No one said anything.
“Parents?”
One of the fathers got to his feet. He was a husky guy, with the look of someone who worked outdoors.
“Can you arrest her?” the man said.
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Charles Lane,” he said.
“I’m not sure quite what the charge would be, Mr. Lane,” Jesse said. “Molestation generally requires sexual content. Assault generally includes the intent to injure. There might be something about invasion of privacy, but I don’t know that it would hold.”
“We are not going to let this go,” he said.
“No, sir,” Jesse said. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“So what would you do?”
“I am going to talk to someone from the Essex County DA’s office,” Jesse said.
“You think we should get a lawyer?” Lane said.
Jesse grinned.
“That’s pretty much what I’m doing,” Jesse said.
4
JESSE HAD made sangria. He and Jenn sipped some as they sat together on the small balcony off his living room, looking at the harbor. It was early on a Saturday evening. Jenn had brought Chinese food, which was still in the cartons, staying warm on a low temperature in Jesse’s oven.
“You know,” Jenn said, “I realized the other day that we’ve been divorced longer than we were married.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
“And yet, here we are.”
“Yes,” Jesse said.
Jesse had made the sangria in a large glass pitcher, with a lot of ice. It sat on the low table between them, the condensation beading on the pitcher and making small tracks down the glass.
“I can’t imagine life without you in it,” Jenn said.
“Can’t live with them,” Jesse said. “Can’t live without them.”
“There are people who are doing worse than we are,” Jenn said.
It was still daylight, and Jesse could see several people in rowboats scattered around the inner harbor, bottom-fishing for flounder. Jesse drank some sangria.
“And some doing better,” Jesse said.
“Yes,” Jenn said, “of course.”
In one of the rowboats a young boy hooked a fish and hauled it in hand over hand. His father helped him take it off the hook.
“Is everything all right, Jesse?” Jenn said.
“It never is, Jenn,” Jesse said.
He drank some sangria.
“But it’s not worse than usual?” Jenn said.
Jesse looked at her and smiled.
“That might be our motto,” Jesse said. “It’s not worse than usual.”
Jenn nodded.
“Are you seeing anyone these days?” she said.
“Several people.”
“Anyone special?”
“They’re all special,” Jesse said.
“Because they have sex with you?”
“Exactly,” Jesse said.
“Am I special?” Jenn said.
“Yes,” Jesse said. “Even when we don’t have sex.”
“Is anyone else special like that?”
“No.”
They were quiet for a time, drinking sangria, as the sun went down and the small boats came into the dock, and the lights went on in the boats moored in the harbor, and across the harbor in the houses on Paradise Neck.
“Maybe we should think about supper,” Jenn said.
