The Witch Of Agnesi Part 10

Having someone take a baseball bat to the back of your head certainly const.i.tutes a major life change.

Had Rhiannon, or even more significantly, Ali heard the news about the murdered girl?

While Bonnie was deciding whether to test the waters on this tragic subject, Ali returned followed by Armen Callahan. Unlike at school, where he wore only sweater vests and ties, tonight he wore blue jeans and a tight navy blue muscle shirt. The shirt bore the mes-sage, "I toss peanuts at old ladies."

The ludicrous message deflated Bonnie's tension. She felt tired and light-headed. Of course, that could be the concussion.

In that moment, Bonnie decided she would not be the one to tell Ali of her friend's death.

The strain must have showed on her face because Ali asked, "Are you feeling all right, Missus P?"

Bonnie cast about for something to distract the girl from further questions. "Just admiring this good look-ing gentleman."

The Science teacher grinned. "Why, thank you, ma'am."

She had to admit Armen did look good. His belly was flat, his arms and shoulders well muscled. From the corner of her eye she caught a smiling Rhiannon Griffith staring at her. She turned her head to stare back. "What?"

Rhiannon shrugged and adopted a wide-eyed in-nocent look. "Nothing."

"Have I missed something?" Armen asked.

Bonnie reddened. "We should get going."

Armen helped her stand.

She wrapped an arm about his shoulder, and he scooped her into his arms. The move was so sudden and unexpected, she whooped then laughed. "Can you handle this?"

"No problem." Even though the veins in his neck stood out, he put on the patented male expression that asked, "You want to feel my biceps?"

In the sixteen months since Ben's death she'd for-gotten the inanity of the male ego. Even when their goatees were gray, little boy hearts beat in their inflated chests. She had to admit, however, it did feel nice to have him hold her so close.

Get a grip, girl.

As Rhiannon and Ali gathered around to make their farewells, the older woman laid a hand on Bonnie.

"Wait."

She ran back to the kitchen. When she returned a moment later she was carrying a small purple-velvet bag by its golden drawstring. She took Bonnie's hand and closed it around the bag. "Open it before you go to bed."

Bonnie eyed her suspiciously. She could feel some-thing hard and cylindrical within the bag. "What is it?"

"Open it before you go to bed," Rhiannon repeated. She folded her arms across her chest.

The motion reminded Bonnie of the fiery Phoenix the woman had stenciled across that same bosom. Time to leave Never-Never Land, boys and girls. Time to leave Never-Never Land, boys and girls. "Thank you both for everything." "Thank you both for everything."

When they got out to Armen's car he set her on the hood. His face red and arms trembling, he dug car keys from his jeans.

So much for Superman. More like Clark Kent in a gray goatee. Still, he'd carried her to the car, and was taking her to the hospital. That counted for something.

"This is very nice of you, Armen."

"You just remember your promise. I think I'm going to need that coffee." He opened the pa.s.senger door and lifted her off the hood.

She intended to tell him to put her down, let her hobble the few steps into the car, but she couldn't deny him this act of chivalry-even if it killed him. On im-pulse, she planted a kiss on the side of his cheek.

He c.o.c.ked his head and grinned then set her on the car seat. "How bold you are, Missus Pinkwater."

"Call me Bonnie."

BONNIE AND ARMEN HAD HIGHWAY EIGHTY-FOUR TO themselves, as far as the eye could see, east and west, not a headlight in sight. Now that the moon had dipped below the horizon, the high plains lay in a blackness which was almost complete, except for the sky. Ten thousand stars peeked out of that dark.

Bonnie had driven this road countless times and knew beyond the shoulder, beyond a wide skirt of sand and scrub gra.s.s, rose a spine of low hills that followed Highway Eighty-Four almost into Colorado Springs. However, the dark robbed all depth and definition from the landscape. She may as well have been riding on an unchanging blanket of ebony satin.

They'd fallen into a companionable silence. She couldn't remember any time in the last year and a half she'd felt so comfortable with another human being, male or female. She broke the silence with a question. "You know much about the Tarot?"

He shot her a sidelong glance and returned his attention to the dark road. "You mean the deck of sev-enty- eight cards consisting of twenty-two major and fifty-six minor Arcana popularized in nineteen-ten by A. J. Waite into the well-known Rider deck?"

At the end of this lengthy reciprocal question he drew an exaggerated breath. "Never heard of it."

She slapped his arm. "Showoff."

He shrugged, looking pleased with himself. "My mother told fortunes, first in the old country then on the boardwalk in Wildwood, New Jersey. That's where she met my father."

She studied Armen in the pale glow of the dash lights, trying to discern exactly where this Old Coun-try might be. His face did carry a tan, but nothing too p.r.o.nounced. His voice gave nothing away. For all Bonnie could tell from his accent he might be from anywhere east of the Mississippi. He certainly didn't sound foreign.

He caught her staring and gave her a wink. "I have this effect on women all the time. First, they're drawn to my striking good looks, but what actually hooks them are my mysterious origins. It's a curse really."

She swiveled in her seat to face him and was pleas-antly surprised her ankle didn't protest, at least not too much. "You're a regular tragic figure."

He nodded solemnly. "It takes a woman of rare insight to recognize the inner workings of a man. For that, I'll give you a hint."

"Why not just tell me?"

"Because we both know you'd rather figure me out on your own. Besides, once I tell you, we have to move on and talk of something else besides me."

She chuckled. "Is this going to be worth the trouble?"

It was his turn to laugh. "Definitely not! If I were you I'd refuse to play."

They crested the last remaining hill separating East Plains from Colorado Springs. The lights of the city spread out before them like stars fallen from the heav-ens. It wouldn't be long before they reached Memorial Hospital. Urgency grabbed Bonnie. She wanted to dope out Armen's ancestry before she crossed the hos-pital's threshold.

"Let's have your hint." She tried to sound disinter-ested, but from the look on Armen's face she knew she hadn't fooled him.

"Two hints, actually. First, my mother loved the country of her birth." He stopped as if he needed to give her time to a.s.similate this all-important piece of information.

When he didn't speak again for almost a minute she wanted to reach across the seat and strangle him. High-way Eighty-Four had turned into Platte Avenue. They were in Colorado Springs already. "Stop stalling."

They came to a red light. When they stopped, he turned to her. "Okay, here it is. My mother gave me something which would remind me every day who I was and where my ancestors lived."

He beat out "Shave and a Haircut" on the steering wheel then extended an open palm to her. "Take it away."

She tried to think of the thousand things a mother could give her child that would remind him every day of his mother's nationality. A flag came to mind, but if he left the flag at home, which he would eventually do, then his reminder would be gone. The same was true for a national anthem or a photograph. "This is hard, since I don't know what your mother gave you."

He grinned mischievously. "But you do."

In the distance she could see the lights of the Olympic Training Center and knew Memorial Hospital was bathed in those same lights. "I know what she gave you?"

"Yep."

She studied him again. This time she looked for anything on his person which might be a mother's gift. In a low-neck, sleeveless muscle shirt, he couldn't hide a chain around his neck. He wore no rings or jewelry of any kind. None of that mattered anyway. Even if he wore a ring, she wouldn't know it came from his mother. And yet, Armen said she knew what the gift was.

What did she know about Armen? Apparently, not much beyond his unusual name.

Oh, my G.o.d.

She smacked her hand on the seat cushion. "Your name! Your mother gave you your name."

He nodded. "For that matter, so did my father. He gave me the name of Callahan."

"And your mother gave you the name of Armen, to remind you every day of Armenia."

Almost in slow motion, he slid his hand across the seat and squeezed hers. "Armenian mother, second generation Irish father, both Carny people. Nice going, lady. You're as clever as they say." He favored her with a smile.

Embarra.s.sed, Bonnie shifted in her seat. A sharp pain shot through her ankle. "Ow, ow, ow, G.o.dd.a.m.n that smarts." She tried to settle her leg into a position where it wouldn't hurt. As they slowed for the driveway into Memorial Hospital's emergency lane she found a position where the leg merely ached. Then the rise and fall of a speed b.u.mp gifted her with new agony.

Breathing through the pain, she asked, "Who are these people who say I'm clever?"

EXCEPT FOR THE X-RAYS, ARMEN HELD HER HAND through the examination. She wasn't certain when he first took hold, but it felt all right, more than all right. As they poked at her foot, she squeezed his hand. He never complained. They shined light into each of her eyes, and the feel of him made her relax. Her hand settled into his like it belonged there.

The prognoses proved Marcie-in-the-moon correct- Bonnie had a not too serious concussion. On top of that, the second, third, and fourth metatarsals of her right foot were fractured. They fitted her with a black plastic boot-a walking cast they called it-that looked like a cheap ski boot made by a child. Once again, she squeezed Armen's hand through the pain as an intern closed the snaps to secure the boot in place. The same intern presented her with a shiny new pair of crutches.

"I hate crutches," she complained. She didn't need to be Armen's fortune-telling mother to know that before she'd tottered a dozen steps in these torture devices her hands and armpits would ache. As if I don't have enough aches and pains already. As if I don't have enough aches and pains already.

"You're supposed to hate them," Armen dead-panned. "It's your G.o.d-given right as an American."

She stepped down off the examination table and onto her aluminum props. For a fleeting moment she considered bopping Armen in the shins, but the moment pa.s.sed. "I didn't know that."

He nodded, keeping his face solemn. "It's in the Const.i.tution. As Knowledge Bowl coach, I'm surprised at your ignorance."

"I only know useful facts, like the average rainfall of the Amazon Basin." She maneuvered a few steps in the crutches, already feeling the ache. She peeked back over her shoulder and caught him watching her with concern. "You coming?"

He quickly wiped the worried look from his face and adopted an expression of studied nonchalance. "I can see you're going to need my help with the sheer ton nage of minutia that makes life worth living. And yes, Missus Smarty Pants, I'm coming. And another thing, I never did get my coffee." He ran to catch up.

Her heart sank. She didn't want to spend another minute at the hospital. It had to be two in the morning, at least. Her entire ambition lay in getting home and putting head to pillow. "Could I give you a rain check?"

He rubbed a tender spot between her shoulder blades. "Don't sweat it. Coffee would just keep me up the rest of the night anyway."

At the car he took her crutches and helped her into the pa.s.senger seat. When she was settled, he shut the door. He came around and threw the crutches into the back. "Let's get you home."

The talk through Colorado Springs and out onto Highway Eighty-Four was just what Bonnie needed, light-hearted and not too demanding. The easy repartee allowed her to drift closer and closer to that dreamy state, not quite asleep but hardly awake. Again she marveled how comfortable she felt with this man she was just getting to know. It wasn't until they'd pa.s.sed through the Eastern town of Falcon and had turned onto Meridian, the long country artery which took Bonnie to her Black Forest home, that Armen posed a question that brought her completely awake.

"What are you going to do about your car?"

"Oh, my G.o.d, Alice." She pictured her poor Subaru crumpled at the scene of some hit and run. What if someone smacked into it and was injured? Or worse?

Armen shifted his weight so he could offer one eye to the highway and peer at her with the other. "Your car's name is Alice?"

Her mind had gone too far into panic mode to enjoy his gentle jibe. "That's right, Armen, the car's named Alice, and she's sitting half on and half off Coyote Road, right where it makes the hard turn east. Anyone coming too fast going either west or north might plow into her."

He reached across the seat and patted her leg. "Take it easy. That which you cannot change, you must endure."

At that moment all the comfortable feelings Bonnie had been having in Armen's company evaporated. She wanted to tweak his smug nose. That which you cannot change, you must endure? Sounds like the kind of pop philosophy you could glean out of one of Ben's old Travis McGee mysteries. That which you cannot change, you must endure? Sounds like the kind of pop philosophy you could glean out of one of Ben's old Travis McGee mysteries.

"Do you have a cell phone?"

He gave her a half-smile and shook his head. "Haven't seen the need for one yet. Besides, who would you call?"

She stared at him wishing he would stop asking questions. Her mind and mouth fluttered around words like "emergency" and "after hours," not really sure if she wanted to say them aloud. In her f.a.n.n.y pack she was fairly certain she had an insurance card which would provide a number for the magic "emergency-after hours" people, but then again her f.a.n.n.y pack sat on her desk at school. She also had a duplicate of said insurance card in Alice's glove box. Unfortunately, Alice sat farther away than the school and was getting farther with every pa.s.sing moment.

Bonnie folded her arms across her chest and decided the best course of action and the best answer she could give to Armen's question was a pout. She was still fuming when he turned onto her long dirt driveway.

Armen had long since removed his hand from her knee and returned it to the steering wheel. Now he placed it tentatively in the noman's-land of the seat between them. "I have someone I can call."

She looked at him as if he had said, "G.o.d wants you to know that he'll take care of everything. Oh, by the way, he thinks you're the best goshdarned math teacher he's ever met."

"Really?"

He pulled up in front her house and turned off the car. The syncopated roar of three dogs barking disturbed the silence, but Armen didn't seem to notice. "Sure, it'll only take a moment. I'll have them tow your car right into your driveway." He reached behind the seat and grabbed the crutches.

When he opened the car door he asked, "How many dogs do you have? They sound like the devil's own wolf pack."

She took the crutches, fitted them to her shoulders and was halfway to her door before she said, "Three, and one cat. Bet they're starving."

Euclid, the black Burmese and the only male member of Bonnie's household, met them as soon as they entered the house. He stood on the end table just inside the door looking like a statue from an Egyptian exhibit.

"That's his furious pose. He thinks we'll be devastated by it." Bonnie hobbled past the cat. "Get over yourself, Euclid. You don't even want to know the evening I've had."

The cat jumped down. Meowing, he followed them past the half-wall that separated the combination family room and kitchen from the front section of the house.

Armen pa.s.sed her in the family room and went right for the kitchen phone hanging next to the microwave. "Euclid would have fit right in at Griffith's. You know, a witch's familiar?"

He smiled, and Bonnie found herself smiling back. She felt guilty for how churlishly she acted. After all, it wasn't Armen's fault she'd left Alice tilted in a ditch way out on Coyote Road.

"Armen?"

He waved away the obvious apology. "Forget it. Like you said, you've had a bad night." He picked up the receiver. "You got a couple of messages."

Bonnie hobbled closer, down the narrow hall which separated the back of the family room couch from the kitchen breakfast island. "Looks like three. Make your call first. I'll let the dogs in. The messages will keep."