Chapter 9: The Notebook

Laurence drove to the river and sat with the engine off until the windows fogged.

He had said please to a frightened boy in a stairwell, and the boy had not answered.

That was fair.

He had not earned an answer.

He took his watch off and held it in his fist.

A year ago, he had sat at his father's desk with a thick folder and a cup of tea going cold.

The folder belonged to the Fairbanks Foundation, and in it were the finalists for the new scholarship class.

Eighteen-year-olds with perfect grades and long essays about overcoming adversity.

One file was thinner than the others.

Eli Sorrell, aged eighteen, Worcester.

Father in prison for child abuse.

Ten years in state care, four placements, one group home.

The caseworker's notes ran to a single paragraph.

The notes said: Subject refuses all gifts, including food, clothing and money.

They said: Subject complies with every direct instruction without complaint.

They ended: Do not offer. Instruct.

Laurence had read the paragraph four times.

Then he had turned to the essay.

It was only a page.

It said: Most nights I eat standing up.

It said: When I was small my father took the plate if I was slow, and I think my body kept the rule after the rest of me forgot it.

It ended: Please do not take this as a complaint. I only wanted to say I am good at following rules.

Laurence had put the page down, walked to the window and stood there until his tea was cold.

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