Three days passed and no call. I was deeply disappointed. How could I go back to New Hampshire and leave my life dangling after everything I had so recently experienced? Fred ran through my mind in a continuous loop. Whole conversations burst into my consciousness, so real my senses experienced the moment. I could hear the inflections in his voice, like the first time we hunted frogs with slingshots and I had spooked my prey.
“Hun’ney, you got t’ slow down. You ain’t a-drivin’ sheep.” I could feel my frustration as I told him I wanted to watch and learn and I could hear his stubborn response. “You ain’t ever gonna learn watchin’! You got t’ get one or I don’t shoot another frog.” The deadfalls . . . the moments in the Mulligans’ front bedroom when our mutual confessions strengthened the bonds between us . . . the pounding of my heart as we ran from Ben’s melon patch with Fred holding his shirt tourniquet around my bleeding arm . . . that terrible winter and our final parting at the gate behind the barn.
Between the flashbacks, I tried to understand the situation. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to happen in my relationship with Lisa June, but she was my last connection to Fred. I felt powerless. There was nothing to build on without her cooperation. Then, as I was wandering around a horse farm, my cell phone rang.
“Mr. Zelinsky, this is Lisa June Winchester. Tomorrow is Saturday and I’m off during the day. If you would still like to meet, we could have lunch together.”
I almost yelled. Instead I said calmly, “I’d love to have lunch with you.”
“Meet me in th’ Keeneland Café at 1:30. It’s near th’ racetrack.”
I was excited about the meeting, but had no idea what to expect. I decided to tell her personal things I knew about the Mulligans, and about Fred and me. And, yes, about my failure to be there for Fred when he needed me. If she got up and left and never saw me again she would at least know that Fred was a good man, and that there were decent people in her family. That she didn’t need to repudiate her relatives in order to change her life. This was a gift I could give and I considered it a gift worth having.
The Keeneland Café was Southern and horsey. Paintings of great thoroughbreds and jockeys covered the walls. Most of the male patrons wore coats and ties but I was dressed in a white shirt and dress pants. I looked about for Lisa June and found her in a corner table. She was wearing the same rose-patterned blouse and white pants she had on when I first saw her, but, as before, they looked fresh and neatly pressed. I was nervous as I slipped into my chair. “Good afternoon,” I said. “Nice restaurant.”
Lisa June ignored my salutation. “Have you enjoyed th’ last few days?”
“Pretty much. I was at a horse farm when you called.”
“Horses are treated better than people in Kentucky. What’s it like where you live?”
“It’s beautiful. Low mountains, lots of trees . . . small picturesque communities.”
Lisa June scanned my face, then her eyes shifted back to mine. “You live in New Hampshire, right?”
“Yes. Did you learn that from Jenny and Melvin?”
She looked down at the table. “Google. You didn’t tell me you were a famous professor. You didn’t tell Jenny and Melvin either. Any reason why?”
The waiter appeared and handed us elegant menus, then recited the specials. “What’s good here?” I asked after he left.
Lisa June glanced at the menu. “I used to work here as a waitress. The best thing they served then was the stuffed pork chops. You haven’t answered my question.”
Her tone wasn’t harsh, but it didn’t convey a lot of warmth. “When I met Melvin, I had been here several days and hadn’t seen anyone I knew. Talking to him gave me a chance to find out what had happened to people I had known as a child . . . your grandfather, th’ whole Mulligan family, as well as other people in the community. My professional life just didn’t come up.”
Lisa June fell silent. I got an uncomfortable feeling about the silence but decided to wait it out. Finally the waiter arrived and took our orders. “Like a drink, Lisa?” I asked.
Lisa June shook her head.
I turned to the waiter. “Do you have bourbon and branch water?”
“Sir, we have a creek running past the back door.”
It was the first time I heard Lisa June laugh. It was so much like Fred’s laugh. I ordered the bourbon and branch water. When the waiter left, I turned toward my lunch companion. “Jenny has told me a little about you. I’d like to know more.”
Lisa June’s smile slowly faded. “Why?”
My answer almost gushed out. “Because you’re my best friend’s grandchild!”
Lisa June thought for a moment. “How much did Aunt Jen tell you?”
“I know your mother got married again when you were very young and left you with some friends, that you spent at least ten years in an orphanage and foster homes, that you’re an education major at UK, and that you spend time with the Langleys.”
The waiter brought our salads and my bourbon and branch water.
“Not much else t’ know,” Lisa June answered after the waiter left.
I washed down some salad with a swallow of my drink. “I’m sure there’s a great deal more t’ know about th’ granddaughter of my best friend.”
“The best friend of your childhood?”
“The best friend of my life.”
Lisa June’s chin pushed toward me and her eyes became cold. “If he was th’ best friend of your life, how come you weren’t concerned enough t’ inquire about him for sixty years?”
The question hurt so much it took a few seconds before I could respond. “The story is long and involved. I would really like to tell it later.”
Lisa June said nothing, she just continued to eat.
“What areas are you interested in teaching?” I asked.
No response.
The salad plates were removed and our entrées arrived. The stuffed pork chop was good, and I commented on it. I wasn’t prepared for Lisa June’s response.
“Dr. Zelinsky, I’m seeing you as a favor to two people who mean more t’ me than anyone else in the world. I’ve had a hard time in the past, but I’m makin’ progress. Then, out of nowhere, you show up with your fancy education and prizes and pry into my life. What do you want from me? Tell me what it is now or I’m walkin’ out of here and I’ll never see you again!”
The statement was delivered at a whisper but to me it was like a crash of thunder. I’m not sure whether I was angry at what she said or offended by the way she said it, but I reacted. “You know Lisa June, you’re not th’ only one who’s had a hard time in life. My life hasn’t been a bed of roses either. I’ve made mistakes and I regret them. I’m an old man and you’re a young woman, but I hope when you’re my age someone gives you th’ benefit of the doubt when you’re tryin’ t’ right your wrongs.”
Lisa June appeared startled, then seemed to consider what I said. “All right. We can talk now or later. Which would you prefer?”
I was suddenly in the mood to talk. I filled in the areas that I had left out during our meeting in the coffee shop, giving it a recognizable timeline. I didn’t embellish or soften my memories of the Mulligans. The saga of the stolen rabbits and the hunger of the Mulligan family as Alfred starved them to buy his mules and equipment spared neither Alfred nor Fred nor me. I also told happy, funny things, and when I did, she smiled. During the story of the crazy man and the kindness and heroism of her grandfather, I saw a hint of tears in her eyes, tears that continued to accumulate as I spoke of Alfred’s death, the stillbirth of Annie Lee’s baby, and my efforts to help the Mulligan family. I ended with the parting conversation between Fred and me, and by admitting that I had no excuse for my sixty-year absence.
I breathed a deep sigh when I finished. “Well . . . that’s what I remember. There are still a lot of stories, but I can’t think of them right now. Ask whatever you want.”
Lisa June looked vacantly at her plate. “What’s there t’ ask? You and my grandfather really were best friends. Y’all loved each other. Then you escaped from this Kentucky asylum, got an education, and didn’t want anything more t’ do with Mulligans. I understand that. I don’t think you’re awful. And I understand now that you’re here lookin’ for Fred’s forgiveness for leaving him t’ fend for himself when you promised otherwise.”
Lisa June stopped speaking for a moment and this time she was the one who sighed. “But Fred Cody Mulligan is dead,” she continued. “We’re in th’ same boat, Dr. Zelinsky. Neither of us can get what we want from Fred. But you’re forgiven for whatever you think you might have done to him. As his granddaughter, I forgive you. From what you’ve said, I’m pretty sure that’s what he would want me t’ do.”
She dabbed her mouth with the starched white napkin, then we both got up from our chairs, shook hands, and I watched as she went out the door of the Keeneland Café. That made me sad because I felt that I would never see her again, but I was also happy that she might have a new appreciation for at least some of the people in her family, especially Fred. I felt a bit easier. Freer.
There was really nothing I wanted to do now. I made reservations for my flight back to New Hampshire and decided to spend the remaining days with the Langleys. I hoed corn with Melvin. I had forgotten how morning glories tangled your feet in a cornfield. I tripped over them and fell on my face. That’s an ignominious event for a farm boy. In the heat of the day, Melvin and I peeled to the buff, dove into the river, and swam under the broad leafy limbs of the old sycamore. I remembered Fred, Lonnie, LD, and myself swimming. Our bodies had been young and wiry and I commented to myself that Melvin and I looked wrinkled and old, the only way we could look. I wondered if Melvin was thinking the same thing. We went blackberry picking, filling several two-gallon buckets with big ripe wild berries. Jenny made blackberry cobbler, and it tasted just like Mom’s. Mr. Rick’s son brought his dogs over and we sat on the same ridge we had sat on sixty years before and listened to the hounds bay. And we passed around a pint of Old Grand-Dad. I was having fun. I was really having fun.
The Langleys never asked about the meeting between Lisa June and me, but one evening as we sat on the screened-in porch I spoke of the conversation. I told them I felt better about my life now than when I had first arrived. I had faced up to my failings to some degree and gained a little insight into why I had always felt like a foreigner after leaving Kentucky. “I’ve been thinking about Lisa June too. She’s trying to get her education while working two jobs. What would you think about me setting up a college fund for her?”
“We tried that,” said Jenny. “She won’t take it.”
That sounded like Fred. “Tell me what I can do then?”
“Well, she treasures being close with the people she cares about, but you live in New Hampshire. I suppose you could come see her from time t’ time. She might like that. You’re stayin’ for dinner t’night, aren’t you?”
Immediately, I knew what was happening. “Lisa June’s gonna be here, right?”
Jenny smiled sheepishly. “She said your bein’ here was all right with her.”
The evening went well. Almost all of the conversation concerned my family and my career. Melvin had never met anyone from Brooklyn and I told my parents’ favorite story. “That’s what happened. She told Dad that it just wasn’t right that the cow and the bull were forced to make love in front of everybody and that she thought he should put them in the barn so they could have privacy.”
Melvin was doubled up laughing. “Did he do it?”
“Yeah, he did,” I answered. “Nora never lived that down. Whenever we visited Indiana, Dad would bring it up. Nora would join in the fun. She was somethin’ else.”
“You and Nora had a really good marriage, didn’t you?” said Lisa June.
“Yeah, we did,” I answered. “Sure miss her.”
Lisa got a faraway look in her eyes. “Miss your daughters and grandkids?”
The truth was, while I had called Candy a couple of times, I hadn’t thought a lot about the family. Suddenly, I did miss them. “Yeah, I do. But I’ll be seein’ them soon enough.”
When everyone said good night Lisa June gave me a little hug. It was a long way from a close friend hug, but I sensed a warming trend for the first time.