It's a Wonderful Knife Read Free

to her that Trixie wants her?”
    â€œWho’s Trixie?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œOh. Okay.”
    They pounded on the window, got ACB’s attention, and pointed to me sitting in the car. Reluctantly, she waved to me, and slid down from the bull as her muumuu slid up.
    Yikes.
    I could hear the crowd hoot and holler and Antoinette Chloe grinned and waved.
    Whatever I had been given in the hospital for pain and nausea was beginning to wear off. My body ached, my head was throbbing, and my leg felt as if I were dragging an anvil. I was hungry enough to search the pockets of my jacket for stray, lint-covered Tic Tacs.
    I found one. It was delicious.
    Again, I was feeling sorry for myself. But at least I wasn’t living in a box by the highway in the middle of winter like my two new friends, who were now staringat a platinum blond woman with a red sequined blouse and shorty shorts now riding the bull.
    I looked up at the hospital that I’d just left. It was sprawled on top of a hill overlooking Syracuse and glowing like a lighthouse in the crisp, dark night. I was much luckier than most of the people in that hospital, too.
    I ached all over, but a lot of people in the hospital wouldn’t be coming home for Christmas. I vowed not to whine or complain no matter how I felt.
    Making a mental note to contribute to the hospital as my Christmas gift, I beeped the horn to my two street guys. My friend came over.
    â€œYes, Trixie?”
    â€œUm . . . I don’t know your name.”
    â€œI’m Jud and this is Dan.”
    â€œThis is all the money I have right now.” Pulling out all the change from the ashtray, I handed Jud around sixty-two cents. “Jud, if you and Dan ever get to Sandy Harbor, stop at the Silver Bullet and get yourself a nice meal on me. Okay?”
    â€œWe sure will.” He smiled, and I wished I could get him some dental work.
    â€œMerry Christmas, Jud.”
    â€œMerry Christmas, Trixie.”
    Finally ACB shuffled out of the bar carrying several white bags. She hesitated when she saw Jud and Dan.
    Rolling down the window, I shouted, “They’re okay.”
    She plodded to the car. Dan pulled off the navy fisherman’s cap from his head and clutched it to his breast.
    â€œYou are my kind of woman,” Dan said. “May I have the pleasure of knowing your name?”
    â€œAntoinette Chloe.”
    â€œAntoinette Chloe,” Dan repeated. “It rolls off the tongue like a song . . . or rather a poem by Lord Byron.” He cleared his throat. “‘She walks in Beauty, like the night / Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright / Meet in her aspect and her eyes. . . .’”
    â€œClimes?” ACB’s eyes grew wide. “Don’t you swear at me, mister.”
    Jud held up his hands. “It means weather. Climates,” he said. “Dan and I were both professors of literature until the school we taught at was downsized. Now we are writing a book about living with the homeless.”
    â€œThat’s got to be sad,” I said.
    He looked over his shoulder to the mess of boxes and crates. “It’ll be even sadder as Christmas gets closer.”
    My heart sank. “I wish I had my pocketbook, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Antoinette Chloe was busy searching in her cleavage purse. That’s what I called the depository in her cleavage, which held just . . . everything. She pulled out a roll of money.
    I looked at her in astonishment.
    â€œI won it. Over two hundred bucks. Apparently no one thought a full-figured woman in a muumuu and flip-flops could ride Cowabunga—that’s what they call the electric bull.”
    She handed the money to Dan. “I am counting onyou to make sure that they get whatever they need for this
clime
—blankets, soup, coffee . . .”
    â€œYou have my word, my lovely