Chapter Sixteen #2
“No,” he said. “That.” He pointed at the little card with the picture of the beach that the man at the morgue gave me.
“Why, do you like it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.
He looked at it for long moments, then shrugged. “It’s okay. I saw something like it at the mall the other day.”
“So it doesn’t mean anything to you?”
He turned away. “Why would it?”
“It belonged to the man who died.”
He seemed shocked. I couldn’t decide why. Was it because he wondered how I had it? Was it because he was lying and knew all along whose it was?
Or was it because he really didn’t know anything and didn’t know why I wouldn’t let it go?
“I thought you said no one knew who he was?” he said, not looking back at the picture, but looking at me.
“I went to the morgue to see if they would tell me anything. They still didn’t know who he was but the doctor there, he gave me that. He said it was in the man’s pocket.”
“You went to the morgue?” he asked, disbelief on his face.
“Yes. I thought I might get more in person than on the phone.”
“Why? Why do you care so much about someone who… who you didn’t even know?”
“But I do know him. Maybe not in the sense you mean but, I…” I shook my head, letting my voice fall away. He wouldn’t understand.
“But, what?” he pressed, finally looking interested in the conversation.
“I was with him when he died,” I said quietly. “I sat there with him after he did something that half the people I know wouldn’t do for me. I might not have really known him, but his final actions right before he died told me an awful lot about him.”
“You can’t judge someone off one thing they did.” He argued.
“He stole from me, too,” I admitted, voicing something I hadn’t thought about until now.
“Stole?” he said, his voice hollow, but then he sat down on the coffee table right across from where I reclined on the sofa. I was right, he was more interested in this guy than he wanted me to believe.
I nodded. “When I got home from the accident that night, I took off my apron and my tips weren’t in there. At first I thought maybe I lost the money on the street during the commotion, but then when I was at the morgue the doctor mentioned he had twenty-four dollars in his pocket.”
“So?” He shrugged.
“So, that’s how much I was missing. Before the bus came I almost slipped and he caught me,” I said, watching him closely, remembering when he caught me in the diner the night we met how he said, “We keep meeting like this.” But he gave no reaction; his face was blank so I continued. “I think he probably picked my pocket.”
“And this is the guy you think of as a hero?” He scoffed, his eyes focused on the floor.
“I don’t care about the money. He looked cold and hungry. He probably just wanted a hot meal.”
He stood up from the table like he was agitated and paced to the window again to look out into the night. “Maybe he was a jerk and took advantage of you.”
“Maybe. But I don’t think a jerk would’ve come back to push me out of the way.”
He didn’t speak for a long time and I thought he might not say anything else, but then he turned and came back over beside the couch. “I’m glad you have something of his. That seemed important to you.”
“I really just wanted to know his name.” I yawned. I was starting to crash from everything that happened.
“Sorry, I can’t help you,” he said so sincerely that this time I found myself wondering if he told the truth.
“I bought those flowers for him. Since I couldn’t take them to his grave, I brought them home.” I tried to force my eyes open wider, wanting to stay awake, wanting answers.
He walked over to the vase and looked at the small bunch of daisies, reaching up to finger the delicate white petals.
Then he pulled one out, wiping away the water at the end of the stem on the leg of his jeans.
He brought the flower over to me and lowered himself onto the edge of the coffee table, holding it out.
“Well, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.
You’ve had a pretty rough day and since I kind of owe you, for feeding ya bad chicken and all, this one can be for you. ”
I looked at the flower. It’s perfectly formed smooth petals were open and trusting. It revealed the center of itself so willingly that I found myself sighing.
“Why can’t people be as easy to read as a flower?”
I hadn’t realized I spoke the thought out loud until Dex answered, his voice a mere whisper.
“Because people are flawed.”
I smiled and brought the flower to my nose to take in its bright scent. “Maybe that’s why people like flowers so much. Because they aren’t.”
“Only girls like flowers,” he said with a smirk. He looked cute with his preppy glasses and messed up hair.
“Especially when a guy is the one giving them.” Was I flirting? I must be delirious from all the medicine.
He stood up. “I should let you rest.”
“Is something wrong?” Okay, so clearly I was lousy at flirting.
“No,” he turned back. “I should go.”
I yawned as he moved toward the door and I saw him glance again at the little card with the beach on it.
“The doctor at the morgue said the reason they couldn’t identify him was because his body disappeared. Can you imagine? Who would steal a body from the morgue?”
His shoulders tensed. “Are you serious? That’s sick.”
He made a face like it upset his stomach. There wasn’t a hint of guilt on his face. Maybe I’d been wrong after all. Maybe he really didn’t know anything. I guess it was kind of crazy to believe the guy who’d just given me a daisy was a body snatcher.
“Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?” he asked after I said nothing else.
I shook my head. “I’ll be fine.”
He unlocked the door and opened it, glancing back once more. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”
“Maybe,” I echoed, knowing full well I would.
I lay there for long moments after he’d gone and replayed our conversation over in my mind. Dexter Allen Roth was quite the puzzle. I couldn’t tell yet where all the pieces fit, but once I had him all put together, I had a feeling he would make a very interesting picture.
With that thought, I went to bed.
I took the daisy with me.