Today was officially the Day of Weird Surprises.

Before today, I honestly believed there was nothing to Dexie's life. I know that it's awful to say, and I'm embarrassed to admit thinking it, but if someone could be a cipher, Dexie was certainly that person. In picking up her life, I wanted to turn it around and make her life mean something. I thought I'd have to make efforts to make her life worthwhile. I believed that I could fill her life with purpose, and by doing so, I'd be honoring her memory and respecting a life that was cut short before she really got to use it.

I never thought I'd need to come to terms with who Dexie *is*. I didn't think she was anyone.

Now, instead of being a zero, Dexie seemed to be the center of an ever-more complex set of connections. Before today, I thought she was the daughter of two jerks, one who abandoned her and one who never cared for her. Instead, she was the child — possibly one of *many* children — of an obscure cult leader and one of his many devoted followers. Not only that: Dexie could have any number of half-siblings and full siblings.

It was creepy and chilling. It was daunting and overwhelming.

The life of Dexie Lane — excuse me, the life of Ur-Dexina Martineau — was like a trunk with a false bottom. No matter which way you looked, it seemed to be empty. Unless you happened to notice that it was too shallow: if you lift the false bottom, the real payload is revealed.

Or better yet, her life was like a magician's trunk: You set it on the stage, and the bottom opens like a trapdoor into a room below. Until you set it down, it looks empty and weighs nothing. But once you open it in the right place, you can step inside and see what's hidden below. A whole parade of people could walk out of that trunk.

The first surprise: Dexie's father wasn't a complete asshole. Clearly, he was trying to be responsible, and his intentions were good. On the other hand, he prevented Dexie from being adopted. Admittedly, we'd never know whether Dexie would have been adopted at all, much less by a family that loved her. Then again, she didn't end up in a family — or a series of families — that treated her worse than the Lanes. That was Lane's single aim: to prevent her from being hurt the way he'd been hurt. Of course, she was hurt in other ways, but in his mind she came out ahead.

The second surprise was the money. I've tried at times to save money in similar ways: a dollar a day, five dollars a week... but at some point, I'd either forget or give up. Or else I'd figure I could pull out the whole sum when I needed it. Unlike me, Lane was constant. He had the idea and stuck with it for eighteen years.

When the sum got as high as nine thousand dollars, he could have kept it. No one knew about the money. It's a lot of money to give away. And yet, he gave it away.

The thing is, Lane is so dispassionately practical. In some ways, he is almost robotic and rule-driven! For him, my turning eighteen automatically ended all his obligations toward me, and cut every tie. Goodbye, here's some money, don't come back. He didn't have to tell me that he wouldn't help me in the future. He'd made it clear by his behavior over the years. I knew I couldn't go to him; he wouldn't be there for me. I wonder whether Dexie would have understood so quickly. Or would she have found out only when she needed help, and he turned her away?

It also made me wonder How well did Dexie understand her situation?. She was smart enough to latch on to us. Had she tried with other friends, other families before us? What would she be doing right now if she'd lived?

I know she would have gone to visit her mother, but she'd have gone without Lane's warnings and without his money. Our unplanned visit to Exeter would have preempted Lane's meeting with Dexie. A shiver ran through me at the thought.

The third surprise was that Lane wasn't even Dexie's father! That really pulled the rug out from under me. I wasn't sure what to make of it. I *did* believe him; it wasn't that. I just couldn't process all the new information.

My problem, I realized, was the question Is Lane was a good man or a bad man?

Then I asked myself, What difference does it make? Do I need to know how much I can blame him? Am I trying to gauge how superior and judgmental I'm allowed to feel? What good would any of it do? I didn't see any remedy for the things that had happened to Dexie. Maybe her spirit was in some kind of afterlife, still suffering from the life she'd had. Who knows. But even if she was, what could I do about it?

If I brought together a complaint in Dexie's name, how would it change anything? I was pretty sure that Lane would listen patiently and politely to my rant, and let me have my say. Once I was done, he'd get up, walk out, and leave it there. Forever.

And what was I supposed to make of this strange "Benevolence" character? And Dexie's flighty mother, Lizzie? And... what if Dexie's life had yet another false bottom? What if I went up to Spokane and found out that there was much more to the story than Lane ever knew? What if I talked to Dexie's mother and ended up more confused than before? I mean, Lane told a good story; it made a lot of sense, but that didn't mean it was the complete, unvarnished truth.

Then it occurred to me that I didn't need to visit Dexie's mother at all. I mean, so what if Dexie's life was more complex and puzzling than I thought? Did I really need to get to the bottom of it? Did I really need to know? What would be the point? What was Lizzie Martineau to me? Nothing. She was no one. What was I to her? A daughter she cast off in infancy. Maybe one of many children cast off in infancy. Did I owe her anything? I didn't think so. If she could ignore me for eighteen years, I could easily pay her back in kind. She wasn't really my mother. Even stone-cold Laurie Lane was more of a mother to Dexie than Lizzie Martineau.

Dexie must have had issues, feelings, and questions about her birth-mother. I remember how elated she was to hear from Lizzie, but even so, none of that had anything to do with me.

"You're very quiet," Lane observed as he drove me home — to the Holderlins' home. "If you've got any more questions, I urge you to ask them now, because I doubt I'll be willing to discuss these matters again."

"Why not?" I asked, more than a little irritated. "What does it cost you?"

"What does it cost me?" he repeated, eyebrows raised. "Time, for one thing. But mainly I don't want to revisit that part of my life. Every moment that I spend there has a negative impact on my family, particularly on my relationship with my wife. I will not jeopardize that. I've done enough damage in the past. Look at this from Laurie's point of view: even though you're not my child, you very easily could have been. The timing was pretty damned close; close enough to deceive me, at least initially. But I don't get any points for the fact that you're not my child. Whether you like it or not, you are a living reminder of my infidelity. Not only *that* infidelity but all others, real or imagined. And that's why I don't want to speak about these things again."

We drove in silence until he stopped in front of my house. He turned off the engine. I was about to open my door when he said, "Wait. I want to give you one last piece of advice: Don't rely too much on the Holderlins. I'm sure they're good and generous people, but you need to learn to stand on your own two feet. People love to help babies and children, but once you turn eighteen, people expect you to carry your own weight. If you're going to live in their home they're going to expect you to contribute financially. Or they're going to want you to leave. It's better to go before they ask you; it'll make it easier to stay friends."

He helped me carry Dexie's few belongings to the door, but he wouldn't go inside. Then he said, "Good luck" and gave me a hug, which was yet another surprise.

Without another word, he left.
 

I carried the boxes and bags into the basement. The clothes were clean, so I hung the hangable ones in the closet. Then I went looking for a bureau, a desk, and a mirror.

The garage yielded an old full-length mirror. It was covered in grime, dust, and cobwebs, and all four corners were damaged, but as far as reflecting was concerned, it still did its job. I sprayed it off with the garden hose, wiped it with some rags, and carried it into the basement. It still needed cleaning, but now it was clean enough to bring into the house.

Kristy Anne and Carla weren't home, so I wandered freely around the house, considering every bit of furniture. I was struck by hold old everything looked. I guess it had been a long time since we bought anything. In the sunroom I found a decent chair. Upstairs, I saw a very likely bureau, but it was in the guest bedroom. That room was crowded with furniture, but Kristy Anne liked it that way, so I didn't dare poach from it.

Just after I opened the trap door to the attic and pulled down the folding stairs, the phone rang. I hesitated, wishing one of the the others were home, and considered letting the answering machine get it, but it was two steps away, so I picked it up, without looking to see who it was.

I recognized the voice immediately. It was my oldest and closest friend, "Arrow" Adams. He was the person we were planning to visit in Seattle. Of course, the trip was canceled after our incident at Exeter, but Kristy Anne had been the one to call him. I hadn't spoken to Arrow since last Sunday, when I was still Fred. Since then, I'd was so busy being Dexie that — I'm ashamed to say — I hadn't thought of him at all.

He asked for Kristy Anne. His voice sounded heavy and low.

"I'm sorry, but she's not home right now," I told him.

"Am I speaking to Dexie?" he asked. "I've heard a lot about you. I'm sorry we didn't get to meet this weekend. I was really looking forward to it. Congratulations on getting out of high school! A lot of people will tell you those were the best years of your life, but that's bullshit. Pardon my French. Your life doesn't begin until you get out of school and start doing something."

"Thanks, A— Mr. Adams," I said.

"Arrow. Please call me Arrow. I know I'm an old man, but if you call me 'Arrow' I can pretend I'm not."

"Okay," I said, and laughed a little. "Thanks, Arrow."

"Now that's a little bright spot, isn't it? — I've made a pretty girl laugh. That's a bright spot in a dark time." He sniffed hard a few times and made some coughing noises. He was trying to not cry on the phone.

"Listen," he said, "When you go out to Spokane, even if you go alone, please stop by. It's a long drive, and you can stay here for a day, a week, whatever. Right now, you're a free spirit, you have to make the most of it, and Seattle's a wonderful place to be. We can swap stories about old Fred."

"I will," I said.

"I really mean it," he said.

"Okay," I replied. I felt enormously uncomfortable and started shifting from one foot to another, as if I had to go to the bathroom.

After an awkward silence, he said, "Well, I guess we'll meet at the funeral."

"Yes!" I exclaimed too forcefully. "I'm looking forward to it." Then, feeling ever more awkward, I added, "I mean, not that I'm looking forward to the funeral, it's just..."

"Don't worry," he said, in a voice that had dropped to a croak. "I understand. We'll meet soon, and after, you can visit."

"Right."

"Bye, then," and he hung up.

I stood there with my head down, the dead phone in my hand, my tears dropping one by one to the floor.
 

Kristy Anne and Carla found me, lying on the floor by the attic stairs. At first, they thought I was dead.

"Oh, my God, Dexie!" Carla cried, "Did you fall?"

"No," I moaned.

"What happened?"

Sniffling, I looked up at the two of them. Their glances went back and forth between me and the stairs, as they tried to work out what had happened.

"It... isn't... the... stairs," I groaned, choking on the words.

"What is it, then?" Kristy Anne asked, crouching beside me and touchy my head gently.

I took a deep breath and told them about the phone conversation with Arrow, adding that he was my best, oldest, and maybe only friend, and that I was the worst person in the universe.

Hesitantly, Kristy Anne said, "What was that, honey? You're talking and crying at the same time, and I can't make out a word."

I drew a sobbing breath and looked at her. Slowly, I repeated the whole thing. At the end, Kristy Anne and Carla exchanged a significant look.

"What?" I demanded. "What did that look mean?"

"Uh... honey...," Kristy Anne tentatively began, but I interrupted with a fierce, shouted, "Just tell me!"

Carla said it: "I think you're on your period, Dad."
 

After some chocolate and other preparations, I told them (in a much calmer voice), "I understand that I'm on my period, but I really am upset about Arrow."

"Yes, of course you are," Kristy Anne replied, "it's just that your hormones amplify it. Instead of being sad, it's heart-breaking."

"Oh, God!" I groaned.

"You'll learn to deal with it," she said with a smile.

"The thing is, I want to call him back and tell him I'm not dead."

"Don't do that!" Carla and Kristy Anne said in immediate chorus.

"I won't," I said. "But he's so broken up." I began sniffling again, then got a grip on myself. "And I can't help but think... What's going to happen at my funeral? I'm going to be like this with EVERYBODY."

"Yeah," Kristy Anne agreed. "I know how you feel. I've wanted to tell a few people myself. But we can't."

"Maybe I should skip the funeral," I offered.

"No," Kristy Anne said. "You can't do that. People would wonder where you were. They'd think you were ungrateful and that you didn't care."

"I could deal with that," I said.

"No," Kristy Anne said. "You need to go. You need to see everyone and let them grieve. It'll hurt, but remember: it hurts them, too, and it hurts me as well."

Carla looked at me, frowned, and asked, "So, uh, I hope this won't make you cry again, but why was the attic open?"