He felt as if he might come apart and scatter on her kitchen floor.
He sipped some Chardonnay. He didn't like wine that much. He particularly didn't like Chardonnay. But he knew she always had ordered it when they were married, and this had been the most expensive bottle of Chardonnay in the Cove Liquor Store, which was the nearest liquor store to the police station.
"You doing good with your drinking, Jesse?"
"I'm all right, Jenn. I slip occasionally, but never in public."
"Drinking alone?"
"Yep. But not often."
"I worry about you drinking alone."
"Hell, I've always liked drinking alone, Jenn. I hate being drunk where people can see me."
"I know. You're a very inward person."
Jenn was eating her noodles with chopsticks. He admired how clever she was with the chopsticks. He always used a fork. She ate some noodles, put down the chopsticks, drank some wine.
"Well," she said.
"The question is where are we."
Jesse nodded. He wasn't hungry. He drank some wine.
"I've had quite a lot of therapy since we broke up," she said.
"We didn't break up," Jesse said.
"You left me for Elliot the producer."
Jenn nodded carefully.
"I've had quite a bit of therapy since I took up with Elliot Krueger and you divorced me," she said.
"I'm sorry," Jesse said.
"I guess I'm quibbling over language."
"You're mad," Jenn said.
"And why wouldn't you be?"
"You did what you had to do."
"I guess so," Jenn said.
"But all the therapy I've had hasn't solved my problem."
"Which is?"
"I want to be with you and I don't."
"And what's the shrink say about that?"
"She says I'm ambivalent."
"For this she gets a hundred dollars an hour?"
"Two hundred. And she's worth it. She helped me see that I really feel both ways at the same time, that it's really quite human to feel conflicting things."
"So what do you do about it?"
"I don't know yet. But I know I want to stay near you. You were too far away before."
"And what do we do with your ambivalence? You fuck me on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Elliot Tuesdays and Thursdays?"
"It's not about fucking, Jesse."
"The hell it isn't."
"Well. It's not only about fucking."
Jesse took in some air. He finished his wine. Better not have any more.
"Okay," he said, "it's not only about fucking. It's about you don't want me and you don't want to lose me. What the Christ am I supposed to do with that?"
"Talk."
"That's what I'm doing."
"No," Jenn said.
"Mostly you're yelling."
Jesse got off the stool and walked into Jenn's frilly living room id looked down at Beacon Street.
"Goddamn, this is hard," he said.
She stood in the doorway behind him.
"It's awful, isn't it?" she Isaid.
"Yes."
"Dr. St. Claire says the bond between us is quite impressive."
Jesse nodded, staring down at the cars outbound toward Kenmore Square.
"I think we need to try," Jenn said.
"Try what?" Jesse said.
"Jesse," Jenn said.
"We're divorced. We're single. We can act like [any other single people. We could date."
"Date who?"
"Anybody we wanted," Jenn said.
"Including each other. Like | we'd just met."
"And?" Jesse said.
"And see what happens."
"Sex?" Jesse said.
Jenn shrugged.
"Let's see what happens."
"Not tonight," Jesse said.
"No," Jenn said.
Jesse turned from the window and looked at Jenn and smiled.
"You are a piece of work, Jenn," he said.
"You want to give it a try?"
"Sure," Jesse said.
"Want to take me to dinner next Wednesday night?"
Yes.
They stood on opposite sides of the living room for a time and looked silently at each other. Then Jenn walked across and put her arms around Jesse and rested her head against his chest.
With her voice somewhat muffled, she said, "A day at a time, huh?"
"Sure," Jesse said.
TEN.
"And you just walked out and shot the cop without a word" Faye said.
They were sitting in the Mercedes parked on Indian Hill, looking at Stiles Island where it jutted into the harbor.
"He was the dangerous one. Knock him over and they take you seriously."
"So you did it for effect."
"I wanted to neutralize him. And I wanted to get their attention."
"Weren't you afraid someone would hear the shot?" Faye said.
"Hotel rooms have pretty good sound insulation," Macklin said.
"And most people don't know what a gun shot sounds like anyway. They're afraid to call up and make an asshole of themselves, you know?"
"Why didn't they call down to the desk the minute you left the room?"
"And say what-we were having an illegal poker game up here, guarded by a corrupt Boston cop? As soon as I left the room, they were busy getting the hell out of there and covering their tracks."
"So they won't even report it."
"Nope. Why I like to knock them over."
"Paper says that a policeman was found shot to death in a room," Faye said.
"And the room was occupied by someone named Thomas King, who turns out to be a phony."
"It didn't say in the paper."
"It will," Macklin said.
"The real Thomas King will be a guy from Des Moines, who's never been to Boston, and somebody lifted his credit card number and used it to make phony plastic."
"You take some awful chances, Jimmy."
"Not really," Macklin said.
"What if the cop had found your gun?"
"Guy's patting you down he stays away from your crotch."
"But suppose he had found it?"
"So he takes it," Macklin said.
"And they either boot me out or let me play. If they boot me out, I take my thousand and leave. If they let me play, I donate my thousand and leave."
"But shooting the cop?"
"Part of doing business," Macklin said.
"Either it bothers you or it doesn't. If it bothers you, find another line of work."
"It doesn't bother you."
"No."
"What if you'd missed?"
Macklin grinned at her.
"I don't miss."
They were quiet. Below them, a sloop, heeling sharply in the offshore wind, was moving out of the harbor under sail. They were too far to make out the people onboard.
"So how much did you get?" Faye said.
"Fifteen thousand and change," Macklin said.
"Should keep us afloat until we clean out Stiles Island."
"You really think we can?"
"It's perfect," Macklin said.
"The isolation. The money. The police."
"Small-town cops?"
"You bet," Macklin said.
"Biggest robbery they've ever had is probably some kid copping two Snickers bars from a Ma and Pa."
"I think something happened here last year, while you were in jail."
"Probably caught a Peeping Tom," Macklin said.
"No, I don't remember. It was on the news one night."