There was something I wanted to ask Dunk about, a subject I avoided for over a decade. Stella brought it up again last night, said we needed to know the answer if Dunk was going to be around our children. “Can I ask you something?”
“I don’t need a prom date, and you’ve already got a lovely lady at home.”
“I’m serious.”
“I am, too.”
“Pickford, he said your mother was Penelope Maudlin. One of the people who got the shot along with our parents. You’ve never talked about her.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“Do you remember her?”
Dunk pursed his lips and looked down at the counter. “Nope.”
“Not at all?”
He shook his head. “It was always just me and Pops. Until you showed me that old yearbook, I had never even seen a photo of her. Pops didn’t keep none of that stuff. I figured it hurt him to talk about it, so we never did.”
“One minute!” the guard shouted.
I leaned in closer toward the glass and lowered my voice. “She got the shot, but your father didn’t.”
Dunk leaned back in his chair, a big grin filling his lips. “And you’re wondering if I can do something? Like you, Stella, Darby, or that Pickford guy?”
“I’m only asking, because if it’s something dangerous and you’re going to be around the kids, we’d like to know.” That came out wrong, and I tried to backtrack. “We’re not worried you would ever do anything to hurt them. We know you wouldn’t. It’s just, if you can do something, we’d like to know what it is.”
“Jack Thatch, the boy who couldn’t die, and his faithful sidekick, Dunk.” He grinned. “There’s a comic book in there for sure.”
“Can you do something?”
“Time’s up!” the guard shouted. “Disconnect all calls and exit here to the left. Have a pleasant evening.”
“Dunk?” I said into the receiver.
Dunk smiled and hung up the phone on his side.
He got to his feet, his bulky body balanced on that silly pink cane.
I tilted my head and frowned. Then I hung up the phone.
Dunk’s eyes grew wide, and he grinned. He held up his index finger.
I watched as he touched the receiver on his side of the cubicle, just a tap.
All the pay phones behind me began to ring at the same time.
I turned to look at them.
One of the guards picked one up, said hello, shrugged, and hung up again. The phone continued to ring.
When I turned back to Dunk, I caught a flash of his orange jumpsuit as he left the room and disappeared down the hallway toward his cell, the heavy metal door swinging shut behind him.
August 8, 2020
Forty-Four Years Old
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