“Not at the moment.” A cloud of some kind passed over his face. “I went once when I was practicing law in Chicago. She helped me make some changes in my life, but once we started going deeper, I left. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to go back at some point.”

“Well, whatever you do, don’t go when you’re depressed or in a crisis. You’re vulnerable and completely at the shrink’s mercy. The only reason I started going to my old doctor again last summer was because I wanted to rub his face in how healthy I’ve been since I left treatment.” Even she didn’t believe that, but she liked the sound of it. “What’s your lover’s name?”

“Russell.” Desmond pushed a button on the machine and something loud and unpleasant, a shout that was equivocally musical, came blasting out of the tiny speakers. “Russell Abrams.” Desmond lowered the volume and the whole thing promptly went dead. The dog on the other side of the wall started to yap. Desmond took the tape from the machine and studied it for a moment. “This looks fine, so it must be the machine.”

“We can listen to it in the car on the way to my office. If you don’t mind me saying so, I’d guess from the look on your face you don’t like discussing Russell.”

He seemed to cringe slightly, probably an indication that he either missed him desperately or was having an affair. “To be honest, I’m finding it a little harder to be separated than I expected. I hope he is, too.”

Despite what she’d said—and was fairly certain was true—about her lack of biases against homosexuals, there was some essential way in which she didn’t think of gay relationships as the equal of heterosexual ones. It wasn’t the lack of children or even the rampant sexual infidelity. It had more to do with the fact that most male couples she met seemed too fundamentally compatible to be bothered with the kind of jockeying for position that she saw as an integral part of love. It was possible Desmond was having trouble being apart from his lover, but if they were a heterosexual couple, the phone would have rung by now and the refrigerator would be plastered with photos and a spouse would be climbing the stairs at this very minute, hoping to catch someone red-handed.

“I’ll be seeing him over Columbus Day. When you’re visiting your ex-husband, assuming you decided to go.”

“I decided not to go,” she said, “but Dale’s wife has been talking to Thomas. He seems to think it would be good for Gerald.”