Robert B. Parker’s Buried Secrets

Twenty-Nine

Jesse sat in the chair facing the desk, like he had many times. Dix, as always, looked impeccable. Crisp white shirt. Shaved head gleaming and clean. The only decoration on the wall of his office was his Harvard diploma. No records from the years he’d spent as a cop before he became a psychiatrist. For that matter, no personal photos, or any sign of the years he’d spent as a drunk. Just like Jesse.

Dix looked at the Rolex watch under the cuff of his immaculate shirt. “You going to just sit there, or are you going to say something?”

“Have someplace else to be?”

“I bumped people to see you today. I’ve got other clients, you know.”

“Do you?”

“You sound skeptical.”

“Just surprised anyone puts up with you.”

It always started a little confrontational. Like an interrogation. Probably a hangover from Dix’s cop days. Or just because Jesse, despite all the years he’d been going, still resented the idea of needing therapy.

Dix waited. Jesse still didn’t speak. So Dix asked the question that always got them started.

“Why are you here, Jesse?”

Jesse thought about it for another second and did his best to answer honestly. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m angry. Taking it out on the people around me. It’s going to affect my work — it’s going to affect my case — if I don’t figure out why.”

“And you want a drink.”

“And I want a drink,” Jesse admitted. “You could look a little more shocked.”

“Jesse, you were a dry drunk for years. You know what that means?”

Jesse nodded. A dry drunk was an alcoholic who didn’t stop being an alcoholic just because they quit drinking. He’d done that for a long time, as Dix said. It didn’t work.

“And how did it feel?” Dix asked.

“Like I was hanging on by my fingernails every day. Like I was about to explode.”

“You were angry all the time, right?” Dix said. “You were looking for an excuse to take it out on someone.”

“Not all the time,” Jesse said.

“But a lot.”

“Yeah. A lot.”

“That’s because you couldn’t do the one thing you wanted to do: get drunk.”

“I know all this.”

“And yet, here you are.”

Good point, Jesse thought. “I went to rehab. I’m doing the meetings.”

“But you’re still angry.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“You sure?”

“I’m being polite to you, aren’t I?”

That made Dix smile. “Jesse, you’re an alcoholic. You know we don’t get over that. It’s not the flu. We are going to carry that with us until we die. But we can be aware of the things we’re doing that give us the excuse to drink.”

“You think I’m looking for an excuse?”

“Are you?”

“No,” Jesse said. Then he said something that was hard for him to admit. “I feel worried. And I don’t know why.”

“That bothers you.”

Jesse nodded.

“You worry about things all the time,” Dix said. “You worry about Suit, about Molly, about Cole. You worry about the town and your department, even people you barely know. Why should it bother you so much to worry about yourself for a change?”

Jesse was usually pretty good at keeping his emotions off his face, but he couldn’t help scowling.

“Oh, you’re angry now? Well, that’s new and unexpected. Why do you think that is?”

“Maybe I’m a little insulted at the idea that I need someone worrying about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. You’re one of the most competent cops I’ve ever seen.”

“Just not very good at being a regular guy,” Jesse said.

“You said it, I didn’t.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Let’s keep this on what you’re thinking, Jesse. Why is it hard to worry about yourself? Why does it bother you so much? And why right now?”

Jesse shrugged. He felt a deep twinge in his bad shoulder. “I don’t know,” he said. “Why don’t you tell me? That’s what I’m paying for, right?”

“Doesn’t work that way and you know it. Wouldn’t mean anything if I just told you.”

“You know, sometimes I wonder what the hell I need you for.”

Dix smiled at him. “Me, too.”

“What?”

“You’re a pretty smart guy, Jesse. You’re a step ahead of almost everyone. It’s why you’re a great cop. Except in one area.”

“What’s that?”

“Nobody sees their own problems clearly. Not even a smart guy like you.”

Dix looked at the clock. “That’s our time. Why don’t you think it over and come back with an answer.”

“That’s it?”

“Next time, start talking when you get here. We can get more done.”

“I need to figure this out, Dix,” Jesse said. “I don’t have time for the usual games.”

“I agree,” Dix said.

“What?”

“Something’s really bothering you. You’re on edge. You want a drink. So you and I should talk every day.”

Jesse stood. “Well. I’ve got this case. I don’t know if I’ll be able to come in every day.”

“I figured,” Dix said. “I think you should call me. Every day.”

“What?”

“I don’t have time for you to come in every day, Jesse. But it’s clearly what you need. You just told me you can’t play the usual games. Me, either. So call me, every day, when you’re done with your shift. We’ll talk.”

Jesse stood there, trying to think of a reason he couldn’t do this. Dix saw his wheels spinning and headed him off.

“Your phone still works, right?”

Jesse felt his anger suddenly turn on Dix, at his clean white shirt, at his immaculate desk, at his smug insistence that he knew all the answers.

“You’re really giving me homework? You’re making me check in? Like some kind of... I don’t know, child with a curfew?”

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“What’s wrong, Jesse?” Dix asked.

Jesse didn’t answer. Just kept glaring.

“What do you want to tell me?” Dix asked.

“I wish,” Jesse said, teeth clenched, “that for once you would just stop playing around and tell me what you mean.”

“Okay,” Dix said.

“What?” Jesse was caught flat-footed by that.

For maybe the first time ever, Dix looked tired. He sat back and rubbed his eyes, then looked up at Jesse again.

“You found a dead guy alone in his own house,” Dix said. “Surrounded by the wreckage of his own life. Nobody came looking for him for weeks. And nobody cared. Any reason that might have triggered you?”

“I hate that word. ‘Triggered.’ ”

“Yeah, well, clichés get to be clichés for a reason. You wanted to know what it means? Here’s what it means: You thought you were looking at your future. Dead on a floor and nobody gives a shit. It scares the hell out of you, Jesse. That’s why you’re snapping at everyone and ready to throw hands. You’re in full fight-or-flight right now. Because you’re scared you’re going to end up just like that guy in that house. Forgotten. Abandoned. Alone.”

Jesse sat there for a moment. He felt stunned.

“Does that do it for you? You feel cured? Alakazam, all your problems are gone?”

“No,” Jesse said.

“Of course not. Because you need to learn it yourself. Knowing is only half the battle. You have to figure it out on your own. Just like solving a case.”

“Then why tell me?”

Dix laughed a little at that. Then looked more grim than ever.

“I’ve lost two patients in the last six months. Guys your age. Single. Professionals. Don’t need nobody, got it all handled, too tough to cry, all the same crap. One went out with a drug overdose, the other bought a gun and put it in his mouth. Everyone I know in my profession is seeing more of it. Men dying because they’re angry and lonely. Guys like you are actually bringing down the life expectancy of men overall in the whole country. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

“You think I’m a suicide risk?”

“Not immediately, no,” Dix said. “Like I said, you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. But you’re a single, middle-aged guy in a high-stress position. You’ve got a history of alcoholism and bad relationships. You’ve already been through more trauma than anyone should have to bear. You’ve got no family outside of a son you barely talk to. Damn few friends. Loneliness is a killer, Jesse. I’d be an idiot not to consider the risk.”

“I’m not lonely—” Jesse began to say.

“Stop it.” Dix pointed at him. “You said you wanted to hear it. So here it is: You’ve been repeating the same patterns for a long damn time. Aren’t you tired of it? Aren’t you finally getting tired of making the same stupid mistakes over and over? I know I’m tired of seeing you do it.”

Jesse didn’t respond. He hadn’t felt like this since their first days working together.

“Everyone in this life has only one real choice: change or die,” Dix said. “Which is it going to be? I don’t want you to die. I don’t think you really want to die, despite everything you do. So let’s stop screwing around. Let’s actually work on the goddamn problem. You can’t make it in? Pick up the phone and call me. You think you can handle that?”

Jesse managed to nod.

“Good,” Dix said. “Now go do your job. We’ll talk later.”

Jesse got up and left. He tried his best not to slam the door on his way out.

He didn’t quite manage it.