The Night Listener : A Novel

soothing lullaby of that darkened room, and I had no wish to disturb it further. “You should go to bed, kiddo. Get your beauty sleep.”
    “My what ?”
    I chuckled. “My mother used to say that.”
    “You’ll have to tell me about her,” Pete said.
     
    EIGHT

    DON’T EVEN GO THERE

    I FELT SO MUCH better the next morning that I called Pete to thank him for listening. After six rings I reached Donna’s answering machine—that bourbon-and-honey voice in its professional mode—so I left a message. He hadn’t called by the time I’d left for the gym at four o’clock, and there was nothing on my machine when I returned two hours later. Nor did the phone ring for the rest of the evening.
    A day passed. Then another.
    And I began to obsess on the possibilities: Maybe Donna had intercepted that Playboy when it arrived at Henzke Street. Maybe she’d been so appalled that she’d ordered Pete not to call me back.
    Or maybe Pete had been so compromised by the arrival of the magazine that he was angry with me now and had chosen not to call me back.
    Or —and here it got much worse—maybe the boy had finally had a talk with Jess and knew things now he didn’t have the heart to tell me. Like the whole truth about Jess’s motorcycle buddy.
    There was another possibility, of course—a far more likely reason for Pete’s silence—but I was too lost in my own pain to think of it.
    The call came at two in the morning, waking me from a stony sleep, just as the previous one had.
    “Gabriel, listen, I’m sorry. I know how late it is, but could you pick up, please, if you’re there?”
    I fumbled my way to the bedside phone. “Donna?”
    “Oh, good. You’re there.”
    Where else would I be? I thought.
    “I was afraid you might have unplugged your phone.”
    “Oh. No. I don’t do that. Is something the matter?”
    “I don’t mean to scare you,” she said. “But Pete’s been having a rough time of it. We’ve been in Milwaukee at the hospital for the past two days.”
    My first reaction—I’m loath to admit—was profound relief. Pete didn’t hate me, after all; he’d just been very sick. It took me a moment to gather my wits and muster an appropriate response: “Is it his lungs again?”
    “Yeah. They’re just not draining the way they should be.”
    “Shit.”
    “We’ve been through this before, so he’ll probably surprise us again, but I would never forgive myself if I didn’t…it’s just that the doctors aren’t sure if he’s strong enough to…Gabriel, I know what an imposition this is, but the little dude gets ideas in his head, and I have to respect them if…”
    “Donna, I’m lost.”
    “I’m sorry.” She uttered a strangled laugh. “He wants to talk to you.”
    “Oh. Well…I’d be glad to. Sure. I was actually wondering what had happened to him.”
    “I should have called. It’s just been a madhouse around here.”
    “Don’t worry about it.”
    “God knows he wants to talk to you. He’s been on me about it for hours. And you’re the only one he’s asking for. He’s got it in his noggin that he won’t wake up tomorrow.” It took a while for this to register. “God, Donna…is that a possibility?”
    “We don’t know. His doctor says it’s hard to call when they’re this young. Like I say, we’ve been through this before and he’s pulled through fine. It’s just that he’s so weak right now, and it’s gotten worse all night. So it’s…you know…his lungs could just…call it quits.” She let me absorb that, then added: “I want to be straight with you, Gabriel. You’ve been so sweet to him.” No, I thought. Mostly it’s been the other way around.
    “If this is too heavy for you, just say so, okay?”
    “Donna…”
    “No, really. He has plenty of support. My friend Marsha is here and she adores him. He’s one popular guy. So I can tell him I couldn’t reach you, if you don’t feel up to—”
    “Donna, don’t be ridiculous. Put him on.”
    “Oh, God, you’re so nice.”
    “Please. He’s the easiest kid in the world to be nice to.”
    “It may take a while. He’s in his tent with the tubes and all…”
    “I’ll hang on.”
    “You gotta come see us, okay? Let me cook my chili for you.”
    “That sounds wonderful.”
    “Hold on, okay?”
    So I held on.
    Three or four minutes later:
    “Are you still there?” His voice was tiny and ragged, his breathing irregular.
    “I’m here, Pete.”
    “Hey, dicksmoker.”
    “Hey, you