“It was wonderful,” I said. “Better than what we had in Paris.” She brightened a little, but shook her head. “Liar,” she said. “It never tastes right when it's cold.”

“You have the magic touch,” I said. “It tasted warm.”

She frowned and brushed a lock of hair off her face. “I know you have to, you know...” she trailed off. I mean, your job is... But I wish you could have tasted it when -1 mean, I really do understand,” she said, and I was not sure I could say the same thing. Rita put a plate of fried eggs and sausage in front of me and nodded at the small TV set over by the coffee maker. “It was all over the news this morning, about... That's what it was, wasn't it? And they had your sister on, saying that, you know. She didn't look very happy”

“She's not happy at all,” I said. “Which doesn't seem right, since she has a really challenging job, and her picture is on TV. Who could ask for more?”

Rita did not smile at my light-hearted jest. Instead she pulled a chair over next to mine and, sitting down and clasping her hands in her lap, she frowned even deeper. “Dexter,” she said, “we really need to talk.”

I know from my research into human life that these are the words that strike terror into men's souls. Conveniently enough, I have no soul, but I still felt a surge of discomfort at what those ominous syllables might mean. “So soon after the honeymoon?” I said, hoping to deflect at least some small bit of seriousness.

Rita shook her head. “It's not -1 mean ...” She fluttered one hand, and then let it drop back into her lap. She sighed deeply. “It's Cody,” she said at last.

“Oh,” I said, without even a clue of what sort of “it” Cody might be. He seemed perfectly all right to me —but then, I knew better than Rita that Cody was not at all the small, quiet human child he seemed to be, but instead a Dexter-in-training.

“He still seems, so ...” She shook her head again and looked down, her voice dropping. I know his ... father ... did some things that... hurt him. Probably changed him forever. But...” She looked up at me, her eyes bright with tears. “It isn't right; he shouldn't still be like this. Should he? So quiet all the time, and ...” She looked down again. “I'm just afraid for what, you know ...” A tear fell onto her lap and she sniffled. “He might be ... you know ... permanently ...”

Several more tears joined the first one, and even though I am generally helpless in the face of emotion, I knew that some kind of reassuring gesture was called for here.

“Cody will be fine,” I said, blessing my ability to lie convincingly.

“He just needs to come out of his shell a little bit.” Rita sniffled again. “Do you really think so?”