“Having a virtual drink together,” Sunny said.
“Better than no drink at all,” Jesse said.
They were quiet again. It was an easy quiet. There was no strain to it. There was never any strain between them, Jesse thought.
“Ever see Richie?” Jesse said.
“I saw him today,” Sunny said. “He came to pick up Rosie for the weekend.”
“She like that?”
“Yes. She’s always happy to go with him.”
“He still married?” Jesse said.
“Yes.”
“Wife like Rosie?”
“Richie says so, and Rosie likes her.”
“How’s that feel?”
“Awful.”
“You comfortable,” Jesse said, “letting her go?”
“Yes. I miss her, but Richie would never let her be mistreated. He loves her as much as I do.”
“How is it between you and Richie.”
“When he’s here?” Sunny thought about it. He heard her swallow. He took a drink.
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R O B E R T B . P A R K E R
“He like that, too?” Jesse said.
Sunny thought about that.
“Richie is so interior, it is hard to tell,” Sunny said. “But I think so. I don’t think I’m projecting it onto him.”
“Well,” Jesse said. “Aren’t we in a fucking mess.”
Sunny took another sip of wine. She swallowed slowly, and Jesse could hear her pour more wine, the bottle clinking against the rim of her glass.
“I guess,” Sunny said finally, “if I had to be in a fucking mess, there’s no one I’d rather be in a fucking mess with.”
“Me too,” Jesse said.
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24
Jesse sat with Molly in the squad room watching videotapes of Walton Weeks. Molly was taking notes. On the screen, Weeks was interviewing a congressman.
“I am not, of course, an economist,” the congressman said.
