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“You forgot last night’s dose, so I figured you’d be hurting when you woke up.” She placed the bottle back in her pocket. “And I’ll be holding onto these. The last thing I need is for you to become addicted to painkillers.” She sipped her coffee easily, like we were having a normal conversation.
“Okay.”
“We have some time before anything needs to get done. Want to wash up? Maybe take another look at your things. See how it makes you feel?” She was pushing in her own gentle way.
And, again, because I didn’t want to disappoint her, I nodded. I braced myself on the edge of the couch and stood. There was pain, but it wasn’t as terrible as I thought it’d be. I limped over to my crutches and headed upstairs.
Tracey watched from the bottom step, ready to assist if I couldn’t do it myself. I shot her a triumphant thumbs-up when I made it to the top, then headed toward my room and grabbed a towel.
I looked at the few pictures I had on top of my desk. Two adults looked happily at me in a plain black frame. I guessed they were Dexter’s parents. Tracey resembled the man in the picture. There was one of a younger version of Dexter with a baseball bat in his hands. His eyes were squinted shut and his missing teeth showed through his ecstatic grin.
There was no recognition within me. No spark like metal against metal. Nothing.
I pulled the door open to my bathroom and couldn’t help but look at my reflection when I turned the light on. The scruff had grown longer, and I itched to shave it.I could just trim it, I thought to myself, eyeing the clippers on the counter. It felt wrong to shave it when I’d already changed so much of Dexter’s life. So, I pulled my hair out of its restraint and ran my fingers through it, shaking my head.
I couldn’t cut it. I’d have to live with it. It made Tracey happy.
I turned and limped to the shower, hoping that, although I’d done it before, I would be able to shower standing. It was different, knowing there was no nurse around waiting to help me if need be.
I twisted the knob and adjusted the water before stepping under the spray. There was a soothing moment when I tipped my head back and just existed.
I stared at the large incision running down the center of my knee. I didn’t know how long it’d take the stitches under my skin to dissolve, but I didn’t worry too much about the healing process. Dexter seemed to be a healthy guy.
I stepped out, towel-dried my hair, and set out to trim what I considered a beard.
When I opened the door to the bathroom, a towel around my waist, I heard Tracey singing along to the Christmas music playing in the kitchen. She was banging on some pot or pan, and I could imagine her dancing around the kitchen, much like she had been last night. I grinned and hobbled back to my room.
I looked through the choices of clothing in Dexter’s dresser and closet. He wasn’t a typical computer dweeb. He certainly didn’t look the type, but it seemed he didn’t dress the part either. All his clothes looked like they’d been chosen with care and in attempt to keep up an image. There were T-shirts, sure. But they weren’t worn or stained. No fraying on his black jeans, no grungy sweats.
What did he wear around the house?
I managed to dig up a pair of soft dark jeans, an undershirt, and finally, a blue sweatshirt. The last find was plain, but as I pulled it over the undershirt, I felt the softness of it.
I walked over to his desk and powered on his computer, hoping there was no password. When his desktop opened up, I grinned. I looked through his documents and photos, ignoring the guilt buzzing in my ear like an annoying fly. Everything looked unremarkable, except for a few documents that were filled with codes of sorts. My eyes scanned over the series of symbols, letters, and numbers, and it clicked.
I understoodeverything.
The language of computers wasn’t foreign to me and the inner panic that I’d shoved aside began to fade. I clicked through and realized with fascination that I was knowledgeable—advanced, even. The further I inspected, the more I uncovered.
Dexter had been corresponding with MIT, his inbox full of conversations with professors.
I spent hours on the computer, and when Tracey told me to get ready for Ralph’s game, it felt like it had been only half the time that actually passed.
* * *
I steppedout into the autumn air nervously, with a black wool coat I’d found in Dex’s closet keeping me warm. I chuckled at the scarf Tracey insisted I wear; the way she tucked it made me feel like the turkey she cooked all morning.
“Don’t be nervous, kid. You’ve done this a million times. It’s tradition.” She bumped me with her shoulder, and I climbed into her car after placing my crutches in the backseat.
“Except I don’t remember any of it,” I whispered to myself as she made her way to the driver’s side.
When she sat in the seat, she looked down at the keys in her hand, not yet pushing them into the ignition. “I get that Ralph will be upset if you don’t want to go. But you don’t have to. I really want to shield you from the world.” She jangled the keys in her hands.
“Why? It’s okay.” I stared at Dex’s clothes, uncomfortable. I felt like they weren’tme—because they weren’t. I was an imposter; I dressed like him, looked like him, but I wasn’t him.
And Tracey still loved me. So did Ralph. I could stand being the center of attention for a few hours for them.
“I guess I’m feeling a little protective. I don’t know. I’m being stupid.” She shook her head, as if she were trying to get rid of thestupidinside it.
