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party there—taking place today.
    My mother freshened her coffee and came to sit with me.
    â€œWhy don’t you just go on up there?” she said. “I’ll check in on Nick. There’s no need for both of us. I know you—you won’t be able to sleep. You’ll just prowl around, fretting. Take a nice drive and relax.”
    She was right again—like most mothers with their children, she usually was. My being gone for a few hours wouldn’t make any difference with Nick, my worries about her had backed off, and it would be a relief to get the thing taken care of instead of having it hang over me.
    It would also give me a chance to chew Paul’s ass about not returning Mom’s calls.
    â€œLet me think it over,” I said. “I’ll check in with you around noon, and if Nick’s still doing okay, maybe I will.”
    â€œFine.” Then she put her hand on my wrist. “Tom, can you explain what’s going on with him?”
    I’d been thinking about how to handle this. When I’d first called her earlier, I’d given her an edited version of the story, trying to tone down the immediate shock factor. But she knew the kind of life Nick was living—the problems he’d caused me were nothing compared to her years of heartache—and with Drabyak’s hint that there might be deeper trouble in the background, she needed to be on the alert.
    â€œIt’s pretty much like I told you, Mom, but there are a couple more things you should know,” I said.
    She sighed. “I was sure there would be. It’s such a lose-lose.”
    I glanced around for Hap; he was off the phone by now, and I wanted him in on this. Hap was clearheaded, shrewd, and essentially one of the family—a lifelong friend of my parents’, like an uncle to us kids, and now becoming a sort of surrogate husband to Audrey.
    But it wasn’t going to blossom into actual romance, since Hap was gay. He kept that part of his life entirely private, and not many people even knew it; on the contrary, women had always drooled over him because of his leonine good looks and broad-shouldered physique. He’d been a terrific swimmer at USC, with a handful of NCAA medals and an Olympic silver for the butterfly leg of the 400-meter medley relay. It was Hap who’d gotten Nick and me into competitive swimming; he’d started coaching us practically as soon as we could walk.
    â€œHap, why don’t you come on over?” I said. “You should hear this, too.”
    For a second, I was struck by an odd sense of furtiveness in him, almost like he’d been eavesdropping. He was standing at the sideboard with his back turned, but he didn’t seem to be doing anything there, and his body jerked slightly when I spoke his name. But that notion was flat-out silly, a product of how wired I was—he’d just been caught up in his own thoughts, and I’d startled him.
    â€œBe right there. I’m looking for my cup,” he said. “Ah, what the hell, I’ll grab a new one.”
    But his behavior still seemed odd. When he came to join us, he paced restlessly instead of sitting, and he seemed to avoid eye contact. Of course he was concerned about the situation, but this didn’t fit Hap. He usually kept up a calm, genial front that was close to unshakable, and he was guarded about showing deeper emotions, maybe because of his closet life.
    Then an explanation occurred to me—he was feeling the guilt that many people get when harm comes to someone they dislike, a sort of reverse schadenfreude. He and Nick were alienated, with a particularly bitter edge that dated back to when Nick and I were in our late teens and Hap was coaching us. Nick had real talent—he’d already far outstripped me—and even Olympic potential. Hap had thrown himself into nurturing it, hoping to relive his own glory days through his protégé.
    But Nick pissed all