"Is it Chutsky?" I said.

Her head jerked up. "What. You mean does he beat me up? Is he cheating on me?"

"No, of course not," I said, holding up a hand in case she decided to hit me. I knew he wouldn't dare cheat on her-and the idea of anybody trying to beat up my sister was laughable. "It's just what you were saying the other day. About, you know-tick-tock, bio clock?"

She drooped over again and looked at her hands in her lap. "Uh-huh. I said that, didn't I," she said. She shook her head slowly. "Well, it's still true. And fucking Chutsky-he won't even talk about it."

I looked at my sister, and I admit that my feelings did me no credit, because my first truly conscious reaction to Deb's outpouring was to think, Wow! I really am feeling empathy with an actual human emotion! Because Deborah's continuing descent into a soft pudding of self-pity had actually reached me, deep down on the brand-new human level recently opened by Lily Anne, and I found that I did not have to search my memory for a response from some old daytime drama. I really felt something, and that was very impressive to me.

So without actually thinking it through at all, I got up from my chair and went over to her. I put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently and said, "I'm sorry, sis. Is there anything I can do?"

And naturally enough, Deborah stiffened and slapped my hand away. She stood up and looked at me with something that was at least halfway back to her natural snarl. "For starters, you can stop acting like Father Flanagan," she said. "Jesus, Dex. What's got into you?"

And before I could utter a single syllable of completely logical rebuttal, she stalked out of my office and disappeared down the hall.

"Glad to help," I said to her back.

Maybe I was just too new to having feelings to really understand them and act accordingly. Or maybe it was just going to take Debs a little time to get used to the new, compassionate Dexter. But it was starting to seem even more likely to me that some terribly wicked person or persons had put something sinister in the Miami water supply.

Just as I was getting ready to leave for the day, the weirdness went up one more notch. My cell phone rang and I glanced at it, saw that it was Rita, and answered. "Hello?" I said.

"Dexter, hi, um, it's me," she said.

"Of course it is," I said encouragingly.

"Are you still at work?" she said.

"Just getting ready to leave."

"Oh, good, because-I mean, if, instead of picking up Cody and Astor?" she said. "Because you don't have to tonight."

A quick mental translation told me that I didn't have to pick up the kids for some reason. "Oh, why not?" I said.

"It's just, they're already gone," she said, and for one terrible moment, as I struggled to understand what she meant, I thought that something awful had happened to them.

"What-Where did they go?" I managed to stammer.

"Oh," she said. "Your brother picked them up. Brian. He's going to take them for Chinese food."

What a wonderful world of new experiences I was having with being human. Right now, for example, I was struck speechless with astonishment. I felt wave after wave of thoughts and feelings wash over me: things like anger, amazement, and suspicion, ideas like wondering what Brian was really up to, why Rita would ever go along with it, and what Cody and Astor would do when they remembered that they didn't like Chinese food. But no matter how copious and specific my thoughts were, nothing at all came out of my mouth, except, "Uhk," and as I struggled for coherent sounds, Rita said, "Oh. I have to go. Lily Anne is crying. Bye." And she hung up.

I'm sure it was only a few seconds that I stood there listening to the sound of absolutely nothing, but it seemed like a very long time. Eventually I became aware that my mouth was dry, since it was hanging open, and my hand was sweaty from where I had clamped the cell phone into my fist. I closed my mouth, put the phone away, and headed for home.

Rush hour was in full swing as I headed south from work, and oddly enough, all the way home I saw no acts of random violence, no violent swerving or fist waving, no shots fired. The traffic inched along as slowly as ever, but nobody really seemed to mind. I wondered if I should have read my horoscope-perhaps that would explain what was going on. It could well be that somewhere in Miami really knowledgeable people-druids, perhaps-were nodding their heads and murmuring, "Ahhh, Jupiter is in a retrograde moon of Saturn," and pouring another cup of herb tea while they lounged around in Birkenstocks. Or maybe it was a group of the vampires Debs was chasing-was it called a flock? Perhaps if enough of them sharpened their teeth a new age of harmony would dawn for us all. Or at least for Dr. Lonoff, the dentist.

I spent a quiet evening at home watching TV and holding Lily Anne whenever I could. She did a lot of sleeping, but it worked for her just as well if I was holding her at the time, so I did. It seemed to me to indicate a remarkable degree of trust on her part. On the one hand, I hoped she would grow out of that, since it was not terribly wise to trust others so much. But on the other tiny, perfect hand, it filled me with a sense of wonder and a resolve to protect her from all the other beasts of the night.

I found myself sniffing Lily Anne's head frequently-certifiably odd behavior, I know, but, from what I could gather, completely in keeping with my new human persona. The smell was remarkable, unlike anything else I had ever smelled. It was an odor that was almost nothing at all, and it did not really fit into any category like "sweet" or "musty," although it contained elements of both-and more, and neither. But I sniffed and was unable to say what the smell was, and then I sniffed again just because I wanted to, and then suddenly a new odor welled up from the region of the diaper, one that was quite easy to identify.

Changing a diaper is really not as bad as it sounds, and I didn't mind it at all. I am not suggesting that I would embrace it as a career choice, but at least in the case of Lily Anne's diaper it was something that did not actually cause me any suffering-in some ways it was even enjoyable, since I was doing a very specific and necessary service for her. I got further pleasure from seeing Rita swoop in like a dive-bomber, probably to make sure I didn't accidentally boil the baby, and then pause and just watch when she saw my quiet competence, and I felt a warm glow of satisfaction when I finished and she took the baby off the changing table, saying only, "Thank you, Dexter."

While Rita fed Lily Anne, I returned to the TV and watched a hockey game for a few minutes. It was disappointing; in the first place, the Panthers were already down by three goals, and in the second place, there were no fights. I had originally been attracted to the game because of the honest and laudable bloodlust the players showed. Now, however, it occurred to me that I really ought to frown on that sort of thing. The New Me, Diaper Daddy Dexter, was strongly opposed to violence and could not possibly approve of a sport like hockey. Perhaps I could switch to bowling. It seemed awfully boring, but there was no blood, and it was certainly more exciting than golf.

Before I could reach any decision, Rita came back with Lily Anne. "Would you like to burp her, Dexter?" she said with a Madonna-like smile-the Madonna in the paintings, not the one with the fancy bra.

"I would like nothing better," I said, and weirdly enough, I meant it. I placed a small towel over my shoulder and held the baby facedown on it. And once again, for some reason it was not at all awful, even when Lily Anne made her delicate barfing noises and small bubbles of milk came out and onto the towel. I found myself murmuring quiet congratulations to her with each little blarp she made, until finally she drifted back into sleep and I switched her around to the front position, holding her to my chest and gently moving her from side to side in a rock-a-bye motion.