The Night Listener : A Novel

some sort of psychological conference last summer. We had a long and very pleasant lunch together. No horns or fangs visible anywhere.”
    I laughed, feeling better already.
    “I must say, she was…extremely helpful.”
    “How so?”
    “Well, it’s a little personal, so I won’t go into detail, but…my wife and I were having…difficulties at the time and Donna had some very useful insights to offer.”
    Free professional advice, I thought. Hardly a reason to trust a virtual stranger.
    “I know how that must sound,” said Findlay, reading my mind,
    “but I had a good feeling about her, and I’m fairly adept at reading people.”
    And who doesn’t think that ? I thought.
    “It all comes down to trust,” he added. “Or faith, I suppose, to be perfectly accurate. I ended up telling myself that Pete is a little like God. No visible proof to speak of, but more than enough circumstan-tial evidence.” This was no comfort to me, and I told him so.
    “Not the religious sort, eh?”
    “Not when it comes to voices on the phone.” A pause and then: “May I ask what you’re planning to do?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Do you intend to go public with…this theory?” This had never occurred to me, and I was shocked at the suggestion. “God, no,” I said. “I just wanted some sort of resolution, and I thought you could help. Pete is very important to me, Ashe.”
    “Well…I know, but…I remembered how you feel about that outing business. You obviously have a penchant for full disclosure.” Perhaps because Findlay had pronounced penchant the French way, his tone suddenly struck me as irritatingly prissy. He was referring to an incident the previous year when I’d publicly criticized a famous actress for narrating a film on homophobia while refusing to talk to the press about her own sexuality. Old-line liberals like Findlay had dismissed my behavior as just plain bad manners.
    “Everyone” knew this woman was gay, so why should she have to proclaim it to the world? Didn’t I know that well-placed closet cases could accomplish a lot of good behind the scenes?
    “It’s not the same thing,” I said flatly.
    “Well, I don’t understand these distinctions.”
    “It’s not that difficult, Ashe. If there’s major hypocrisy involved, I get peevish. If an established movie star is playing both ends against the middle and acting ashamed of something that I regard as perfectly normal, I might have something to say about it. I tend to be a little more lenient with dying children. I’m funny that way.” This outburst surprised us both. “I’m sorry,” said Findlay. “It wasn’t my intention to offend you.”
    “No,” I replied in a milder tone. “Of course not.”
    “But I’m sure you can see my concern, Gabriel.”
    “I can. Yes.”
    “I could lose my job over this. There’s no plainer way to put it.”
    “I understand. But…you’re convinced that…he exists?” How very peculiar it sounded to put the basic issue into words.
    “Yes. I am. I am convinced. I wouldn’t risk so much if I weren’t.”
    “Okay, then.”
    “So you won’t…”
    “Look, Ashe. If there’s even the slightest chance he exists, I wouldn’t dream of creating doubts about him. He’s suffered too much already. He had a hard enough time just finding his voice.”
    “That’s exactly right.”
    “I just wanted to be…completely comfortable with him. The way I have been.”
    “I think you can do that,” said Findlay. “I’ve done it for almost a year. Warren has done it. A lot of people have.”
    “Is Pete on the phone a lot?” I had felt a little jolt of jealousy, I realized. Who were these other people, anyway—these total strangers —who were calling Henzke Street and sharing confidences with my son?
    “Not a lot,” said Findlay. “He doesn’t open up to many people.
    He can be quite distrustful, in fact. Dismissive even. A girl here in the office read his stuff and asked me if she could speak to him. I’m afraid she laid on the sympathy far too thick.”
    “Oh, God,” I said. “He would hate that.”
    “Mmm. He asked me not to let her call back.”
    “He doesn’t appreciate pity,” I said. “And neither does Donna.”
    “No. They’re both quite refreshing that way.” We were talking about two different people again, so it seemed the natural place to sign off. “I have to go,” I said, “but thanks for listening.”
    “Of course. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the