Ben, who hadn’t spoken a word during Hudson’s telling of the story, removed his hands from his pockets and crossed them over his chest. “What was it?” he asked.

He’s wondering if it was AIDS, Hudson thought, not without a spark of anger at the implicit homophobia in such a fear. But Ben’s face revealed no sign of disgust, and Hudson reproached himself for ascribing motives to his question. It was, after all, a question that had been posed by several people who knew of Hudson’s relationship with Paul, as if his infidelity presupposed him to self-destruction as well. He’d sensed beneath the surface of their concern for his well-being a kind of triumph that was repellent, a thinly veiled searching for evidence of their superiority to someone who would not only commit adultery but commit it with someone of his own sex

When he’d vented to Marty following one such encounter, his friend had quoted H. G. Wells to him: “Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo.” And indeed, Wells’s Mr. Brumley had manufactured many a reason to despise Sir Isaac Harman, all because Brumley was ashamed at having fallen in love with Harman’s wife. Thinking on it, Hudson had wondered if his friends similarly despised him, if they coveted his affair because they longed for affairs of their own. If so, he thought, they understood nothing of the potential for ruin in such an undertaking.

“He committed suicide,” Hudson answered Ben. Now that it was out there, he felt the relief of having said it and found it easier than expected to provide the details. “He shot himself.”

“Because of ... the affair?” asked Ben.

“I honestly don’t know,” Hudson said. “He didn’t leave a note, and I couldn’t very well ask Emily. I heard later that they were having financial troubles, but I don’t know that that was the reason.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But if you’re asking me what I think,” he said, “I think Paul couldn’t accept who he was.”

He was finished. There was really no more to the story. Everything else was speculation and supposition. He’d worked through all of them, searched everywhere for reasons, and had finally come to the conclusion that he would never really know what Paul had been thinking that night when he’d put a pistol to his temple and pulled the trigger. Moreover, he’d elected not to drive himself crazy with trying.

“So the manuscript,” Ben said. “His work ...”

“I promised I would finish it,” said Hudson. That had been his one concession to his own feelings of guilt. It had been an easy one to make, as the mystery intrigued him as much as it had Paul. Still, it was a concession nonetheless. Worse, he realized now that it had also been a way for him to not let go.