Dexter Is Delicious

TWENTY-TWO

I drove home through the rush-hour traffic at the usual snail's pace, and I will admit that I was pondering. So many strange and baffling things going on at once; Samantha Aldovar and cannibalism in Miami and Deborah's strange emotional meltdown and the troubling reappearance of my brother, Brian. And perhaps strangest of all was the New Dexter who stood facing all these challenges. No longer the Sly Master of Dark Delights, now amazingly transformed into Daddyman, Champion of Children and the Family Way.

… And yet here I was spending all my time away from my family, in a pointless chase after bad people and a girl I didn't even know. I mean, a job is one thing, but could I really excuse neglecting my new child for all these extra hours just to support Deborah's Freudian search for a missing family? Wasn't it just a little bit of a contradiction?

And now, even more bizarre and unsettling, as I pondered these things, I began to feel bad. Me, Dark Dead Dexter, not merely feeling but feeling bad; it really boggled the imagination. I had been patting myself on the back for my amazing transformation, and yet in reality I had turned from the Happy Slasher into just another absentee parent, which was no more than a different kind of abuse. Aside from the fact that I hadn't actually killed anybody lately, what was there to be proud of?

Feelings of guilt and shame washed over me. So this was what it was like to be a real human parent. I had three wonderful kids, and all they had was me. They deserved so much more. They needed a father who was there to guide their steps and teach them about life, and they were stuck with someone who apparently cared more about finding somebody else's girl than playing with his own. It was horrible, inhuman. I had not really reformed at all-I had just changed into a different kind of monster.

And the older two, Cody and Astor-they still lived willingly in a desire for darkness. They looked to me to teach them to chase through the shadows. I had not only neglected to do that, but far worse, I had never even begun to steer them away from wanting to do it. Guilt upon guilt: I knew that I had to spend real quality time with them, bring them back to the light, show them that life held joys deeper than any knife could go. And to do all this, I had to be there, do things with them, and I had failed.

But maybe it wasn't too late. Maybe I could still make my mark with them. After all, I could not change completely just by wanting to, bursting from my wicked cocoon and emerging as a totally new human father. It took time to learn how to be a human, let alone to be a parent, and I was very new at this. I had to give me a little bit of credit-I had much to learn, but I was trying. And kids are very forgiving. If I could really start now and do something rare and special, as a way to show them that things had changed and that their Real Father had arrived, surely they would respond with gladness and respect.

And with that resolved I felt instantly better-Dex-Daddy was back on track. As if to prove that things were falling into place just the way a wise and compassionate Universe wanted them, I saw a giant toy store in a strip mall on my left, and without hesitation I pulled into the lot, parked, and went in.

I looked around the store and what I saw was not encouraging. There were rows and rows of violent toys, almost as if I had wandered into a store designed for the children of the old Dexter. There were swords, knives, light sabers, machine guns, bombs, pistols and rifles that shot plastic bullets and paintballs and Nerfs, rockets that blew up your friends or your friends' whole city-aisle after aisle of training devices for recreational slaughter. No wonder our world was such a mean and violent place-and no wonder there were people like I had been. If we teach children that killing is fun, can we really be surprised if now and then someone is smart enough to learn?

I wandered through the havoc factory until I finally found a small corner of the store labeled EDUCATIONAL. There were several shelves of crafts, some science kits, some board games. I looked it all over carefully, searching for something that hit just the right tone. It had to be educational, yes, but not dull or geeky, and not something that you did by yourself, like the kits. I needed something that was inspiring, but fun for us all.

I finally settled on a quiz game called Head of the Class. One person asked questions and everyone else took turns answering-perfect. It would bring us all together as a family, and we would all learn so much-and enjoy doing it. Cody would even have to speak in full sentences. Yes, this was it.

As I headed for the register I passed a shelf stacked with talking books, the kind with the row of buttons you push to make sound effects. There were several with fairy tales, and I immediately thought of Lily Anne. What a great way to hook her into a lifetime of reading enjoyment-I could read her the stories while she pushed the appropriate button on cue, and all while reading classic fairy tales. It was much too good to pass by, and I picked three of the most promising fairy tales.

I took the box and the books to the register and paid. The game was almost twenty dollars with tax, but I truly felt it was worth it, money well spent, and I did not regret the expense.

It was already dark by the time I turned my car down the street where I lived. Three-quarters of a lonely moon guttered low on the horizon and called to me in a voice of longing, making plaintive and playful suggestions about what Dexter could do with a knife and a night like this. We know where Chapin lives, it whispered. We could cut him to the canines and make him tell us many useful things, and everybody would be happy…

For a moment I rolled with that seductive tug, the intoxicating whirl of the dark tide as it flowed around me and pulled at my feet. But then I felt the weight of the game and the books I had bought, and it pulled me out of the rising surge of moonlight and back to the dry land of New Dexter. No more; I would not give in to that moon-voiced urge. With a few harsh words I pushed the Passenger back in its place, deep in cold storage. Go away, I told it, and with a reptilian sniff it coiled itself away. It had to understand that I was not that man anymore. I was Dex-Daddy, the man who comes home filled with longing for Lily Anne and all the clean and common comforts of domestic life. I was the breadwinner, the pathfinder for small feet, the shield against all harm. I was Dex-Daddy, the rock upon which Lily Anne's future would be built, and I had Head of the Class to prove it.

And as I slowed to a stop in front of my house and saw Brian's car already parked there, I realized that apparently I was also Dex-Dopey, because I had no idea what my brother was doing here again but I did not like it, whatever it was. He stood for all I had been and did not want to be anymore, and I did not want any of that anywhere near Lily Anne.

I got out of the car and circled slowly around Brian's little red car and I caught myself looking at it as if it were the real danger. That was stupid, of course. Brian's style did not run to car bombs, but to the quick slice with the sly knife, just like the old me. I was not like that anymore, no matter how much I felt it pulling at me as I approached the front door and heard squeals of childish glee from inside the house. Of all the mounting absurdities this was the worst; that I should feel resentment, suspicion, even so-very-human anger, because the kids were clearly having a good time without me.

And so it was a very confused Dex-Daddy who pushed open the front door to see his little family-plus-brother gathered in front of the television. Rita sat at one end of the couch holding Lily Anne, Brian sat at the other end, with Astor between them, all with large smiles stretched across their faces. Cody stood between them and the TV holding some kind of grayish plastic thing, which he was waving at the TV as he jumped up and down and the others cheered him on.

As I came in all eyes but Cody's swung to me and then back to the TV without any real recognition of what I was-all eyes but Brian's, which stayed fastened on me, his large and phony smile growing larger as he watched me trying, and failing, to figure out what was happening in the living room of my very own hearth and home.

And then a great burst of cheering from the crowd ended in a prolonged, "Aawwwwwww…" and a suddenly frowning Cody jerked himself away from the screen.

"Great try, Cody," Brian said without taking his eyes off me. "Really, really great."

"I got high score," Cody said, an astonishingly long speech for him.

"Yes, you did," Brian said. "Let's see if your sister can beat that."

"Course I can!" Astor shouted, leaping into the air and waving another of the plastic things. "You're toast, Cody!"

"Would somebody tell me what on earth is going on here?" I said, and even to me it sounded forlorn.

"Oh, Dexter," Rita said, looking at me as if I were something very common and she was seeing me ground into her carpet for the first time. "Brian is just-Your brother bought the children a Wii, and it's very-But he can't just," she went on, turning back away from me to look at the TV. "I mean, it's way too expensive, and-Can you ask him? Because-Oh! Good shot, Astor!" Rita actually bounced a little bit with excitement, causing Lily Anne's head to roll slightly, and it was clear that I could take off my clothes and set myself on fire and no one but Brian would even notice.

"It's really quite good for them," Brian said to me with his Cheshire Cat smile. "Very good exercise, and they develop their motor skills. And," he added with a shrug, "it's an awful lot of fun. You should try it, brother."

I looked at my brother with his huge, phony, mocking smile, and I heard the moon call from the street, promising clean and happy fulfillment, so I turned away from him and saw the children and Rita all wrapped in the joy of this wonderful new experience, and suddenly the box under my arm-Head of the Class, almost twenty dollars with tax-felt as heavy and useless as an old oil drum filled with fish heads. I let it drop to the floor, and into my head popped a brief cartoon picture of Dexter running from the room in tears to flop facedown on the bed and cry away his tattered heart.

And happily for the worldwide image of tough-but-caring fatherhood, the mental picture was so ridiculous that all I did was take a deep breath, say, "Oops," and bend to pick up the package.

There was no room for me on the couch, so I walked past the cozy group sitting there, watching them twist to see around me so they would not miss a single riveting second of Astor's epic television battle. I put my game on the floor and sat, uneasy in the easy chair. I could feel Brian's eyes on me but I did not look back; I simply concentrated on forming and maintaining a facade of polite excitement, and after a few seconds he looked away, back at the TV, and as far as the rest of the room was concerned, I had disappeared as completely as if I had never been.

I watched Cody and Astor take turns with their expensive new game system. Somehow, no matter how animated they got, I could not feel any real enthusiasm. They switched to a different game that involved killing things with a sword instead of a gun, and even the use of a blade sparked absolutely no fire in my breast. And of course, they were so thoroughly happy that only a true curmudgeon could possibly object-which merely meant that I could now add "curmudgeon" to my resume. Dexter Morgan, BS. Blood-spatter Analyst, Reformed Slasher; Currently employed as killjoy. I almost wished Debs could have been here-in the first place, because Brian would leave, but more important, so I could say, "See what you're missing? Kids, family-Ha!" And I would give a bitter chuckle that underlined the ultimate fickleness of all family.

Astor said, "Ooooooooohhh," in a very loud and high voice, and Cody jumped up to play. It was clear to me that it wouldn't matter what I did-they would never truly appreciate me or learn what I had to offer. They were far beyond fickle-they were insensible, like kittens, predatory little things, distracted by the first bit of string or shiny bauble that rolled across the floor, and nothing I could ever say or do could possibly make any kind of dent in their willful ignorance.

And then they grew up-into what? Into murderous dead-eyed pretenders like Brian and me, ready at the drop of a hat to stab each other in the back, literally or figuratively. Where was the point? Because they would clatter through childhood leaving a wake of random chaos and by the time they were old enough to understand what I had to say they would be too old to change. It was enough to make me renounce my new humanity and simply slip outside into the liquid moonlight and find somebody to take apart-no finesse, no careful selection, just sudden and cleansing savagery and release, exactly like Brian did it.

I looked at my brother where he sat-on my couch, with my wife, making my children happier than I seemed able to do. Is that what he wanted to do? Become me, but a better me than I had ever managed to be? Something rose up in me at the thought, something in between bile and anger, and I made up my mind that I would confront him tonight, demand to know what he thought he was doing, and make him stop. And if he would not listen to me-well, there was always Deborah.

So I sat grimly with a polite and completely fake half smile stitched onto my face for another half hour of dragons and magic fists and happy yelling. Even Lily Anne seemed content, which felt like an ultimate betrayal. She blinked and waved her fists in the air when Astor yelled and then snuggled back down onto Rita's chest, more enthusiasm than I had seen her show before for anything except feeding. And finally, when I didn't think I could maintain my artificial composure for even a second longer, I cleared my throat and said, "Hey, Rita? Did you have any plans for dinner?"

"What?" she said, without looking at me, still totally engrossed in the game. "Did you have a-Oh, Cody! I'm sorry, Dexter, what did you say?"

"I said," I said in overdistinct syllables, "Did You Have Any Plans for Dinner?"

"Yes, of course," she said, still without looking away from the TV. "I just have to-Oh!" she said with real alarm, and this time it was not from something in the game but because she glanced up and saw the clock. "Oh, my God, it's after eight! I didn't even-Astor, set the table! Oh, my God, and it's a school night!"

I watched with mild satisfaction as Rita leaped up off the couch at last and, thrusting Lily Anne at me, ran into the kitchen still talking. "For the love of-Oh, I know it's burned, what was I-Cody, get the silverware out! I've never been such a-Astor, don't forget to set a place for Uncle Brian!" And then a nonstop clatter for several minutes as she opened the oven, slammed pots and pans around, and set normal life back on the tracks.

Cody and Astor glanced at each other, clearly reluctant to leave their new TV world even to eat, and then, still wordless, they looked in unison at Uncle Brian. "Well, come on," he said with his awful fake cheeriness, "you have to do what your mother says."

"I wanna play some more," Cody said, which was several more syllables than I had heard him say together in a very long time.

"Of course you do," Brian said. "But right now you can't." He gave them his big smile, and I could see that he was trying very hard to look sympathetic, but it was truly not all that convincing, nowhere near as good as I did it. But Cody and Astor apparently accepted it at face value; they just looked at each other, nodded, and trundled off to the kitchen to help get ready for dinner.

Brian watched them go and then turned to look at me, his eyebrows raised in artificially polite anticipation. Naturally enough, he could not hope to anticipate any of the things I wanted to say to him, but as I took a deep breath to start, it occurred to me that I really couldn't, either. I felt that I had to accuse him of something-but of what? Buying an expensive toy when I had bought one so much cheaper? Of taking the kids for Chinese food and probably something slightly more sinister? Of trying to be me when I was too busy to play the part? I suppose the old, dead-inside Dexter would simply say, "Whatever you're doing, stop." But the new me simply could not wrap his tongue around all the many complicated things-feelings-that swirled through me. And to make matters even worse, as I sat there with my brain idling and my mouth open, Lily Anne made a burbling noise and my shirt was suddenly covered with a sour milk pudding of baby blarp.

"Oh, my," Brian said with a sympathy that was every bit as real as all his other emotions.

I got to my feet and went down the hall, holding Lily Anne at a kind of port-arms position. In the bedroom there was a changing table that had a stack of towels for the purpose stored on a shelf underneath. I grabbed two of them-one to mop up the mess, and the second to place under the baby to preserve whatever might remain of my shirt.

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.