The Night Listener : A Novel

time to adjust, I told him. I knew it should be possible, if two people really trusted each other. And if rougher sex was required, then maybe Jess could have an occasional night out at a club. I forced myself to imagine such a scenario; it was almost manageable as long as I kept the place heavily populated and overly stylized: whips and dildos and masters barking orders like robots.
    But what if there was more to it? What if there was cuddling afterward? Or a dinner date the following night?
    Or kissing , for God’s sake?
    “You know what?” said Pete. “None of this means shit.” I was back in the conversation again, but I wasn’t sure where.
    “None of what?”
    “This sex stuff. Forget about it.”
    “I wish I could.”
    “He’s coming home, Gabriel.”
    “I can’t say that for sure.”
    “Maybe you can’t. But I can.”
    “Pete…”
    “He’s your buddy, man. He’s family. I know you guys. And I know when somebody loves somebody.”
    This was the simple truth, without frills, offered up in a tone of mild annoyance. I began to cry again, in spite of myself.
    “Jesus,” he said. “Will you stop?”
    “I’m just agreeing with you.”
    “Well, argue a little, then.”
    “You know,” I said, “you and Jess are a lot alike.”
    “Pissed off, you mean?”
    I laughed. “Not just that.”
    “I feel like I know him.”
    “In a way,” I said, “you do.”
    Pete snorted. “I thought he wasn’t the guy in your books. Okay, okay, in a minute.”
    This response confused me until I realized he wasn’t addressing me.
    “The boss lady is on my case,” he explained.
    I glanced across the room and tried, unsuccessfully, to read the digits on the VCR clock. “Oh, God, it’s late, isn’t it? I forgot. I’m sorry. How much later is it there? Three hours?”
    “Two,” he answered. “And I stay up late all the time. I listen to your show, remember?”
    “Tell your mother it’s my fault.”
    “She doesn’t care. She’s cool about everything.” I heard Donna utter a comic growl.
    “Go to bed,” I said. “We’ll talk later.”
    “Promise?”
    “Scout’s honor.”
    Pete giggled and hung up.
    The next morning, when I was cleaning out the coffee machine, Donna called back.
    “Hey,” she said pleasantly. “Sorry I cut it short last night.” I told her she had no reason to apologize.
    “He’d had an awfully long day of it. We were up at five with the lungs again. They just don’t want to stay clear.”
    “God, Donna…I’m so sorry.”
    “Well, what can you do? He had a bad case of syphilis when he was ten, so his lungs are like Swiss cheese. If it weren’t for that, we’d have a much easier time with the pneumonia. He’s pretty hardy otherwise.” She paused for a moment. “He’s not being a pain, is he?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know…calling you.”
    I told her I was the one who had called him.
    “Well…just tell him to cool it if it gets too much for you. He can be pretty overbearing sometimes.”
    I wondered how much she’d heard of our conversation, or how much Pete had told her afterward, but I really didn’t care; I felt as comfortable with her as I did with Pete. “It’s no problem,” I said.
    “He’s good company.”
    “Funny little dude, isn’t he? So brash and grownup, but just a kid underneath. One minute he’s reading Kübler-Ross, the next he’s throwing mashed potatoes at the dog.”
    Kübler-Ross. The expert on dying.
    “This must be so hard,” I said, feeling a surge of sympathy for her situation.
    “Oh, there’s a lot of payback,” she said. “Pete gives as much as any kid I’ve ever known. There are days when I can’t believe my luck.”
    “But isn’t it hard doing it on your own?”
    “Without a husband, you mean?”
    I was suddenly red-faced. “Well, no…not specifically a husband …I just meant…”
    She laughed huskily. “I know most of the staff at the hospital by their first names. And my friend Marsha across the street helps out.
    Husbands, in my experience, are more trouble than they’re worth.” As I recalled from Pete’s book, Donna had divorced her only husband after three years. He had been a psychologist as well—in couples counseling, no less. How agonizing would that be, I wondered, to have two professional minds analyzing the same breakup? I didn’t ask, though, for fear that Donna would ask about my husband. I felt much too raw-nerved to discuss it that morning.
    “I guess you spend a lot