Who's On First

Chapter 3

Chapter 3Archimedes Newton bit down hard on his lower lip to prevent an inappropriate guffaw of laughter to see his wife gape after their son in affronted surprise as the boy retreated from the room without a backward look. For that matter, beyond a single, all-too-brief glance when he’d walked into the room, Charles hadn’t bothered to acknowledge his father’s presence. Well, truthfully, had he expected any less? Once more he’d failed his boy.

He sat back in the cushy chair, his legs crossed at the knee, and watched as his wife paced the study floor, her face flushed with fury. She spewed such vitriol he was glad Charles wasn’t there to hear it. He could have told Marie taking that tack with their son wouldn’t work, but he hadn’t bothered, knowing she’d dismiss his words outright. Again, he’d taken the easy way out.

Archimedes was also aware she meant every word she said. She’d disown their only son and leave him to try to make his way in the world, penniless and with no practical skills to sustain him. Charles might be a mathematical genius, but thanks to his mother’s insistence he concentrate solely on being the next person to solve at least one of those damned Millennium Prize Problems, he had no idea how to balance a checkbook or pay a bill, how to sign a lease…

I should have taught him those things. I should have…But he hadn’t. Oh, he had managed to get Charles away from his tutor once and take the boy to Yankee Stadium when he was eight, and his son had seemed enthralled…However, not enthralled enough to recall the event.

He really wasn’t much of a father. Well, that was something he planned to correct.

He pushed himself to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me, my dear?”

Abruptly Marie demanded, “Where’s his cellphone?”

“Excuse me?”

She glared at him. “His cellphone, his cellphone. Exactly how useless are you? He left his key fob, so he should have left his cellphone, also.”

“Ah.” Archimedes gazed around the room as if searching for the item, but he knew Charles hadn’t left it behind. “It doesn’t appear to be here. Why did you want it?”

Her fury seemed to ratchet higher. “If he wants nothing of ours, he’ll have nothing of ours, including his phone.” She ground her teeth together and finally spat out, “No matter. I’ll have Hodgins see Charles’s number is removed from our plan.”

“Hodgins is away just now on vacation, if you’ll recall. I’ll take care of it for you.”

“You?” That one word made her lack of regard for him obvious.

“If you’ll permit?” He kept his tone mild. Why had he allowed himself to remain in this situation, married to a woman who had such little regard for him? Perhaps because it hadn’t always been that way, because they’d once loved each other…At least he’d loved her.

Unfortunately, that seemed long in the past.

“Fine. That should be something you’re capable of.”

He left the room. You’ve taken so much from our son, I won’t permit you to take this from him as well, not when his existence could depend on it. And since Marie thought he was dealing with it, with a little luck she wouldn’t mention it to her personal assistant. As for Hodgins, even though he took care of the bills, he’d remain unaware Charles should have been taken off the family plan until Marie brought it up. And he had no doubt she would.

Archimedes stepped out of the front door. Parked in the drive was the maroon Porsche with the cream leather interior he and Marie had given their son the day he’d gotten his second master’s degree. She hadn’t cared enough to ask why he had chosen that color combination, not that it surprised him. She had no idea their son was an avid fan of the Brookeville Scorpions and most especially of Clancy Makem, their shortstop—Archimedes had a feeling Charles was unaware his father knew that, something else that saddened him, but which he’d keep quiet about—and those were the team colors. He glanced down at his palm, where Charles’s key fob rested. Marie hadn’t even noticed him taking it. He’d go for a drive and give the circumstances some thought. He already had something of a plan, and once it was solidified, he’d call Owen Edwards, the chancellor of Armand University.

Archimedes was fairly sure Charles would go there for sanctuary. At least he hoped so. He knew how fond of the university Charles had been and how much he’d enjoyed his time there, as short as it was. If he could have obtained his master’s degrees and eventually his doctorate there, he would have stayed, but getting his postgraduate degrees at the same university he’d attended as an undergrad wasn’t a good idea. And of course, Marie had pressured the boy to go to Princeton, because Albert Einstein, one of Charles’s namesakes, had worked on a unified field theory there.

Owen was not only a classmate of Archimedes from back in the day but a good friend as well. Owen had been thrilled to have a genius of Charles’s magnitude enroll in his university, even though it had only been for a couple of years. He’d be more than happy to do Archimedes a favor, and that would be to give Charles a job doing anything he wanted at the university. It wouldn’t matter if Armand U. only paid Charles a pittance; Archimedes would see to it his son’s salary was more than enough to survive on, and between him and Owen, they’d see to it Charles would thrive.

Archimedes had a good deal of his own money, about which his wife was not so much unaware as uncaring. He’d repay whatever Owen advanced his son and set up an account that could be debited twice each month to pay Charles. It would also cover his rent and incidentals, including his cellphone, should the need arise. He sighed. As it most likely would.

And if by chance Archimedes was wrong about Charles seeking refuge at Armand University, he’d ask the chancellor to call Charles, ostensibly to chat. Either way, the ball would be set in motion, and perhaps in this slight manner, he’d be able to make it up to his son.

He got in the car and slid the key into the ignition. It started with a smooth hum, and he thought briefly of the time three years before when he’d stepped up to the plate and done what a father should do—teach his son to drive a car with a standard transmission. Perhaps he’d keep this car, and perhaps, one day, he’d see his son got it back.