I unzipped the main compartment to look for his orientation schedule, but my fingers hit a heavy, slick piece of paper at the very bottom, tucked behind his graphing calculator.
It was a glossy, multi-page brochure for a Cobalt twenty-three-foot speed boat, the cover showing a white hull cutting through blue water under a bright sun.
In the upper margin of the first page, written in the heavy, block-lettering style Stephen used for his construction estimates, was a series of numbers and a date from three weeks ago.
Thirty thousand deposit paid, the note read, with two short lines drawn under the word paid.
I stared at the glossy paper of the luxury boat, wondering what Stephen was hiding from us.
The engine of my eleven-year-old sedan hummed against the morning chill as we pulled out of the driveway. Dustin sat in the passenger seat, his right hand immediately going to his left forearm, rubbing the smooth plastic wrap that covered the fresh black ink.
