Page 63 of What Boys Learn

I parked at the curb. “Where are these particular questions coming from? Were you talking about your grandparents in therapy?”

“No. I was talking about you.”

I glanced over. “You mean, about you and me? How we communicate?”

“No,” he said, stony gaze diverted to the windshield. “Just you.”

For the rest of the day while I web surfed, looking for new jobs and cheaper apartments up and down the North Shore, Benjamin remained behind his closed bedroom door. I knew, from the sound of the hectoring and lecturing male voices, that he was watching videos—never quite loud enough for me to hear.

He had earphones. Listening unplugged was a purposeful choice. He wanted me to know—and yet not know. He was spending hours listening to things I’d find objectionable, things that would worry me if I could make out more than scattered words, but it wasn’t the words that mattered so much as the tone of anger and grievance.

When Robert called, I picked up and then almost immediately wished I hadn’t.

“I stopped by your place at lunch, in case you wanted to get a bite.”

“I wasn’t home.”

“So I noticed.”

I’d never liked the idea of a man cruising regularly past my house, even when we’d been dating. “You know I prefer people to call or text first.”

“Yeah, well, I happened to be nearby. With a lot of free time on my hands.”

“Speaking of that. Doesn’t your department have to do some sort of investigation before they can decide about your job?”

“They can if they want. I resigned.”

“Isee. You quit before they could terminate you. It’s getting clearer now.”

“They don’t want me, Abby. They haven’t wanted me for a while. And if they don’t want me, I don’t want them.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. Robert would have been giving up an awful lot by voluntarily quitting. The conversation flagged until he started asking about Benjamin’s therapy.

“Every day, huh?” he asked. “Is that normal?”

“Who says I’ve been taking Benjamin every day? If you’ve been driving by my apartment over and over—”

“I put two and two together. You’ve been too busy to return most of my texts.”

“I don’t like feeling watched, Robert. I’ve told you that.”

His tone grew serious. “Hey, did Jack Mayfield ever bother you again?”

“No.”

“Good.”

But I detected some disappointment. Without another person bothering me, Robert didn’t have enough reasons to insert himself back into my life.

He asked, “You gonna give me any hint how Benjamin is actually doing?”

“I told you. He’s going to therapy. He’s getting up on time. He’s not resisting. Not even complaining, actually.”

“So that’s good, right?”

I felt around in my body for some way to explain. “Not if he’s only using the time to find new ways to needle me.” But that wasn’t right, either. Not justneedle. He was digging.

“Doesn’t the doc need to tell you what they’re talking about?”