“There,” he said, pointing, but it was dark and I couldn’t see where. “In that drawer where we keep the important stuff.”
Dexter picked up a lighter and lit a candle, then turned to the drawer and began to dig around, sorting through what, to the guys, was deemed Important. Apparently, this included soy sauce packets, a plastic hula girl toy, and matchbooks from what looked like every convenience store and bar in town.
Oh, and a few pieces of paper, one of which Dexter seized and held aloft. “Is this it?”
I took it from him, squinting down at the writing. “No,” I said, slowly, “this is a notice saying if you didn’t pay your bill by—let’s see—yesterday, they were going to cut the power off.”
“Wow,” John Miller said. “How did that slip past us?”
I turned it over: stuck to the back was a set of pizza coupons with one ripped off, all of those left still a little greasy. “No idea,” I said.
“Yesterday,” Lucas said thoughtfully. “Wow, so they gave us, like, a half day over that. That’s mighty generous of them.”
I just looked at him.
“Okay,” Dexter said cheerfully, “so whose job was it to pay the power bill?”
Another silence. Then John Miller said, “Ted?”
“Ted,” Lucas echoed.
“Ted,” Dexter said, reaching over to the phone and yanking it off the hook. He dialed a number, then sat there, drumming his fingers on the table. “Hi, hey, Ted. Dexter. Guess where I am?” He listened for a second. “Nope. The dark. I’m in the dark. Weren’t you supposed to pay the power bill?”
I could hear Ted saying something, talking fast.
“I was about to solve the puzzle!” John Miller yelled. “I only needed an L or a V.”
“Nobody cares,” Lucas told him.
Dexter continued to listen to Ted, who apparently had not taken a breath yet, making only hmm-hmm noises now and then. Finally he said, “Okay then!” and hung up the phone.
“So?” Lucas said.
“So,” Dexter told us, “Ted has it under control.”
“Meaning?” I asked.
“Meaning that he’s royally pissed, because, apparently, I was supposed to pay the power bill.” Then he smiled. “So! Who wants to tell ghost stories?”
“Dexter, honestly,” I said. This kind of irresponsibility made my ulcer ache, but apparently Lucas and John Miller were used to it. Neither one of them seemed particularly fazed, or even surprised.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he said. “Ted’s got the money, he’s going to call them and see what he can do about getting it on tonight or early tomorrow.”
“Good for Ted,” Lucas said. “But what about you?”
“Me?” Dexter seemed surprised. “What about me?”
“He means,” I said, “that you should do something nice for the house by way of apology for this.”
“Exactly,” Lucas said. “Listen to Remy.”
Dexter looked at me. “Honey, you’re not helping.”
“We’re in the dark!” John Miller said. “And it’s your fault, Dexter.”
“Okay, okay,” Dexter said. “Fine. I’ll do something for the house. I’ll—”
“Clean the bathroom?” Lucas said.
“No,” Dexter said flatly.
“Do a load of my laundry?”
“No.”
Finally, John Miller said, “Buy beer?”
Everyone waited.
“Yes,” Dexter said. “Yes! I will buy beer. Here.” He reached into his pocket and came up with a crumpled bill, which he held up for all of us to see. “Twenty bucks. Of my hard-earned money. For you.”
Lucas swiped it off the table, fast, as if expecting Dexter to change his mind. “Wonderful. Let’s go.”
“I’ll drive,” said John Miller, jumping to his feet. He and Lucas left the kitchen, arguing about where the keys were. Then the screen door slammed, and we were alone.
Dexter reached over the kitchen counter and found another candle, then lit it and put it on the table as I slid into the chair opposite him. “Romantic,” I told him.
“Of course,” he said. “I planned all of this, just to get you alone in a dark house in the candlelight.”
“Chee-sy,” I said.
He smiled. “I try.”
We sat there for a second, in the quiet. I could see him watching me, and after a second I pushed out my chair and walked around the table to him, sliding into his lap. “If you were my roommate and pulled this kind of crap,” I said as he brushed my hair off my shoulder, “I’d kill you.”
“You’d learn to love it.”
“I doubt that.”
“I think,” he said, “that you are actually, secretly attracted to all the parts of my personality that you claim to abhor.”
I looked at him. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what is it?”
“What is what?”
“What is it,” he said, “that makes you like me?”
“Dexter.”
“No, really.” He pulled me back against him, so my head was next to his, his hands locked around my waist. In front of us the candle was flickering, sending uneven shadows across the far wall. “Tell me.”
“No,” I said, adding, “it’s too weird.”
“It is not. Look. I’ll tell you what I like about you.”