“Sounds as if her career matters to her,” Dix said.
“More than I do,” Jesse said.
Dix shrugged.
“She’s still pursuing the career,” he said.
“And not me,” Jesse said.
“Is that true?” Dix said.
“No,” Jesse said. “She does still pursue me.”
Dix nodded. The air-conditioning made its quiet sound.
“Maybe she wants both,” Dix said.
“I don’t see why they’d be mutually exclusive,” Jesse said.
Dix was quiet. It was always amazing to Jesse how still Dix could be, and yet how clearly his stillness could speak. Jesse knew that in the language of psychotherapy, Dix was asking him to examine that issue.
“Do you?” Jesse said.
“I only know what you tell me,” Dix said.
“The hell you do,” Jesse said.
“I only know about you and about Jenn by listening to what you tell me about you and about Jenn.”
“And bringing to bear thirty years of training and experience to interpret what you heard,” Jesse said.
Dix smiled and tipped his head in acceptance.
“We won’t divert ourselves with the difference between knowing and interpreting,” Dix said. “Let’s just agree that my innocence is a fiction that is useful to the process.”
“Okay,” Jesse said. “What you know, if you’re a cop, is that what people say needs to be compared to what they do.”
Dix seemed to nod.
“So,” Jesse said, “Jenn left me to pursue her career but never quite let go, and has ricocheted between me and her career ever since.”
“What do you suppose her career represents to her?” Dix said.
“Represents?”
Dix again almost nodded.
“Sometimes,” Jesse said, “a cigar is just a cigar.”
Dix smiled.
“And sometimes it’s not,” Dix said.
They were quiet. The sunsplash on the wall had become longer.
“She started out trying to be an actress,” Jesse said, “and kind of morphed into a weather girl.”
“In California?” Dix said.
“No,” Jesse said. “Here.”
Dix nodded.
