Jeff Lindsay - Double Dexter

I had no proof, of course and it was none of my business how my brother conducted his social life, as long as he showed up at the house with clean hands and good table manners, which he always did. Still, I hoped he had abandoned his flamboyant recreational style and was being careful.

How s business? I asked him politely.

Never better, he said. They may say the market is recovering, but I haven t seen it yet. It really is a good time to be me in Miami.

I smiled politely, mostly to show him what a really good fake looked like, and Rita hustled back in with a box of tissues.

Here, she said, thrusting the box at me. Why don t you just keep the box with you, and Oh, damn it, there s the timer, she said, and she vanished again, into the kitchen this time.

Brian and I watched her go with very similar expressions of bemused wonder. A really lovely lady, Brian said to me. You are very lucky, Dexter.

Don t let her hear you say that, I said.

She might think you sound envious, and she does have single friends, you know.

Brian looked startled. Oh, he said. Silly me, I hadn t thought of that. Would she really try to, ah I think the expression is, fix me up?

In a heartbeat, I assured him. She thinks marriage is man s natural state.

And is it? he asked me.

There is much to be said for domestic bliss, I said. And I am quite sure Rita would love to see you try it.

Oh, dear, he said, and he looked at me thoughtfully, running his eyes over my entire frame. Still, he said, it seems to agree with you.

I suppose it must seem like it, I said.

Do you mean it doesn t agree with you? Brian asked, arching his eyebrows up high on his forehead.

I don t know, I said. I guess it really does. It s just that lately

Lights seem dimmer, tastes are all duller? he asked me.

Something like that, I admitted, although in truth I could not tell if he was merely mocking me.

But Brian looked at me very seriously, and for once he did not seem to be faking his expression, nor the thoughts behind his words.

Why don t you come along with me some night very soon? he said softly. We ll have a Boys Night Out. Rita couldn t possibly object.

There was absolutely no mistaking what he meant; aside from the fact that he only had one form of recreation, I knew that he had long dreamed of sharing a playtime with me, his only living relative, who had so much in common with him we were brothers of the blade as well as in blood. And truthfully the idea was almost unbearably compelling to me, too but but

Why not, brother? Brian said softly, leaning forward with genuine intensity on his face. Why shouldn t we?

For a moment I simply stared at him, frozen between lunging at his offer with both hands and thrusting him away from me, probably with one hand to my brow and a loud cry of, Retro me, Brianus! But before I could decide which choice to jump at, life intervened, as it usually does, and made the decision for me.

Dexter! Astor yelled from down the hall, with all the fury of a very cranky eleven-year-old girl. I need help with my math homework! Now!

I looked at Brian and shook my head. You ll excuse me, brother? I said.

He settled back into the sofa and smiled, the old fake smile again. Mmm, he said. Domestic bliss.

I got up and went down the hall to help Astor.

Astor was in the room she shared with Cody, hunched over a book at the little hutch that served them both as a desk. The expression on her face had probably started life as a frown of concentration, and then evolved into a scowl of frustration. From there it had been just a short jump to a full-blown menacing glare, which she turned on me as I came into the room. This is bullshit, she snarled at me with such ferocity that I wondered whether I should get a weapon. It doesn t make any sense at all!

You shouldn t use that word, I said, and rather mildly, too, since I was quite sure she would attack if I raised my voice.

What word, sense? she sneered.

Cause that must be a word they forgot in this stupid book. She slammed the book closed and slumped down in the chair with her arms crossed over her chest. Bunch of crap, she said, looking at me out of the corner of her eye to see whether she would get away with crap. I let it go and went to stand next to her.

Let s take a look, I said.

Astor shook her head and refused to look up at me. Useless dumb crap, she muttered.

I felt a sneeze coming on and fumbled out a tissue, and still without looking up she said, And if I get your cold, I swear. She didn t tell me what she swore, but from her tone it was clear that it wouldn t be pleasant.

I put the tissue in my pocket, leaned over the desk, and opened the book. You won t get my cold; I took a vitamin C, I said, still trying for a winning note of lighthearted and tolerant reason. What page are we on?

It s not like I ll ever have to know this stuff when I m grown up, she grumbled.

Maybe not, I said. But you have to know it now. She clamped her jaw and didn t say anything, so I pushed a little. Astor, do you want to be in sixth grade forever?

I don t wanna be in sixth grade now, she hissed.

Well, the only way you ll ever get out of it is if you get a passing grade. And to do that you have to know this stuff.

It s stupid, she said, but she seemed to be winding down a bit.

Then it should be no problem for you, because you re not stupid, I said. Come on; let s look at it.

She fought it for another minute or so, but I finally got her to the right page. It was a relatively simple problem of graphing coordinates, and once she calmed down I had no problem explaining it to her. I have always been good at math; it seems very straightforward compared to understanding human behavior. Astor did not seem to have a natural gift for it, but she caught on quickly enough. When she finally closed the book again she was a lot calmer, almost contented, and so I decided to push my luck just a bit and tackle another small item of pressing business.

Astor, I said, and I must have unconsciously used my I m-a-grown-up-here-it-comes voice, because she looked up at me with an expression of alert worry. Your mom wanted me to talk to you about braces.

She wants to ruin my life! she said, hurtling up into an impressive level of preteen outrage from a standing start.

I ll be hideous and no one will look at me!

You won t be hideous, I said.

I ll have these huge steel things all over my teeth! she wailed. It is so hideous!

Well, you can be hideous for a few months now, or hideous forever when you re grown up, I said. It s a very simple choice.

Why can t they just do an operation? she moaned. Just get it over with, and I d even get to miss school for a few days.

It doesn t work that way, I said.

Doesn t work at all, she said. They make me look like a cyborg and everybody will laugh at me.

Why do you think they ll laugh at you?

She gave me a look of amused contempt that was almost adult.

Weren t you ever in middle school? she said.

It was a good point, but not the one I wanted to make. Middle school doesn t last forever, I said, and neither will the braces. And when they come off, you ll have great teeth and a terrific smile.

What do I care; I ve got nothing to smile about, she grumbled.

Well, you will, I said. When you re a little older, and you start to go to dances and things with a really great smile. You have to think of it in a long-term kind of way

Long-term! she said angrily, as if now I was the one using bad words. The long term is that I ll look like a freak for a whole year of middle school and everybody will remember that forever and I ll always be That Girl with Huge Awful Braces even when I m forty years old!