And yet there was an edge of hurt, doubt, or disappointment in his voice that troubled Desmond. Desmond had always believed that the only way to keep mystery—and therefore romance and mutual attraction—in a relationship was by lying about or keeping secret a good third of what you were feeling at any given moment. Russell had always insisted upon full disclosure, and over the years Desmond had become addicted to knowing everything, if not always telling everything. “What is it you’re not telling me?” he asked.

Russell glanced up from his cardboard box of treasure and stared into Desmond’s eyes as if trying to make a decision. He pushed the box away, sat back on the sofa, and used both hands to pull his hair off his face. “What I’m not telling you,” he said, “is something I’m embarrassed about, but what the fuck, I’ll tell you anyway. When you went to talk with Peter at that party, I hung around the living room for a while, trying to make conversation with some of your friends. Some sad little woman over in the corner bumped against a table and knocked over a vase of lilies, and Velan, who by this time had started to do some serious drinking, was about to make a scene. So I walked down the hallway to the bedroom—and here’s the embarrassing part—and stood outside the door listening in on your conversation with Peter.”

“Well, that’s not so embarrassing. That’s what I do for a living.” And then, trying to remember if he’d said anything regrettable, he asked, “Which part of the conversation did you listen in on?”

“The part where you told Peter—bragged might be the better word—that you had some dates or tricks ‘lined up’ in Boston. I’m sure I heard other things, but that’s what kind of”—he gestured angrily toward his temple—“stuck in my mind.”

It was one of the few times Desmond felt tremendously relieved to have been caught in a lie. If your lover was going to overhear you bragging to someone about cheating on him, you couldn’t ask for better luck than to have the bragging be honest-to-God untrue. “But that was just something I said,” he laughed. “Of course I don’t have anything lined up.’”

Russell frowned at this comment, with annoyance, not doubt. “I’m not sure I fully believed it to begin with,” he said. “If I had, I probably would have been a lot angrier. But what I’ve been left wondering for the past several days is why you’d go out of your way to say it.”

The comment shattered the relief Desmond had been feeling a few seconds earlier. What had made him think it would be a good idea to drive all the way down here instead of shooting straight north?