“Can you tell me about it?”
“No, I don’t think I can.”
“It’s all right,” Jenn said. “Therapy’s a private thing.”
“I don’t mind you knowing,” Jesse said. “It’s simply that I don’t know how to talk about it. Something’s happening in there, but I’m not sure what.”
“Do you like Dix?”
“It sort of doesn’t matter,” Jesse said. “He’s a lot more than an alcohol counselor.”
“Yes,” Jenn said.
“You knew that when you sent me to him,” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“Manipulative,” Jesse said.
“Absolutely.”
They went down off the bridge and started west on the esplanade along the river. College-aged kids were sunning themselves near the water, dogs chased Frisbees, small sailboats moved on the surface where the river widened into a basin.
“Are you talking about us?” Jenn said.
“Of course.”
“How is that going?”
Jesse shrugged.
“It seems to me sometimes that everything I know, I learned from you,” she said.
“But we’re divorced and seeing other people.”
“I know,” Jenn said.
They crossed the lagoon on a small barrel-arched footbridge. Jesse stopped at the top of the arch and leaned his forearms on the railing. Jenn stopped beside him and leaned back.
“The other night I really wanted to drink,” Jesse said. “And I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not sure. But I didn’t. Almost always before when I felt that way, I did.”
“One robin doesn’t mean it’s spring,” Jenn said.
“I think you got the quote wrong,” Jesse said.
“You know what I mean.”
“Day at a time,” Jesse said.
“Easy does it,” Jenn said.
They both laughed.
“Friend of Bill’s?” Jenn said.
Below the bridge on the lagoon three ducks with brown feathers slid along the water.
“Friend of Jenn,” Jesse said.
Chapter Fifty-four
Felicia Feinman Shaw had remarried. Her current name was Felicia Teitler and she agreed to have tea with Jesse at the Four Seasons Hotel. Jesse wore a coat and tie, his gun well back on his hip so it wouldn’t show if he unbuttoned his jacket. The hostess escorted Jesse to the table. Felicia Teitler was already there.
“I’m Jesse Stone, Mrs. Teitler.”
“Please, sit down,” she said.
Jesse sat.
“Thank you for agreeing to talk,” Jesse said.
“Actually I was rather curious,” she said, “to see what aberration he’s guilty of this time.”
The language was elegant, but the accent wasn’t. Money can buy the language, Jesse thought, but the accent is harder.
“He being Norman Shaw?” Jesse said.
“Of course,” she said. “What other aberrant jerk would we be here to discuss?”
“Tell me about some of his aberrations,” Jesse said.
Mrs. Teitler was looking at her menu. The waitress hovered.
“I’m going to have the full tea,” she said.
