I held the phone out to him, but he shook his head.
I huffed and brought it back to my face. Fuck it. Hopefully I wouldn’t be sticking my foot in my mouth. “I have… Alexander here with me”—whoa that felt weird saying it out loud like that to someone—“and he asked me to call you. We’re in a bit of a, uh, pickle.”
Crickets chirped in the background.
Not really, but they should have.
Peeking at the man in front of me, I was surprised to see him looking oddly calm. Apparently, his name wasn’t a secret to whoever Agatha was. Then it hit me. Was this someone special? He’d said he wasn’t married, but….
“Alexander?” the woman asked after a moment, his name coming out clean and way too crisp.
She knew exactly who I was talking about.
“Yep. Tall, his favorite color is, uh, blue. He thinks the f-word is an adjective and has an attitude…I’m kidding,” I said when he gave me a dirty look. I wrinkled my nose and whispered to him, “She won’t believe me if I tell her you’re nice,” I teased him, trying to get back at him for all those dirty looks and tones.
Whether he was more surprised over my description or she was, I would never know. What I did know was that there was another long beat of dead silence before she coughed, and it almost sounded like she snickered there for a second. Then she replied, “Can I speak to him?”
The man in question shook his head. I lifted my shoulders and mouthed,Why?
Alexander shook his head some more and replied,I don’t want to.
Oh boy. I threw him under the bus. “He says he doesn’t want to.”
That was definitely a snicker, and I highly doubted it was in surprise. “We’ve been concerned about him for a few days now,” she replied, still sounding cryptic.
A few days? It had been at least a month.
“What’s going on?” the woman on the line asked slowly.
I was watching that imperial-like face and tried not to show surprise on mine when he mouthed another sentence out. “He says he was the victim of a hit and run,” I said, still looking at him closely. Because what the hell kind of code words were those? A hit and run? What’d he get hit by? A fighter jet?
“I see,” she replied. “What’s your location?”
Before I could say that I didn’t know, I read his lips and repeated the address he mouthed.
How did he already know it though? I’d thought there was something fishy about him earlier, but….
“What kind of assistance do you need?”
Apparently, we were playing charades because he used both hands to make a driving gesture. “A car?” I guessed.
He shook his head. A ride?
“A car?” the Agatha woman repeated in confusion.
“Yes. A ride. Some kind of transportation? Back…?” I said, trying to guess why that’s what he would ask for when he could….
Oh.
For… me? Where the hell were we going?
“For me,” I told her. “I’m sick. I’ve been sick.” She had to hear it in my voice. Just because my throat hurt less didn’t mean it sounded that way.
“I see,” she said, sounding even more perplexed. “I think I understand. I’ll make a few calls, check on who can get out there. It might take me a few hours.”
I gave him a thumbs-up and got a nod in reply. “Okay,” I confirmed.
“I’ll call back once I get it sorted. Call me if you need something else,” Agatha said, her voice getting odder by the second.
