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“That might be for the best, Dex.” She straightened, pressing her lips together with her gaze still steady on mine.
“That seems to be the general consensus. Is she that bad?”
Nothing she said would change my mind. But I had this idea that in order to know how to navigate this life, I had to understand how he’d lived.
What kind of future would he have had if he stayed with Becca? What kind of future didshesee with Dexter?
“Eh.” Tracey frowned, offering a small shrug. “She hangs around, neither good nor bad. Just…there. I never thought she wasforyou. Do you know what I mean? After everything you had going on, I wanted things to be great for you. At the very least, if you were going to date, I hoped your relationship would be with someone a little…more. She isn’t that for you.” She paused and then asked, “Did you want to brush your teeth? I can help you.”
As I braced myself against her open arms, I grunted with every move that jostled my leg. The bandages were tight around my swollen knee, and I sighed with relief when I plopped down into the wheelchair.
She wheeled me into the small bathroom where she grabbed the toothbrush, smeared a line of toothpaste on it, and handed it to me—all with a smile on her face. Even when I didn’t see it, I felt it. It wrapped itself around her words as she made small talk about the small bathroom, commenting on how clean it was and how happy she was that they were taking good care of me here.
“You seem happy,” I said around the foam in my mouth when I caught her eyes in the mirror.
I doubted she understood what I meant; her peculiar stare confirmed it.
When I looked at my reflection, I was jolted again. Not only was my reflection that of a stranger, but his hair was everywhere. Lying in bed all day didn’t do the chin-length locks any good.
I looked homeless.
My aunt chuckled—probably from witnessing my facial expression—then pulled the rubber band out of my hair and tied it back up with the elastic one she had on her wrist. “There. All better.” She tucked the shorter strands behind my ear. “I hope you never cut your hair. It’s so lovely. Reminds me of your dad’s hair. He used to wear it like this, too.” A nostalgic sigh passed through her lips, but there was so much sadness behind it.
I spit the froth from my mouth. “Were you his sister?”
She nodded, taking the toothbrush from me. As she put it in the travel container, she turned like she didn’t want me to see her wiping her tears. But the movement was unmistakable.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing it wouldn’t fix anything. I still didn’t know her or her brother who had raised this person I’d become.
Dexter Andrews: the boy with a past he didn’t remember.
The boy who was only a shell now, a home for someone else to live in.
I felt selfish. I’d taken over Dex’s body…just to findher.
And there was no guarantee that I would.
“I know,” she whispered as she wheeled me back into the room and helped me get into bed.
When someone knocked on the door, I watched her open it. Tracey’s hands shook as she took the food from them, insisting on letting them go on with their routine.
“Breakfast is here,” she announced, setting it up in front of me on the tray she pulled from beside my bed.
“Do we have any other family?” I hadn’t seen or heard of any grandparents or other siblings. I figured if there were any, they would’ve come by now.
She shook her head. “My parents are long gone and your mother was adopted. Her adopted parents weren’t very nice people.”
My aunt sat in the chair she’d spent all night in and I ate my breakfast without saying another word. I figured that, at the end of the day, Ms. Andrews would rather have a troubled nephew who remembered his parents than a pleasant one who didn’t remember anything.
I also figured that, if I tried hard enough to keep her happy, she’d forget all these things.
* * *
Becca lookedat me with doe eyes meant to win me over. It had likely worked on Dexter, because she could turn it on before I even realized I was being targeted.
They felt like spotlights, making my palms sweat. I wondered if I should tell her it wasn’t working the way she was hoping it would.
Once I managed to tell her I was breaking it off, she became sugary sweet. Something about her wasn’t genuine, and it irked me. Mainly because I couldn’t pinpoint what it was, and my harsh judgment felt misplaced.
