but that word—lawsuit—made me want to crawl into a hole.

“By the way,” he added. “I just gave notice at my own school—Grove Academy, in Lake Forest. I’m shutting everything down, my private practice included, in order to finish the new book. ‘The book!’ It’s my albatross. Is that pretentious, too? To have an albatross?”

“I think it’s great you’re writing another book.”

“Thank you.” He picked up a water bottle I’d set next to my chair and stepped closer, to hand it to me. “I should get your email. Grove might need some help with their summer international students’ program, and who knows what they’ll need in the fall. Right?”