Clearly it wasn’t. She’d said something insulting and then promptly made an even bigger fool of herself, all while spread out like Cleopatra on his bed. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted him to like her and approve of her. It went beyond the potential of a working relationship. She found he was easy to talk to, which was more than she could say of most people these days, Helen aside. It didn’t hurt that they knew no one in common with the exception of Thomas, and she couldn’t imagine that Desmond would find himself in a heart-to-heart with him. “I’ll give you an example of how blasé I am on the topic of homosexuality,” she said. “I have a strong suspicion Gerald is going to be gay when he grows up. Or is gay now, if that’s how it works.” It was the first time she’d given voice to this particular concern, and she was shocked to hear herself say it. It was such a monumental confession, to herself as much as Desmond, and such a profound betrayal of her son, she scanned the little room, half expecting to find that everything looked different. But the center was holding and all was quiet. Desmond was merely nodding in a calm, disinterested way, as if her words didn’t surprise him at all. Maybe he’d drawn the same conclusion when he met Gerald at the house. She picked up her teacup, sipped from it, and found the warm, gingery water comforting. Now that this worry about Gerald had been released from her archive of shameful thoughts and was dispersing in the humid air of the room, it didn’t seem like such a terribly big deal. She went on, encouraged. “When I decided to put him into therapy, it wasn’t with any thoughts of changing him. I just want to make sure he’s happy with himself, however he turns out.”

Desmond had his head under the table and was checking the cord for the tape machine. Generally speaking, she found people who had trouble managing the most simple mechanical tasks—turning on a tape player, operating a dishwasher, using an electric can opener—baffling. Why not just come right out and ask to be taken care of? In Desmond’s case, it appeared to be genuine ignorance, which was much more appealing. He crawled out from under the table and said, “That’s good. But in your heart, I suspect you’d prefer that your son . . .” He stopped there.