He breathed a little laugh out through his nose and shook his head—You’ve risked everything for me.

I’m not sure it’s made things any better for you.

Leslie’s car began to approach us, and we walked to the curb to clear the street. She gave us a little wave as she passed. We watched her red tail lights recede into the dark.

I miss our talks, Kyle said.

Me too.

He turned to look at me. His hair was plastered to his forehead. We had worked up quite the sweat during the tuning.

What did you think about all of this? he asked, nodding towards the house.

The tuning?

All of this, everything.

It occurred to me that it had been a very long time since Kyle and I had had a moment to ourselves to speak candidly about the group.

I think it’s pretty extraordinary, I said. Don’t you?

He nodded. I told him that it had kind of rearranged my whole frame of reference.

Does that scare you? he asked.

A little.

It scares me too.

Why do you think that is?

He considered this, as we watched Damian drive past in his pickup.

I think it’s scary to know how far we can be stretched. To feel pleasure like that. Because it means that maybe . . . the things that we thought contained us, don’t actually contain us. And that means everything is chaos.

But isn’t that also exciting?

He smiled, but left the question unanswered. Why does it scare you? he asked.

I feel um . . . I cocked my head to the side, searching for the words. Sort of . . . reshaped, by this. You know?

The whites of Kyle’s eyes glistened in the darkness.

And I guess in that reshaping I worry that some part of myself will be lost, I said.

What do you have to lose? he asked, which made me laugh.

You mean that I haven’t already?

You don’t believe in God.

This isn’t about God, I said.

Isn’t it?

I shook my head. No.

It’s certainly about something larger than ourselves.

Maybe.

Is that why you’re holding back? he asked.

I’m not holding back, I said, a little defensive.

Yes you are. I watch you in there. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want to give in.

He balanced on one foot on the curb for a moment. I like that part of you, he said. But that’s also your fear. You’re afraid of what might happen if you give yourself over completely. But I know you want to.

He stepped down off the curb. And so do I, he said.

The street was empty now. The others must have driven away without us noticing. I told him, for the record, that losing one’s disbelief in God was still losing something.

And are you? he asked.