“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 f
eel 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.”