Page 81 of What Boys Learn

In the dream, I kept calling after Port, trying to get him to turn and look at me, but when he finally did, I saw it wasn’t Port. I felt mad at myself for not recognizing him before—his dark hair, his gait, his posture. I looked into his eyes, feeling no shock, only deep sadness.

I looked around for a rock. I held it out to the killer. I said, “But no more after this. Then you have to stop.”

28

The next morning, Benjamin climbed into the car, silent as usual.

“Buckle up,” I said, gratified when he complied quickly, then annoyed at myself for being appeased by so little.

The whole morning was reserved for another of Benjamin’s extra-long therapy sessions. I had a lot that I needed to tell Curtis—about last night’s hostile outburst for starters. But when we arrived and tried his office door, it was locked. I walked to a side window that looked into the dim waiting room area, tapping on it with a key.

Curtis’s car was missing from the gravel drive in front of the main house. I peeked in a window covered with a gauzy white drape, rang the bell, and listened for the sound of footsteps. I was heading to the mother-in-law apartment, in case he was in there packing or storing boxes, when I heard the crunch of wheels on gravel. I looked in time to see the white blur of his SUV speeding past the far side of the main house, where he generally parked it, to some place in the back, out of sight.

A minute later, Curtis advanced toward me, looking haggard. He was wearing jeans and a blue chambray shirt rolled up at the sleeves. His hair fell heavily over his forehead, uncombed and a little greasy. He raised a hand in greeting and strode at a diagonal, toward the office door. Key in lock. Door open.

From inside, he finally turned back, fastening a smile onto his shiny face.

“Apologies,” he called out too loudly, the way you do when you’re shouting across the lawn to a neighbor and don’t want them to come any closer. “Emergency with my father. I drove as quickly as I could. Didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

Fond du Lac was two hours away. I hated to think of him speeding the whole time, just because we’d clogged up his schedule.

Benjamin said the first appropriate thing. “We can come back later, Dr. C.”

“Nonsense. Come in.” He gestured with a beckoning finger to Benjamin, then held up his hand, stopping me from stepping forward.

“If I could just speak with you first,” I said. “Last night. Benj and I. We had a—”

“I’ll ask him about it,” Curtis said.

Benjamin had already slipped into the inner office, leaving Curtis standing at the half-open door, facing me.

“Please,” I said. “Just a moment.”

Curtis ran a hand down his shirt, smoothing it. He looked up, his smile a tense rictus.

“All right. What is it?”

“We had a conversation. The subject of my brother came up. I said some things. And then suddenly, Benjamin got very angry.”

Curtis was frowning now. “Suddenly?”

“Yes, he threw his plate and stalked after me. I thought . . .”

But there I stopped, trying to be as truthful with Curtis as possible. It wasn’t so much that I thought Benjamin would physically attack me. Not atthatmoment. Not exactly. But someday.

“Is this a new behavior?”

“No. He used to lash out when he was younger. Thirteen, fourteen. I chalked it up to hormones.” When Benj was younger and smaller, it had seemed like a pathetic temper tantrum. Now that he had the body of a nearly grown man, it was much more frightening. “In the last two years, he’d gotten his temper under control—until last night.”

“It won’t happen again,” Curtis said.

Won’t happen again?It was an odd thing to say. No therapist could make a promise like that.

“I hope not, but of course—”

“It won’t. Put it out of your mind.”

Maybe Curtis realized how illogical and overconfident he sounded because he adjusted his tone.