Chapter 21
Thirty minutes later, Curtis showed up. I’d texted him a long message about the lawyer-approved intervention needed for Benjamin, but I hadn’t expected him to come right away, after everything he’d said about being unavailable. I didn’t even know how he had our address.
“Still getting moved in?” he said after I opened the door, making his way past several empty moving boxes, hands occupied with a stack of take-out containers.
“Not exactly.”
We settled in the kitchen, under too-bright fluorescent lights, and divided up a pad thai and green curry, leaving a second pad thai untouched for Benj, still in his room. The apartment’s chaos was plain.
“This was kind.” I gestured to the food. “Should I call Benjamin to come out here?”
“Not yet. Like they say on the plane, put on your own oxygen mask first. At least have a few bites before we talk strategy.”
“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to swallow two mouthfuls.
He set his fork down after a moment, watching me. His eyes were warm and patient, but inquisitive, too. It was hard to keep eating when I could feel him studying me.
“Let me just say,” he started slowly, “that when we first met, I noticed that you seemed to be coming out from under the long shadow of trauma. I didn’t know what it was, exactly, but I saw something.”
His comment jarred me. We were here to talk about Benjamin. Still, I knew he was prying because he cared.
“I was in foster homes as a teen,” I said, matter-of-factly. “I never expected to go to college. By the time you met me, things had turned around. I was doing better—I’d like to think I had some confidence—but I might have been feeling out of place. If that’s what you saw.”
“Hmm,” he said.
He took several bites of pad thai, chewing thoughtfully.
“One thing that concerns me,” he said, “is that you don’t allow your past to color this situation with your son.
Because that’s the really important thing, right?
Your son was arrested. They may decide to question him again, or charge him.
That should be the focus. Not catastrophic fears rooted in the past. Just facts. ”
I nodded. Facts. But whose?
I told Curtis about the police interrogation, trying not to sound overwrought as I recalled the details unearthed, the puzzle pieces that still didn’t fit.
“Benjamin claims he hasn’t lied,” I said. “In fact, he thinks I’m the big liar in the family.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow.
Curtis got a faraway look. “I don’t doubt he believes in his own superiority. His own morality. And your brother, was he the same way?”
I frowned. “My brother?”
“The one in prison.”
I touched the back of my hand to my forehead. I pushed my fingertips against my hot eyelids. God, I’d had so little sleep. Ninety minutes this morning. Four or five nights of broken sleep, before that.
“Did I already tell you about Ewan?”
“You still haven’t eaten much,” Curtis said, nodding at my plate of sticky noodles. “Too spicy?”
“No. I can’t eat.”
I looked past Curtis to the living room and the mess I’d made.
The worst part wasn’t just that I looked under my son’s mattress and in his messy box of shaving stuff under the sink.
The worst part was that after an hour of semi-logical searching, I started upending boxes and digging through drawers like a madwoman.
I opened ancient CD cases, looking for the twinkle of an earring.
I dug through pockets in search of hidden love notes or folded twenty-dollar bills that hinted of illicit arrangements.
Half the time I wasn’t even thinking of Benjamin.
I was thinking of all of them. The boys.
The men. The ones I wanted, the ones I feared, the ones that split my life in two.
Had I really talked to Curtis about Ewan?
From the hallway, Benjamin cleared his throat. Curtis rose halfway from his kitchen stool, grinning. “Glad you’re coming to join us! We’ve got an entire pad thai for you.”
Benjamin slinked in slowly, served himself, and took a seat on a kitchen stool, which surprised me. I thought he would escape back to his room or the couch.
After a few awkward minutes during which every fork scrape was audible, Benjamin said, “So you’ve heard we have a convict in the family.”
Without looking up, Curtis said, “Not so unusual, given incarceration rates in America. You like to keep in touch with him, then?”
Benjamin looked down at his own plate. “Would that be a problem?”
“Not for me. It might worry your mom, I imagine, if she’s left out of the conversation.”
“I’m done having conversations with my mom. Ever.”
I pushed down the hurt, trying to focus on the good thing that was happening, even if I wasn’t the one steering it.
“That’s okay,” Curtis said, glancing up quickly, then down again, like he was doing his best not to frighten a skittish animal away.
“Most of us go through phases where we can’t talk to our parents.
It’s the reason we find other people—friends, mentors, adults we can trust. I imagine you don’t have many men in your life that you can talk to?
” He smiled warmly. “Ones who aren’t behind bars? ”
“I don’t want a therapist.”
“Well, that’s convenient, because I don’t want a client.”
Benjamin looked surprised.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Robert. I let the call go to voicemail.
Curtis continued, “However, I’ve heard about your run-in with the law, and it’s not unlikely that they’re going to subject you to some psychological tests, if you’re formally charged.
It’s in your interest to have a friendly expert conduct those tests first, or at least to develop some opinions about your state of mind and your ability to accept guidance.
Your mother already told me that your lawyer agrees.
He says these next few weeks matter. Some record of treatment, no matter how brief, and some signs of cooperative behavior could go a long way. ”
Curtis waited for Benjamin to nod, adding, “Impressions matter. And the first label often sticks. I’d hate to see another therapist label you.”
“So that’s what you’re offering. To label me.”
My phone buzzed again. Texts now. Incoherent fragments with misspellings intact, because Robert disabled his autocorrect. I recognized the rhythm. He was drunk.
“What I’d like to do first,” Curtis said to Benjamin, “is just talk. Privately. No agenda. About anything you’d like to talk about.”
“Meaning without my mom.”
“Completely without your mom.”
I swallowed hard, trying to loosen the lump in my throat. Benjamin needed to see me calm. I could do this for him. I had to.
When Robert called again, I hesitated before darting down the hallway into the bathroom. Door closed, I answered, “Jesus, Robert. Again?”
“What do you mean, again? I’ve never been fired before.”
“You didn’t tell me you were fired.”
I couldn’t believe the department would get rid of him for borrowing a diary. Cops shoot innocent people without getting fired, at least not immediately.
“Whose voice was that in the background?” he asked.
“Have a few more beers, go to sleep, and call me next week when your bender is finished and you’ve talked to your union rep.”
“Do you have a man over?”
“Oh, Robert. For fuck’s sake. That’s none of your business!”
“You worry too much about Benjamin, Abby. Even if he spent a night in jail. That’s just . . . it’s okay, Abby.”
“I agree. It might scare some sense into him. I think he’s going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay.”
“So, you don’t need me now.”
Here we go. The knight in tarnished armor.
“No, I don’t need you at the present moment. We’ll be okay. And you’re going to be okay, too, Robert. Take care.”
I felt bad the moment I disconnected, but I also knew we’d have a better conversation once he’d sobered up.
I shook off my irritation, peed since I was already in the room, washed my hands, and looked in the mirror. Limp hair. Bloodshot eyes. Shiny nose.
Opening the bathroom door again, I heard nothing. I assumed it meant that Benjamin had closed the communications spigot and returned to his bedroom. Instead, when I came out, he and Curtis were still sitting together amicably, finishing their plates of Thai food.
“Sorry for the interruption,” I said.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” Curtis stood up and carried his dish to the sink, where he washed it without asking, then stacked it to dry. Just when I was about to tell him to leave his pop can he rinsed it out and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. “Recycling in here somewhere?”
“The cardboard box next to the detergent.”
“Good.” He turned and smiled. “Time for me to go.”
At the door, he said, “Can you bring Benjamin to my office tomorrow at noon?”
I looked back over my shoulder, expecting a protest, but Benjamin was studiously ignoring me, eyes on his plate.
“He agreed,” Curtis said, intercepting my glance. “Wow. That’s . . . something.”
“And given that I need to be up in Wisconsin with my father in two weeks or so, we can do some daily sessions, for as long as they’re helpful.”
The skeptic in me expected Benjamin to resist after the first session, but I kept it to myself.
“He also agreed not to write to his uncle for the time being. A letter in the wrong hands could suggest something unsavory. Appearances could matter, especially if Benjamin ends up in front of a judge.”
“So he admitted to you he was writing to Ewan. You must have the magic touch.”
I glanced over at Benjamin, but he seemed intent on pretending that he couldn’t hear us.
“That’s plenty of progress for our first conversation,” Curtis said, smiling. “Get some rest.” He pecked me on the cheek—a pleasant surprise. “Plenty of time left in the day. Chance to tidy up the place.”
I tried to hear that comment as intended—advice, not rebuke. I whispered, “One last thing. I’m not sure how much you charge.”
“We’ll figure it out. By the way, don’t forget to apply for the Grove summer position—if you want it, that is. I looked at your CV on LinkedIn this morning, and I’m sure you’d have no trouble getting the job.”
“You looked at my CV?”
“Just in case I could help.” He lowered his voice. “Not a good idea to have your physical address uploaded to a publicly visible CV, by the way.”
I couldn’t believe I’d made that mistake. But I’d been distracted all week, updating my documents and doing a half-assed job search—and that was before last night’s arrest.
“That’s how you knew where we lived.”
Curtis nodded and gave me one of those half winks so fleeting I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. “The bigger mystery is, how did I know you like pad thai?”
Trying to match his playful tone, I said, “Everyone likes pad thai.”
He leaned into my ear. “It’s good to see you smile, even if you’re faking it.”