“Oh, I wouldn’t call it that.” But of course, being Kevin, he wouldn’t call it whatever it was, either.

After he’d departed, Desmond gazed across the room at Russell standing by the window, delivering an animated monologue to two bald, bearded men. Desmond could tell from his gestures and facial expressions that he was talking about his secondhand store, a bottomless source of material for anecdotes replete with characters he could mimic and merchandise he could describe in loving detail. Watching him run through his routine, Desmond felt unaccountably lonely. I wish he’d come stand beside me, he thought, and then he saw Russell excuse himself and cross the room. Maybe love was a form of telepathy. Desmond was always trying to find a chewable-vitamin-sized definition of love, one that justified the energy he’d invested in his relationship with Russell while reassuring himself that, in the blink of a jaundiced eye, he could live happily without it.

“You got a lot of attention over there, sweetheart,” Desmond said, putting his arm around him. “Which story were you telling them?”

“The one about the $85 lunch box.”

“I like that one. Did you put in the joke I gave you?”

“I was about to when you called me over.”

“I didn’t call you over.”

“No? Well, it doesn’t matter. Have you noticed that Peter isn’t here?”

Desmond had noticed, but he’d assumed he was avoiding Velan’s bad mood by hiding in the kitchen. Like a lot of people married to alcoholics, Peter spent vast amounts of time cooking and had become an expert chef.

“Apparently not. And rumor has it the bedroom door is closed. I think you should investigate.”

Desmond liked opening bedroom doors, but at the moment, he didn’t want to be separated from Russell. “Only if you come with me.”

“One person looks concerned, two would look prurient. I’ll keep watch out here.”

“Maybe it’s something as simple as an upset stomach.”

“Possibly. But if it is, a lot of your friends here are going to be very disappointed.”

3.

Desmond knocked lightly on the bedroom door. From inside, he could hear only the hum and rattle of an air conditioner and the distant sizzle of running water. “Peter?” When there was no response, he gave the door a noncommittal push.