Dexter is delicious d-5 Page 18

  I went back to the easy chair and sat, draping the second towel over my shoulder and arranging Lily Anne facedown on top of it, gently patting her on the back. Brian looked at me again, and I opened my mouth to speak.

  “Dinner,” Rita said, roaring into the room with a platter held between two large oven mitts. “I’m afraid it’s not — I mean, it isn’t actually burned, but I didn’t — It’s just a little too dry and, Astor, get the rice into the blue bowl. Sit down, Cody.”

  Dinner was a cheerful affair, at least as far as the video warriors were concerned. Rita kept apologizing for the Orange Juice Chicken — which indeed, she really should have. It was one of her signature dishes, and she had let it overcook to the point of dryness. But Cody and Astor found it very funny that she was embarrassed, and began to play her with just a touch of cruelty. “It’s dry,” Cody said after Rita’s third apology. “Not like usual.” And he smirked at Brian.

  “Yes, I know, but — I really am sorry, Brian,” Rita said.

  “Oh, it’s delicious; think nothing of it, dear lady,” Brian said.

  “Think nothing at all, dear Mom,” Astor echoed loftily, and she and Brian laughed. And so it went until dinner was over and the kids jumped up to clear the table, goaded on by the promise of fifteen more minutes of Wii before bed. Rita took Lily Anne down the hall for a diaper change, and for just a moment, Brian and I faced each other across the table. This was the moment to speak, to bring things out in the open between us, and I leaned forward to seize it.

  “Brian,” I said.

  “Yes?” he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

  “Why have you come back?” I said, trying very hard not to sound like I was accusing him of something.

  He gave me a look of cartoon astonishment. “Why, to be with my family, of course,” he said. “Why else?”

  “I don’t know why else,” I said, irritated even more. “But there must be something.”

  He shook his head. “Why would you think that, brother?” he said.

  “Because I know you,” I said.

  “Not really,” he told me, locking his eyes onto mine. “You only know one small part of me. And I thought — Oh, damn,” he said, as the tinny notes of “Ride of the Valkyries” swelled up from somewhere in his pocket. He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the screen, and said, “Oh, my. I’m afraid I have to eat and run. As much as I’ve enjoyed talking with you. I’d better make my apologies to your lady wife.” And he got quickly to his feet and swept into the kitchen, where I could hear him flinging his flowery compliments and apologies.

  The entire family followed him to the front door, but I managed to cut them off by stepping outside with Brian and firmly closing the door between them and my brother and me. “Brian,” I said, “we need to talk a little more.”

  He paused and turned to face me. “Yes, brother, let’s,” he said. “A good old-fashioned chin-wag. Catch up with each other and all that. Tell me, how are you coming along with finding that missing girl?”

  I shook my head. “That’s not what I mean,” I said, determined to see this through to the end and drag things into the light. But once again his phone began its frantic Wagnerian chorus and he glanced at it and shut it off.

  “Another time, Dexter,” he said. “I really do have to go now.” And before I could protest, he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder and then hurried away to his car.

  I watched him drive away, and my only consolation was that the shoulder he had patted was still slightly damp from Lily Anne’s blarp.

  TWENTY-THREE

  I stood and watched the taillights of Brian’s car until they were gone in the distance. But my unhappiness did not leave with my brother. It swirled around me and rose higher as the moonlight poured in and mixed with the irritation and once more the serpent voice began to wheedle and coax and make its sly suggestions. Come with us, it whispered in honeyed tones of pure and perfect reason. Come away into the night; come and play and you will feel much better…

  And I pushed it away, standing firm on the shores of my new land, human fatherhood — but the moonlight flowed back and tugged harder and I closed my eyes for just a moment to shut it out. I thought of Lily Anne. I thought of Cody and Astor, and the fawning pleasure they showed with Brian, and another small rivulet of irritation surged up. I pushed it down, and thought of Deborah and her deep unhappiness. She had been so pleased with catching Victor Chapin, and so miserable when she’d had to let him go. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted the kids to be happy, too — and the wicked little voice trickled back in and said, I know how to make them happy, and you, too.

  For just a moment I listened, and everything clicked together with perfect sharpness and clarity and I saw myself slipping away into the night with my duct tape and a knife —

  And I pushed back one more time, hard, and the picture shattered. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. The moon was still there, beaming at me expectantly, but I shook my head firmly. I would be strong, and I would prevail. I turned away from the night with brittle resolve and marched briskly back into the house.

  Inside, Rita was in the kitchen cleaning up. Lily Anne burbled in the bassinet, and Cody and Astor were already back on the couch in front of the TV, playing with the Wii. Now was the time to start, to set things straight between us, to stamp out the embers of Brian’s influence and get these children moving out of the darkness; it could be done. I would do it. I went straight to Cody and Astor and stood between them and the TV screen. They looked up at me and seemed to see me for the first time tonight.

  “What,” Astor said. “You’re in the way.”

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  “We need to play Dragon Blade,” Cody said, and I did not like what I heard in his voice. I looked at him, and I looked at Astor, and the two of them looked back at me with smug and self-righteous irritation, and it was too much. I leaned over to the Wii’s control box and pulled its plug out of the wall socket.

  “Hey!” Astor said. “You lost the game! Now we gotta start over on level one!”

  “The game is going in the trash,” I said, and their mouths dropped open in unison.

  “Not fair,” Cody said.

  “Fair has nothing to do with this,” I said. “This is about what’s right.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Astor said. “If it’s right then it’s fair, too, and you said…” And she was going to go on, but she saw my face and trickled to a stop. “What?” she said.

  “You don’t even like Chinese food,” I said sternly. Two small and blank faces looked at me, and then at each other, and I heard the echo of what I had just said. It didn’t even make sense to me. “What I mean is,” I said, and their eyes swung back to me, “when you went out with Brian. My brother. Uncle Brian.”

  “We know who you mean,” Astor said.

  “You told your mother you went for Chinese food,” I said. “And that was a lie.”

  Cody shook his head, and Astor said, “He told her that. We would have said pizza.”

  “And that would have been a lie, too,” I said.

  “But Dexter, you told us already,” she said, and Cody nodded. “Mom isn’t supposed to know about, you know. All that other stuff. So we have to lie to her.”

  “No, you don’t,” I said. “What you have to do is not do it anymore.”

  I watched astonishment blossom on their faces. Cody shook his head with bewilderment and Astor blurted, “But that’s not — I mean, you can’t really — What do you mean?” And for the first time in her life she sounded just like her mother.

  I sat down on the couch between them. “What did you do with Uncle Brian that night?” I said. “When he said you went for Chinese food?”

  They looked at each other, and an entire conversation went on between them with no audible words. Then Cody looked back at me. “Stray dog,” he said.

  I nodded, and anger surged through me. Brian had taken them out and found them a stray dog to learn and
experiment with. I had known it was something like that, of course, but to hear it confirmed fed my sense of moral outrage — with my brother and with the children. And oddly enough, even as I drew myself up into a lofty tower of righteous indignation, a small and mean voice whispered that it should have been me who did this with them. It should have been my hand guiding their fledgling knife strokes, my wise and patient voice steering and explaining and teaching them how to catch and cut and then how to clean up when playtime was over.

  But that was absurd; I was here to lead them away from darkness, not to teach them how to enjoy it. I shook my head and let sanity flow back in. “What you did was wrong,” I said, and once more they both looked blank.

  “What do you mean?” Astor said.

  “I mean,” I said, “that you have to stop —”

  “Oh, Dexter,” Rita said, bursting into the room wiping her hands on a dish towel. “You can’t let them play anymore; it’s a school night. Look at the time, for goodness’ sake, and you haven’t even — Come on, you two; get ready for bed.” She hustled them up and out of the room before I could do more than blink. Cody turned back to look at me just before his mother pushed him into the hallway, and his face was a jumble of confusion, hurt, and irritation.

  And as the three of them clattered into the bathroom and the sounds of running water and toothbrushing came back to me, I felt myself grinding my teeth in frustration. Nothing was going right. I had tried to bring my little family together, and found my brother there before me. When I tried to confront him, he had fled with the words still forming on my tongue. And I had finally begun my important job of shepherding the kids away from wickedness, only to be interrupted at the crucial point. Now the kids were mad at me, Rita ignored me, and my sister was jealous of me — and I still didn’t know what Brian was up to.

  I had worked just as hard as I knew how to be the new and squeaky-clean straight-arrow family man I was supposed to be, and at each attempt I had been slapped down, sneered at, and utterly crushed. Irritation grew inside me and morphed into anger, and then that started to change, too, as I felt a cold and acid bath of contempt burble up inside: contempt for Brian, and Rita, and Deborah, and Cody and Astor, for all the dribbling idiots in the whole stumble-footed world —

  — and most of all, contempt for me, Dexter the Dummkopf, who wanted to walk in the sunlight, smelling the flowers and watching rainbows curl across the rose-tinted sky. But I had forgotten that the sun is nearly always hidden by clouds, flowers have thorns, and rainbows are always out of reach. You could dream the impossible dream all you wanted to, but it was always gone when you woke up. I was finding that out the hard way, each new reminder grinding my nose further and further into the dirt, and now all I really wanted was to grab something by the throat and squeeze —

  The monotonous drone of Rita and the kids saying their prayers came down the hall at me. I still didn’t know the words, and it was just one more annoying reminder that I was not really Dex-Daddy and probably never would be. I thought I could be the first leopard in history to change his spots, but in reality I was just another alley cat forced to dine on garbage.

  I stood up. I just needed to move around, try to calm down, collect my thoughts, tame these weird and wild and brand-new emotions, before they carried me away on a flood tide of stupidity. I walked into the kitchen, where the dishwasher was already whirring away at the dinner dishes. Past the refrigerator, its ice-maker clicking. I walked into the back hall by the washer and dryer. All around me, through the whole house, everything was clean and functional, all the machinery of domestic bliss, in its place and ready to do exactly what it was supposed to do — all of it but me. I was not made to fit under the counter of this or any other house. I was made for moonlight gleaming off a very sharp knife and the soothing ratchet of duct tape purring off the roll and the muffled horror of the wicked in their neat and careful bonds as they met their unmaker —

  But I had turned my back on that, turned away from all I really was, tried to fit myself into a picture of something that did not even exist, like squeezing a demon onto a Saturday Evening Post cover, and I had done nothing but make myself look like a complete idiot. No wonder Brian could so easily take away my kids. I would never bring them away from the dark side if I couldn’t even give them a convincing performance of virtuous normality.

  And with such a vast amount of wickedness in the world, how could I beat my bright blade into a dull and functional plowshare? There was so much yet to do, so many playground bullies who needed to learn the new rules to the game, Dexter’s rules — there were even cannibals abroad in my very own city. Could I really just sit on the couch and knit while they worked their horrible will on the Samantha Aldovars of the world? After all, she was somebody’s daughter, and someone felt about her just the way I felt about Lily Anne.

  And as that thought hit home a red-hot surge of anger roared up inside me, burning away all my careful control. It could have been Lily Anne. Someday it still could be, and I was doing nothing to protect her. I was a self-deluded fool. I was being attacked from all sides, and I was simply letting it happen. I was allowing the predators to stalk and slay, and if someday they came for Lily Anne — or Cody and Astor — it would be my fault. It was in my power to protect my family from a very nasty world, and instead I was pretending that kind thoughts would keep the dragon away, while in fact it was roaring at my very own door.

  I stood at the back door and looked out the window into the darkness of the yard. The clouds had rolled in up above, covering over the moon and bringing complete darkness. That was it, a perfect picture of all that was real; just darkness, hiding a few patches of brown grass and dirt. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked, not for anyone anywhere. It was all just darkness, decay, and dirt, and trying to pretend there was anything else got you nothing but grief, and there was not a thing I could do about it. Nothing.

  … And the clouds rolled open to let one small moonbeam trickle through to light up the darkness, and the sibilant whisper tickled and teased once more and said, There is one thing…

  And that one simple thought made all the sense in the world.

  “I’ll be right back,” we said to Rita as she sat on the couch with the baby held close. “I left some things at work.”

  “Back?” she warbled in confusion. “You mean you’re going to — But it’s night!”

  “Yes, it is,” we said, and we let a cold gleam of teeth show in our face at the thought of that welcoming velvet darkness just outside the door.

  “Well, but don’t you — Can’t it wait until morning?” she said.

  “No,” we said, and the happy madness of it echoed in our voice. “It can’t wait. It’s something I need to do tonight.”

  The truth of it clearly showed on our face. Rita frowned but said no more than, “Well, I hope you — Oh! But I emptied the diaper pail, and it’s really — Could you take the bag and — ” She jumped up and went into the hall and the cold acid roiled through me at the interruption, but she was back in mere seconds, clutching a garbage bag. She thrust it at me and said, “On your way out, if you — You really have to go in? I mean, it won’t take too long? Because, I mean, drive carefully, but —”

  “It won’t take long,” we said, and then impatience flooded in and we were out the door into the welcoming night with its thin fingers of moonlight trickling through the clouds and promising that one wonderful thing that could wash away all the cramped misery of trying to be something we were not and never would be. In a hurry now, we flung the garbage bag onto the floor of the backseat with our playtime toys and got into the car.

  We drove north through thin traffic, north to work, just as we had said we would, but not the daytime work of office and disorder; we went to a much happier task, beyond the dull and into delight, north past the airport, onto the off-ramp that led to North Miami Beach, and slower now, carefully nosing down the trail in our memory, to a certain small pastel yellow house in a modest neighborhood.
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  The club doesn’t even open until eleven, Deborah had said. We drove past with care and saw the lights on, inside and out, and a car in the driveway that had not been there before. The mother’s car, of course, and it made perfect sense — she took it to work during the day. Closer to the house, half into the shadows, was the Mustang. He was still here. It was not yet ten o’clock and the drive to South Beach was not a long one. He would be inside, enjoying his unjust freedom and thinking that all was once more right with his little world, and that was just the way we wanted it. We had made it with plenty of time and we felt a cold and pleasing certainty that we would not be disappointed.

  We went one time around the block and watched for any sign that things were not what they should be and we found nothing. All was quiet and safe and all the little houses were clean and lighted and buttoned up against the razor-sharp fangs of the night.

  We drive on. Four blocks away there is a house with a Dumpster squatting in its overgrown yard and this was just what we wanted. The houses nearby are dark, too, one light showing in a place two doors away, but otherwise it is all a quiet part of our night, and the house with the Dumpster is perfect. Foreclosed, empty, waiting for somebody to come in with a new dream, and very soon somebody will, but it will not be a pretty dream. We find a broken streetlight a block away and park there, beside a hedge. We get out slowly, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying as always the happy task of preparation, making things just right for all that had to happen and now would happen once more and oh so soon.

  The back door of the foreclosed house is hidden from any possible prying eyes and it opens silently, quickly. Inside, the house is all empty darkness — except for the kitchen, where a skylight spills moonbeams across a butcher-block countertop, and as we see it the inner whisper rises into a chorus of delight. Here was a sign that this night was meant to be and it had been made just for us; this room was the perfect place for what we must do, and as if to underline the fact that all was right with the wicked world, there is even half a box of garbage bags on the counter.