Page 50 of What Boys Learn

“Did you ever wonder why she’d want to talk so openly about her sex life with multiple other . . . men?”

“She seemed nervous about the guy, now that it was getting real. Like she was having second thoughts. If she knew what she really wanted, she wouldn’t have been talking at all, she would have just gone and done it.”

“So she was treating you like a girlfriend,” Hernández said. “Talking at you. Making you listen before she rewarded you with something better than ‘making out.’ Was she painting your toenails this whole time, too?”

I exhaled noisily. “Are you telling my son that spending time listening to a girl isnotan acceptable thing for a boy to do?”

Hernández smirked. “All right, Benjamin, so what did you finally say?”

“I told her what I thought. Which she didn’t like. Obviously.”

“Are you popular with the girls?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“I just said. Because I tell them what I think.”

“Have you ever wanted to hurt a girl?”

Benjamin glowered. “I’ve wanted a girl to shut up. Does that count?” He brought both hands to his head and pushed hard, on the tops and the sides. It was getting to him, finally. “No, I’ve never hurt a girl. I’ve told you everything I know.”

Hernández said, “I’m going to ask you again, Benjamin. Why did you stop at home?”

“No reason.”

“I think you stopped home to get something specific,” Hernández said. “Condoms?”

I’d already mentioned birth control to Izzy, as soon as she mentioned multiple partners. She smirked when I asked her if she needed any condoms, perfectly happy to tell me she had a drawerful at home.

“Did you show her something? Threaten her with something?”

Benjamin stared straight ahead. “If you’re talking blackmail, trust me. Izzy couldn’t be blackmailed. Ask anyone. She did what she wanted to do.”

“That’s what you liked about her.”

“Yeah. And no. Not when she was about to do something fucked-up.”

I released my fists, which I’d been squeezing on my lap. It felt like we were almost done.

Hernández silently reread the statement he’d filled out, rustling the pages. Three of them. He seemed to have accepted the nonanswer about stopping at home. I hadn’t.

Ewan was impulsive. Ewan bragged, because he thought the world was his oyster and if he could take something then it was always meant to be his.

Benjamin wasn’t like that. He made good choices, usually. He kept quiet. Usually. The quiet worried me, but it proved something, too. He wasn’t a raging narcissist.

But I was thinking too much. My job wasn’t to think at this moment. It was to avoid thinking—to pray, even if I wasn’t someone who prayed.

“Anything else?” Hernández asked when he was finished. “Nothing else.”

“You’re sure? Take your time.”

There was a knock at the door. Detective Wood entered. Hernández stood up, giving him his chair, as if it was an elegant exchange they’d prearranged.

“Hi, Benjamin. One other question,” Wood said. “So, after Isabella Scarlatti turned you down, what happened when you saw her next, at the motel?”

Benjamin laughed. Not scoffed.Laughed.