Infinity + One

  But I knew how it worked, even though it’d been years since I’d managed my money. As long as I had ID and my account numbers, I should be able to withdraw whatever I wanted at my bank, no matter what branch I went into, anywhere in America. I was nervous, though. I was going to walk right up there and tell them I was Bonnie Rae Shelby, hand them my ID that didn’t look much like me anymore, and ask for ten grand. I would have asked for more than ten, but I wanted cash, and I didn’t want there to be a problem getting it.

  Ten thousand would get me and Finn to Los Angeles, with plenty to spare. I was going to have to buy an Oscar-worthy dress, and Finn was going to need a tux. Plus, I was going to have to wire some money to Finn’s father to get the Blazer from the impound yard. And after a few days, the charges would be steep. Ten thousand shouldn’t be a problem—there was fifty times that in this one account. This was my cash account, and Gran’s too, I supposed, since her name was on the account as well. I had money in mutual funds and trusts and stocks and bonds, money in property and land, and, like Gran, money stuffed in my sock drawer at home. But in the last five years, I’d hardly dealt with my finances at all. I had people for that. Now I wished I had been more hands-on.

  The bank smelled like new carpets and leather, with just a hint of Windex thrown in to convince bank patrons that the facility was squeaky clean and therefore, safe and secure. The girl behind the marble counter smiled at me from her little open partition and asked me how she could help me. She was as clean and tidy as the shiny floors, and a gold plaque at her workstation identified her as Cassie. I felt a little grubby in Finn’s over-sized T-shirt and my tight jeans that needed a wash, but I still flashed her a giant Bonnie Rae Shelby grin on full wattage and pulled out my driver’s license.

  “I need to withdraw some money from my savings account.”

  “All right. Do you need a withdrawal slip?”

  “No ma’am. I have one.”

  I handed her the withdrawal slip I had already filled out, along with my driver’s license and watched as her eyes grew big. She glanced at me furtively and looked away, two bright red dots appearing high on her smooth cheeks. She either recognized me, or I was in trouble, or both.

  She started click clacking away on her computer, her fingers flying over the keys. Then she opened a cash drawer and set five bundles on the counter, each bundle encircled with a band that said “two thousand.” She slid all five bundles into an envelope and pushed a button on a funny little machine to print out my check-sized receipt. Thank you, Cassie. Thank you, Lord.

  “Cassie?” Another woman who had been manning the drive-up window behind Cassie, approached the young teller and pointed out something on Cassie’s computer screen. Then they both looked at me. The older woman pulled her aside just to the left of the partition, and I heard her explain something in dulcet tones. Cassie stepped back to her position and tried to smile. The spots on her cheeks were now the size of tomatoes. She looked mortified.

  “Um. I’m sorry Miss . . . um Shelby. I’m new . . . and I haven’t seen something like this before. Um, there’s an alert on this account. There’s been some fraudulent activity reported, and no money can be released from the account without the presence of both parties listed on the account.” She said all of this like she was repeating exactly what her superior had just told her.

  “But this is my account.” I tapped my driver’s license. “And I am here in person—standing here in front of you . . . not fraudulent. You have verification that I am who I say I am. And that’s my money.” I tried to keep my voice level, my smile in place, but my heart was in my throat, and I felt the burn of shame creeping up my neck in a scarlet line. I had felt this way often growing up in Grassley, using food stamps at the grocery store or having Mama’s debit card declined at the gas station. Shame was like a loud, embarrassing cousin who constantly tagged along and always made sure everyone knew who he was related to. But everyone had cousins in Grassley, so at least then I wasn’t alone.

  But I was alone now, staring at the slightly uncomfortable face of a girl who knew who I was . . . who Bonnie Rae Shelby was. Her supervisor stood behind her, prepared to jump in if she needed to.

  “So I can’t get any money from my account even though there’s half a million dollars in there.”

  “Actually, ma’am,” the supervisor spoke up. “There’s only about ten thousand dollars in the account. A large sum was removed two days ago.”

  I choked as if I’d been sucker punched. Gran was the only one who could walk into a bank and pull five hundred grand from my account. “But you just said no money could be removed from the account without both parties present,” I gasped.

  “The money must have been withdrawn before the alert was placed on the account,” the older woman answered neatly. The expression on her face indicated she believed I was the reason there was a fraud alert on the account. And I guess I was. But it was my money.

  I stood staring at them for the space of two deep breaths. They stared back. I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of what I did next. I was too angry. I reached forward and snatched up the neat little pile of cash still sitting in front of the fresh-faced teller. Sorry, Cassie. You snooze you lose. The receipt was tucked inside the envelope as well.

  “Consider the account closed then, ladies,” I called out over my shoulder as I walked swiftly toward the door.

  “Ma’am! You can’t do that!” the supervisor called out behind me.

  “I just did. And I have a receipt.”

  “We’ll call the police!”

  “I’m sure you will. Tell them I said hi.”

  I pushed out of the little building, the money still clenched in my hand. There was no security guard to stop me, no alarms clanging as I reached for the door of Bear’s black Charger.

  “Drive,” I said, as I slid inside.

  ST LOUIS WAS BARELY in their rearview mirror before they were pulling off in a little town called Pacific to gas up. Finn was jittery, and Bonnie seemed rattled too, because when he wasn’t looking in the rearview mirror, he caught her throwing furtive looks behind them too. She was trying to be sneaky about it, but she wasn’t great at keeping her feelings hidden. She’d been upset when she came out of the bank in St. Louis, though she hadn’t said much about it. She’d muttered something about a “reckoning,” but when he’d questioned her, she just shook her head and said, “I’m damn tired of my life. And I’m tired of the people in it, present company excluded. I’ve made a lot of people wealthy, and you better believe there will be a reckoning.”

  She sounded cute when she said reckoning. Reckonin’ was how she said it, like she was on the set of a Clint Eastwood western. But Finn didn’t laugh. Bonnie Rae had been used and emotionally abused on her road to fame and fortune, and he was going to help her get her reckoning, even it meant putting his own ass on the line. Even if it meant showing up at an event like the Oscars in all his bad boy glory, just so Bonnie Rae could stick it to her gran.

  While he’d filled the tank and picked up two sandwiches at the gas station, Bonnie ran across the street to a little clothing store for a few things. Finn had groaned inwardly, thinking he would be waiting forever, but Bonnie was back in roughly the same amount of time it took him to fulfill his assignments. She had a clean shirt for each of them, plus underwear and socks for both of them as well—which she cheerfully informed him she was wearing, along with a white V-necked T-shirt that looked a whole lot better than the one she’d borrowed from him, although he’d kind of liked the idea of her wearing his shirt.

  He wondered what she’d done with the skull panties, but didn’t ask. He marveled how easy she was to please, how such little things like clean panties and a new shirt could make her smile, and thought again about the reckoning. Interesting that he was thinking about meting out justice as he slowed and came to a stop at the red light just before the freeway entrance.

  A panhandler stood on the median entreating drivers for mercy and cash. Bonnie watc
hed him as Finn waited for the light to turn—Finn always felt bad not giving people who begged for help the dignity of eye contact, but eye contact was a signal that the window was coming down, and money was going to exchange hands. Sure enough, Bonnie reached for her purse, and Finn shot her a look that said “no.” She sat back regretfully. Good girl. Maybe she was learning.

  The panhandler’s hair was a wild mess—Finn had never seen a bigger fro, not even at Norfolk, where hair like that was a symbol of rebellion. The man’s beard was greying and equally matted, and he had crazy eyes, wide and bulging, reminding Finn a little of Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. He wore socks—no shoes, just socks—and a huge, pea green army duster. From what Finn could see, the man wore all his clothes layered beneath, making him impossibly bulky and probably extremely ripe, even in the cold sunshine. He turned his cardboard sign toward them just as the light turned green, and Finn looked away as the cars in front of them started to inch forward.

  “Stop! Finn! Pull over! Pull over!” Bonnie cried, her hand on the door handle as she turned in her seat, staring at something beyond her shoulder.

  “Stop!” she screeched again, so instead of turning and following the line of cars in front of them onto the ramp, he went straight ahead and flipped on his hazard lights as he veered across traffic onto the narrow shoulder of the road. Maybe he was so responsive because Bonnie was pounding on his arm and shrieking for him to stop.

  Bonnie was out of the car before the Blazer had even come to a full stop, and it was Finn’s turn to cry out, warning her to hold on, but she didn’t listen. She ran down the side of the road until she was standing across from the panhandler who still stood on the median, watching the cars fly past him in both directions. Bonnie was separated from him by a lane of traffic, but she waved her arms, trying to get his attention. Finn waited until there was a break in the traffic, and then slid out of the car, not wanting to open his door and risk having it removed by an oncoming truck. Luckily, it was a small town, and the traffic wasn’t heavy, but his inability to follow Bonnie had given her plenty of time to reach the panhandler, who she now stood talking to on the median, as seemingly comfortable with the grizzled man as she was behind the microphone. As Finn watched, she looped her hand through the man’s arm and led him across the road toward Bear’s car and Finn, who could only watch the two of them approach in horror.

  “Finn! William’s heading in the same direction we are! I thought we could give him a ride.”

  Holy. Shit. Bonnie Rae Shelby was a lunatic. He was in love with a lunatic! The thought brought Finn up short. In love? He didn’t love her! He just . . . wanted her. Like he’d told her this morning. He just wanted her. That was all. He wanted a lunatic.

  “I’m needed in Joplin.” The panhandler’s voice was strident and powerful, but he smiled at Finn as he and Bonnie neared the vehicle, his beard parting like the waters of the Red Sea, revealing that he didn’t have all of his teeth. “My friends call me George Orrin Dillinger the III, but as I told the lady, you can call me William.” He drew out each syllable like he was delivering a sermon.

  The fact that the panhandler’s friends called him by his full name yet he and Bonnie could call him another name entirely made absolutely no sense, but Finn just nodded numbly and watched as Bonnie popped the trunk, threw their few belongings inside, and made a spot for William, aka George Orrin Dillinger the III, aka the crazy man who would be sitting behind him for the next three hours until they reached Joplin, the next stop on Finn’s plotted route.

  William climbed into the car, and just before he shut the door, Bonnie asked him if she could borrow his cardboard sign, just for a second. He acquiesced, obviously, because Bonnie Rae grabbed it as William pulled the door closed, and then she held it over the roof of the car, showing Finn, who still stood next to the driver’s side door. Bonnie’s eyes were almost as wide and crazy as George Orrin Dillinger’s. She pointed at the words on the sign fiercely, not speaking.

  I Believe in Bonnie and Clyde the sign read. Finn read it again, and then again, not sure what to make of it. Then he looked at Bonnie and shrugged.

  “So?”

  “So?” she hissed. “It’s a sign!”

  “Yeah. It is. A cardboard sign.”

  “Finn! It has our names on it!”

  “Names which happen to be the same names as a very well-known pair. He could have written ‘I believe in Sonny and Cher’ or ‘Beavis and Butthead’ or ‘peanut butter and jelly.’”

  Bonnie looked a little crestfallen. He’d taken the magic out of the moment. He was good at that.

  “And now we have a smelly guy named William with the initials, G.O.D. in our backseat. And I’m not happy about it, Bonnie Rae.”

  “His initials are G.O.D!” Bonnie’s eyes were seriously going to pop out of her skull. The magic was back. Finn moaned and then started laughing, once again not even sure how any of this could possibly be real. He even pinched himself, just to make sure he’d actually woken up this morning to a pop star in his arms, a Bear on his front steps, and now, God in his backseat.

  He just shook his head and got in the Charger before a passing car took a chunk out of his ass, and Bonnie followed his lead, the cardboard sign still clutched to her chest.

  The interior of the car already reeked. Bonnie made polite noises about it being a beautiful day and rolled down the windows a bit. Finn immediately lost his appetite.

  “You hungry, William?” he asked.

  “Yes sir. I am.” William nodded, his powerful voice a little too loud for the interior of the car.

  “Here!” Bonnie Rae handed William her sandwich as they headed southwest toward Joplin.

  “What does this sign mean, William?” Bonnie reached back and set it on the seat beside him, though he barely looked at it.

  William was devouring the sandwich like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Finn handed his sandwich back too, along with a bottle of water. William tried to answer Bonnie between bites, lettuce and pieces of tomato and onion falling into his beard, caught like flies in a spider web, but William didn’t stop to free them.

  “I had a dream,” he said, sounding just like Martin Luther King. “I had a dream about Bonnie and Clyde. I always be dreamin’—I dream of lots of things,” William said, chewing.

  William was too theatrical to be taken seriously, but Bonnie shot Finn a look, as if to say, “See?”

  “Well, my name is Bonnie,” Bonnie said triumphantly.

  “And what’s his name?” William didn’t seem surprised by Bonnie’s revelation.

  “I’m Finn.” The devil in Finn wasn’t about to tell William his last name.

  “Ahh. Mr. Infinity,” William boomed.

  “Mr. Infinity!” Bonnie hooted with laughter. “Mr. Infinity makes you sound like you should be covered in oil, wearing a speedo, and flexing your muscles on a stage, Finn.”

  “You wish.” Finn smirked.

  “Yes. I do,” Bonnie said deadpan. She was being silly, but it was still hot, and Finn really wished stinky William wasn’t in the backseat so he could kiss her.

  “Mr. Infinity, the Almighty, King of Kings, Lord of Lords, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace. Mr. X himself. The unknown quantity!” William was done eating the first sandwich and he delivered the names like he was announcing professional boxing.

  “Are you ready to ruuuuuuummmmble?” Finn said under his breath.

  Bonnie giggled.

  “I don’t think I’ve heard God referred to as Mr. Infinity or Mr. X, or even the unknown quantity, for that matter,” Bonnie said as William started in on his second sandwich.

  “X and the unknown quantity are mathematical terms,” Finn offered, enjoying himself, amazingly enough. The next three hours would not be boring. William’s beard was so full of veggies he could make a salad later on, unless of course, the sonic boom of his voice shook everything loose.

  “Do you like mathematics, Mr. Infinity?” William asked. Finn met William’s gaze in the r
earview mirror, but he didn’t answer. It had just occurred to him that he hadn’t told William his name was Infinity, but Finn.

  “Tell me this, does mathematics exist because it’s a reflection of our world, or does the world exist because of mathematics?” William said, making Bonnie’s eyebrows shoot up and causing Finn’s heart to stall. It was obviously not a question he expected them to answer, because he finished the sandwiches, and with a small burp, sat back heavily against the seat.

  “I was hungry and you fed me, thirsty and you gave me drink. And now I will rest a little while,” William declared in much more normal tones, and within seconds he was snoring in the backseat, one of his filthy, stocking-clad feet propped on the armrest between Bonnie and Finn.

  “Aren’t you glad I offered him a ride?” Bonnie said, trying to keep a straight face. When Finn didn’t respond she poked him.

  “That question that he asked—does mathematics exist because it’s a reflection of our world, or does the world exist because of mathematics—did you hear that?” he asked, distracted.

  “Yes. I heard it.” Bonnie snickered. “How could I not? It blew the top layer of skin clean off my face. I won’t have to exfoliate any time soon.”

  “My dad always used to ask us that.” Finn felt strange, unnerved even. “I guess other people may have asked the same question. But it was weird hearing William just shout it out like that.”

  “Well, his initials are G.O.D.” Bonnie said softly, smiling. Finn could tell she was trying to ease the sudden tension he was feeling.

  And then a memory surfaced. His dad had posed a paradox for the second time in as many days, and Fish had altered the question, inserting their names. He’d said, “Does Finn exist because he’s a reflection of me, or do I exist because I’m a reflection of Finn?”