Page 68 of What Boys Learn

“How’d it go?” I asked after I buckled in.

He pushed a piece of paper into my hand.

At first I thought it was a bill. Instead, it was a handwritten note on cream-colored letterhead:Benjamin mentioned that a detective brought up the possibility of using hypnosis to retrieve a memory but he’s nervous about the process. I have client calls all afternoon but I’d like to phone this evening if that’s okay? Thank you. Curtis.

“This is great,” I said, backing out, windows still down. “He must think hypnosis can help you remember the car that picked up Izzy at the pool. That’s why we went there the other day, wasn’t it?”

“I told you. I told everyone. I didn’t see the car.”

“I’m not questioning your honesty. I just wonder if you’ve forgotten. It happens.”Maybe especially when you’re distracted by a girl stepping out of her underpants.

I heard Benjamin sigh and shift, bringing his knees up against the glove box, when he could simply move the seat back and have more room. Sometimes, I thought he liked to pretend he was one of those tall, gangly teens who simply wouldn’t fit anywhere. “I think you should try it. There’s nothing to be worried about. It’s a myth that you lose control or do things against your will.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“You’re suggestible. But only in a way that you want to be suggestible. That’s why it can be helpful for entering a deep enough trance for remembering lost details—and other things too. People have used it for chronic pain control, quitting bad habits, managing anxiety . . .”

“If it’s so great, you try it.”

I looked over. He wasn’t scowling or glaring.

After a minute, I said, “Okay. If it would make you feel better knowing I tried it first and didn’t end up flapping around like a chicken, then I will. I’ll ask Dr. Campbell to hypnotize me. It’s a deal.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see his half smile.

I’d reached the end of the white fence, where we normally turned left onto a larger street that led us back toward Green Bay Road.

“Look at that,” I said, feeling lighter already. A small lane ran behind the horse pasture, into a deep stand of woods, toward a sign I couldn’t read from this distance. I drove slowly, wheels churning gravel, until the font became legible.

GROVE ACADEMY, EST. 1936.

The dense canopy of trees enclosing the road made it look like an enchanted tunnel. We crept forward, my foot completely off the gas until the road branched. A sign indicated dormitories to the left, main buildings to the right. Around a bend, the shadows parted and a red roof appeared, fronted by a half-circle drive. One side of the main building sloped up like the prow of a ship, decorated with stained glass.

“I applied to work here, three days ago,” I told Benjamin. “I knew the school was nearby, but I didn’t realize it was this close to Dr. Campbell’s office.”

“Yeah, he says the office and house came with the teaching job,” Benjamin said.

“That’s a great perk.”

The oaks here were taller than at Summit, with thicker trunks and gnarlier branches. They reminded me of some black-and-white photo I’d seen, taken in France. All of the signage, I noticed, matched Curtis’s gold-on-green professional clinic sign.

As we watched, a nun in a black habit and thick-soled white running shoes exited the front door, saw us waiting at the bottom of the drive, and waved before continuing to her red Volkswagen Golf.

“Look at that, Mom,” he said. “Even a nun has a cooler car than you have.”

I smiled. “Cooler shoes, too.”

After a moment, he asked, “Are most of the kids who go here Catholic?”

“Only about half, according to their website. Plus they went coed last year. That could be convenient, if they offered a tuition waiver for staff family, the way Summit did.”

I waited for him to object. When he didn’t, I said, “I don’t think I’ll get it, though.”

“You might.”

The day’s peace offering.

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