The Witch Of Agnesi Part 20

The young man nodded, tight-lipped and solemn. "Mister Callahan. Can I get you a beer?"

Armen ignored Bonnie's wide-eyed disapproval. "I think I'd like that."

Bonnie waited to be asked and when the offer wasn't forthcoming answered, "Nothing for me, thanks."

Jesse grunted and squeezed past Bonnie into the trailer. The sounds of bottles being opened came from within. When Bonnie next looked, he stood framed in the screen door, holding a pair of bottles. He stood there for a long moment watching her.

I don't think I want to know how a seventeen-year-old comes to have beer in his refrigerator. She slid to one side, and Jesse sat down beside her. She slid to one side, and Jesse sat down beside her.

He handed the beer to Armen, keeping a tall bottle of Doctor Pepper for himself. The hint of a smile made a fleeting appearance at the corner of Jesse's mouth.

He saluted her with the bottle. "You expecting something else?"

You little son of a b.i.t.c.h, you were right all along. I don't know s.h.i.t. She shook her head. "Expectations never fail to get me in trouble. What's more, I think you're a young man full of surprises. How are you holding up?" She shook her head. "Expectations never fail to get me in trouble. What's more, I think you're a young man full of surprises. How are you holding up?"

Jesse shrugged. "It ain't really hit me yet. I came home to this empty trailer every night for the past month and a half. The only difference is tomorrow I won't be going to the hospice."

He stared up into the night sky and took a long drink of his soda. When he looked back, he said, "One thing I do know, I ain't going to no foster home."

Armen put a foot on the lower step, glancing first at Bonnie then at Jesse. "I don't think you have to. How old are you, son?"

"I'll be eighteen in July." Jesse gave Armen a wary look. "Why you want to know?"

Armen waved away the question. "I'll get to that in a minute. Do you have a plan to keep social services at bay?"

Jesse stood, forcing Armen to step back. "I sure as h.e.l.l . . ." He shot an embarra.s.sed glance Bonnie's way. "I sure do. I'm going to get my G.E.D. then become a fireman like my pa was."

"A n.o.ble goal. Kurt Vonnegut proclaimed firemen the last true heroes in America. I couldn't agree more. I foresee only one problem." Armen raised both hands palms forward, as if he meant to distance himself from the aforementioned problem.

The boy shook his head. "I got money. When Pa was killed fighting that fire, Mama and I saved most of the insurance money. And this here trailer's paid for."

"You got a good start, but money's not the difficulty, Jesse."

Armen's voice had taken on a soft yet commanding tone. Bonnie was sure if the man adopted this tone with her he could talk her into anything. I'm not sure I find that thought comforting. I'm not sure I find that thought comforting.

"I think you have the makings of a splendid fireman. The problem lies with the G.E.D. There was a time when a young man could become a policeman or fireman after taking the Equivalency Test, but those days are long gone. Anymore, the compet.i.tion is too stiff. These days you need at least a high school diploma . . . a few years of college wouldn't hurt."

Jesse opened his mouth to protest.

Armen silenced him by once again raising a hand. "Not an insurmountable problem. First you need to be emanc.i.p.ated. This is where your age plays in your favor."

"Like the slaves and Abraham Lincoln?" Jesse squinted at Armen in disbelief.

"Very much so. Emanc.i.p.ation declares you a free individual able to make decisions for yourself. And to be emanc.i.p.ated you need a sponsor. One would be nice. Two would be better."

A long silence hung in the air. Jesse's deep chest rose and fell as he regarded first Armen then Bonnie. "I would bet a pair of schoolteachers would make great sponsors."

Bonnie felt as if she'd somehow booked pa.s.sage on a whitewater raft. Each bend in the river caught her by surprise. But she'd always been a quick study, and she could see now where Armen was steering this raft.

Make a good bargain, Callahan.

"And tutors." Armen took a long pull on his beer, and offered the bottle to Bonnie. He avoided looking at Jesse.

Oh, what the h.e.l.l. She took a drink and handed the bottle back. She couldn't remember when beer tasted as sweet. "After all, you do want to be a fireman, don't you?" She took a drink and handed the bottle back. She couldn't remember when beer tasted as sweet. "After all, you do want to be a fireman, don't you?"

Jesse waved his hands like what he really wanted was everyone to keep quiet. "We ain't talking about the G.E.D. test anymore, are we?"

"No, Jess, we're talking about you, an emanc.i.p.ated young man, living here and finishing high school." Armen c.o.c.ked his head with a what do you say expression plastered on his face.

"I don't know. I'm in big trouble at school. Got in a fight, you know?" Crimson spread from his neck up until it covered most of his bald pate. "Hit a teacher."

"I can tell you right now you're going to have to quit the teacher hitting." Bonnie laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "But I know that particular teacher pretty well, and I'll bet we can get her to forgive you. Rumor has it, she's pretty cool."

Jesse hadn't shed one tear at the hospice, and Bonnie didn't expect he'd shed any now, but she thought she saw a quiver in his lower lip.

"Why you guys doing this?"

Armen gave Jesse an exaggerated wink. "I don't know about her, but me, I'm trying to impress a lady."

It's working, Callahan.

"What about it, Jesse? Sound like a plan? You'd have to stay out of trouble."

Jesse licked his lips, and Bonnie could see the old synapses firing.

"I don't want to sound ungrateful, but could I get back with you guys?"

Before Bonnie could mount a protest, Armen said, "You do that. When you make up your mind, you know where I live."

Bonnie held out a hand, and Jesse helped her up.

"Let's have those crutches." When she'd reached the car she turned back. "Just one more thing. Thurs day morning."

Jesse seemed to stiffen. "What about it?"

"At the hospice you said someone told you that Peyton Newlin said unkind things about your mother."

Jesse laced his fingers behind his bald head, obviously ill at ease. "That's right. But I'm not sure about ratting this person out."

Bonnie threw her crutches into Alice's back seat and slammed the door. She leaned unsteadily against Alice. "Fair enough. I won't ask you to say a thing. I'm going give you a name. You do what you want after that."

Jesse didn't move.

"Edmund Sheridan."

The boy did nothing for so long Bonnie decided to let the issue die. Nice try, Pinkwater. Nice try, Pinkwater. She opened Alice's pa.s.senger door and plopped onto the seat. When she looked back, Jesse Poole was standing behind his screen door. He nodded once and disappeared from view. She opened Alice's pa.s.senger door and plopped onto the seat. When she looked back, Jesse Poole was standing behind his screen door. He nodded once and disappeared from view.

CHAPTER 12.

BONNIE SNUCK A QUICK PEEK AT ARMEN'S derriere derriere as he slid the ca.s.serole dish into the oven. By the time he'd closed the door and turned back around, she'd lowered her eyes to her coffee cup. as he slid the ca.s.serole dish into the oven. By the time he'd closed the door and turned back around, she'd lowered her eyes to her coffee cup.

"You make a mean cup of coffee, Callahan." Very smooth, Bonnie. Very smooth, Bonnie.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." He wiped his hands on his ap.r.o.n. A caricature of ex-president Richard Nixon, arms raised making the V for victory sign filled the bib. A cartoon balloon read, "I am not a cook." "Cheese enchiladas ala Callahan. Ambrosia."

Untying his ap.r.o.n as he walked, he strode past where she sat at a small claw-footed table. He threw Richard Nixon face-down on a gray leather futon.

"You like Van Morrison?"

She'd turned round so she could follow him with her eyes. "Yes, I do, which is strange, considering I rarely understand a thing he's singing."

Armen placed a CD in a slim black player. Almost immediately the familiar guitar opening of "Into the Mystic" trickled out of a pair of oak-trimmed speakers. He crossed the room and stood before her, his hands extended. "May I have this dance?"

"Excuse me?" She nodded to where her crutches leaned against the kitchen counter. "I don't think I'd make a very good dance partner right now."

He bent low. "I'll dance for both of us. Trust me."

She hesitated then wrapped her arms about his neck. As he had done at Griffith's, he scooped her from the chair. Unlike that first time, he held her firm, the two of them swaying to Van Morrison's sure voice and soft guitar.

Armen's hair was still damp from his shower.

Bonnie breathed deep his aroma of soap and after-shave. The essence of clean boy. The essence of clean boy. She laid her head on his shoulder. "You know how to show a girl a good time, Armen Callahan." She laid her head on his shoulder. "You know how to show a girl a good time, Armen Callahan."

"We aim to please."

She closed her eyes, and Armen became her world-the smell of him, the feel of his arms, the gentle rhythm of his dancing. She didn't want to ask where these feelings would lead. Her life was a lazy river, and she intended to float. When the song went into a long instrumenttal, Armen whirled her. They both laughed. His beard brushed her face. She liked the soft yet scratchy feel of it on her cheek and nestled in closer.

Bonnie wasn't exactly aware when Van Morrison switched from "Into the Mystic" to "Crazy Love." If anything, the new song was more romantic than the first, and yet it conjured images of Edmund and Ali-both in black, conical hats. Bonnie tried to put them out of her mind, to slide back into that comfortable haven where only she and Armen populated the planet. The pair of teenagers would have none of it. Leering, they whispered together and laughed.

"Where have you gone?" Armen asked into her hair.

Bonnie lifted her head so she could see his face. "Is it so obvious?"

His eyes held a mixture of understanding tinged with the barest hint of sadness. "Your whole body tensed. Edmund?"

She nodded. "And Ali. I'm sorry, Armen. I really loved our dance."

"Don't be sorry. I'm going to accept the four minutes we had as a gift from the universe." He carried her back to the kitchen/dining room and set her at the claw-foot table.

He tapped her nose with an outstretched finger. "The next time we trip the light fantastic we take a longer whirl."

At least he wants a second dance. "Count on it." "Count on it."

Armen went to a matte-black coffee maker and re-turned with his own cup. "I'm so hungry, I could eat school food." He frowned at her. "No long faces. I won't have you feeling bad."

Easy for you to say. You didn't turn a romantic moment into a bad dream. "I spoiled our dance." "I spoiled our dance."

Armen reached across the table and took her hands in his. "Have you ever seen Old Yeller Old Yeller?"

She blinked at the unexpected question. "The Disney movie about the dog?"

"Yep." He hummed the opening bars of the theme song finishing with, "Best doggone dog in the west."

She smiled at this man who had succeeded in keeping her off balance for the better part of two days. "I'm not sure why we're talking about a dog movie, but yes, I saw Old Yeller Old Yeller when I was a little girl." when I was a little girl."

"I own it. It's one of my prized possessions." He rubbed his thumbs across the tops of her hands. "Not many people know this, but Old Yeller Old Yeller is a repository of Zen wisdom." is a repository of Zen wisdom."

"As in Zen Buddhism?"

"Absolutely." He nodded, showing not a hint he wasn't serious. "If you ask anybody what scene they re-member, they'll tell you the scene where the boy has to shoot the beloved dog because it has contracted rabies. They think that's what the movie's about."

Where are you going with this, Armen? "Isn't it?" "Isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Not for me. For me the heart of the movie happens a few scenes later after the father, played by Fess Parker, comes home from a cattle thing-a-ma-jig."

The image of a large man wearing a buckskin vest came into focus. "I remember him-the actor who played Davy Crocket."

"Give the lady a cigar. He also played Daniel Boone, now he runs a winery somewhere. For my whole generation, Boone and Davy Crocket got sort of blended into one person, Fess Parker. However, I digress."

He let go of her hands and sat tall in his chair. "I'll be the father, Fess Parker." He straightened an imaginary cowboy hat.

G.o.d, you're cute. Strange, but cute. She caught her-self nodding with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Okay, you're the father." She caught her-self nodding with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Okay, you're the father."

"And you're the eldest son who is unable to get over Yeller's death." Armen reached across the table and laid a consoling hand on Bonnie's arm. " 'Boy, a lot of life is mighty fine. You can't afford to waste the good part frettin' about the bad. That makes it all bad.' " Armen's voice had gone unexpectedly deep with a trace of a southern accent.

She waited for him to continue, but the look of accomplishment on his face told her he had nothing more to offer. "That's it?" She immediately regretted the accusatory tone. She needn't have worried. Her incomprehension only served to prime Armen's philosophical pump.

He slumped forward, resting his bearded chin on his forearm, staring up at her. "That's everything. The heart and soul of Zen-focus on the moment, restart your life from where you are right now, view the world with a beginner's mind. What Fess, like any great Zen master, was trying to teach his boy is that the present should never be colored by the past, especially if all the past has to offer is bad news."

Bonnie lowered her head so she could be eye-to-eye with Armen. "Sooooooo, you're telling me I shouldn't let this little setback taint future dances. Leave the past in the past, even if it was only five minutes ago."

He winked at her. "The great Fess Parker has connected with yet another convert."

"Not so quick. I still have Edmund Sheridan on the brain. And furthermore, can we sit up straight again? This table-level talk is killing my back." Twisting, she sat erect. She heard a pop in her neck. "That's more like it."

Armen followed suit minus the audible neck-pop. "I'm surprised you could wait this long after Poole's revelation."

"You want to know the truth?"

He shook his head. "Absolutely not. Give me a veiled lie any old time."