Jesse stared at him.
“Well,” Jesse said. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Why do you think that is?”
Jesse paused.
“Love?” he said.
Dix nodded.
“And why do you think it doesn’t work better?” Dix said.
“Because I’m a mess,” Jesse said.
Dix shook his head almost imperceptibly.
“I’m not a mess?” Jesse said.
“Mess is not a very useful term in my line of work,” Dix said. “But it is not unusual for someone in your circumstances to take on all the blame for those circumstances, not out of guilt but because it gives them the power to change it.”
“So if it’s her fault, there’s nothing I can do about it,” Jesse said. “And if it’s my fault, there is?”
“Again, fault is not a term I like to use,” Dix said. “But just suppose the near-fatal flaw in your relationship resides with her.”
“She’s too career-driven,” Jesse said.
“I would guess,” Dix said, “that her ambition is a symptom, not a condition.”
“A symptom of what?” Jesse said.
“She said to you something to the effect that success might be her way back to you.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
He felt tense. They were about to see around a corner. He didn’t know what he’d see yet, but he’d worked with Dix long enough to know that Dix, however obliquely, would bring him to it.
“But wasn’t she with you before she began her career?” Dix said.
“Yes.”
“So…”
Dix waited. Jesse sat. After a bit he shook his head.
“Nothing,” Jesse said.
Dix whistled silently to himself, as if he were mulling something.
Then he said, “Jesse, you must know you fill a room.”
Dix rarely used his first name. Jesse was pleased.
“I’m not that big,” he said.
“I’m not talking about physical size,” Dix said. “You are a very powerful person.”
“For a drunk,” Jesse said.
“The alcohol may be a saving grace,” Dix said.
“Because?”
“It dilutes your power a little,” Dix said. “It must be very difficult to be
