Page 72 of What Boys Learn
The flyer had a scan code that took me to a Facebook page started by Veronica’s family. I read posts left by many people who had seen Veronica more recently than I had, as well as friends eager to vouch that she wouldn’t take off for no reason. She’d just accepted a park district job in Libertyville. She’d just signed a new lease at an apartment complex and she was going to be the maid of honor at a wedding in July. No one mentioned arguments with a boyfriend, which made me doubly glad I reported that when I phoned the police, just as one breadcrumb among many. But then I saw a post from someone who was among the last to have seen Veronica.
We all went for drinks at the Dugout. Veronica was feeling sad because her boyfriend Justin left two days ago for his new job in Boston. I should have stayed, but V was talking to a bartender she knew and seemed determined to make a long night of it, at least through the karaoke. I’ll never forgive myself for letting her stay.
So, the boyfriend was in the clear. I scrolled until there were no more posts or comments to read. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d walked in the door and I hadn’t even made my own copies yet.
I took the thumb drive and inserted it into the printer. Multiple file names showed up. I scrolled down through a list of what looked like surnames—clients, possibly. Curtis wasn’t being cautious, handing over client info on a thumb drive. The crisis of caring for his father and closing his practice in a hurry may have made him more mistake prone. Then again, if he’d hired a personal assistant, he would have had to trust his documents to someone. I wasn’t his employee, but I was the next best thing, a colleague who knew the rules.
I kept moving down the list alphabetically, pausing for a moment when I saw Rosso2024. That was our name. A file on Benjamin. I looked over my shoulder. How easy it would be to press Print and get a preview of conclusions Curtis might not share for several more days or weeks, in addition to notes he might never share at all.
But that wouldn’t be right.
My finger hovered over the printer control screen. I pushed the down-arrow button. Rosso2024 disappeared and the alphabet continued, until I was at the very last file: WBL52024. It was theWhat Boys Learndraft he wanted printed. I selected two-sided copies, pressed Print, and took a step back, listening as the printer hummed, satisfied with my selection.
“You didn’t have to clear your whole day,” I said two hours later, as Curtis directed me to relax in the hunter-green armchair opposite his. “You already spent the whole morning with Benjamin.”
“Quite all right. Besides, while I’m with you, he’s occupied and there’s less for me to pack tonight.”
Movers were on their way. Curtis was only a little behind the schedule he’d promised his ailing father. He’d be putting half of his belongings in storage and the other half at his father’s place, in Fond du Lac. While we were occupied, Benjamin could finish the job of emptying some filing cabinets and boxing up some old vinyl records in the main house.
“He really is helpful, you know,” Curtis added.
“With other people, especially.”
I didn’t remind Curtis that I’d discovered Izzy’s underwear precisely because Benjamin hadn’t unpacked his own clothes. We hadn’t revisited any of those specifics—the underwear, whether Benjamin understood how to treat women kindly, why he shouldn’t communicate with Ewan. Those were still privileged conversations.
Curtis rested his legal pad on his knee. He gazed into my eyes. “You’re sure you won’t reconsider my offer to take Benjamin for one special day out?”
It was the first thing he’d asked when I walked in for my afternoon session, just after I handed him the print job along with a check I’d made out after depositing the loan from Willa, though he tried not to accept it. He hadn’t given me a bill, but he hadn’t said the sessions would be pro bono, either.
We’ll tally it up later.
Then this is a down payment.
Curtis’s new request confused me. Here was his manuscript, a reminder of his deadline problems. The movers were coming but he was still getting things boxed up. He’d mentioned his father twice since I’d sat down. There couldn’t have been a less logical time for Curtis to take Benjamin to the pool, then to lunch, and finally to an auto show in Kenosha and perhaps dinner after that.
He insisted. “It’s a fitting reward for all he’s done.”
“I think it’s too generous. He’s only helping you pack a little.”
“By ‘all he’s done,’ I meant compliance with our sessions. Good behavior should be rewarded.”
“He’s never been all that responsive to rewards.”
Curtis smiled. “Then perhaps you’ve offered him the wrong kind.”
I looked down at my hands, rubbing them in a manner I hoped appeared thoughtful. In truth, I was anxious about offending Curtis, given the way he’d prioritized my son’s needs.
“With the heat wave coming, I thought I’d take Benjamin to the beach. I need to keep finding new ways to spend lowpressure time with him. But thank you.”
A long silence followed. Curtis got up from his armchair and went around his desk, where he opened a drawer and busied himself with something—pulling out microcassette tapes, it looked like, until he’d found one that satisfied him. Even then, he kept delaying, his face averted. Ihadhurt his feelings. Since Sidney’s death, I’d questioned the number of times I found myself missing our regular chats. But I also knew that attachment to clients—a “positive therapeutic alliance”—is both expected and necessary for client security and growth. There was no reason for me to question the bond Curtis had formed so quickly with Benjamin.
“How’s the tea?” Curtis asked.
“It’s good.”
I took another sip—chamomile. Extra honey, and a little hot for a summer day.
“You seem nervous about this.”