Chapter 15

“Thanks. Thanks a lot. I appreciate it,” I said.

“What?”

“You let me know my life is in danger ... in front of witnesses ... credible witnesses. I can kill that asshole on sight and get away with it in court.”

“Huh?”

“You tell your dad that if I ever see him again, what I did to him last time was only a taste.”

“What you did last time? You sucker-punched him.”

“Is that what he told you?” I asked. “That I struck him unprovoked?”

“Yeah.”

“I was trying to walk away when he laid hands on me,” I explained. “The entire incident is on tape. Abby’s garage has a good color camera security system. Your dad threw his weight the wrong direction.

“Now, do you want me to fix your shoulder? It’s only dislocated. I can put it back.” I said. “That way you can stay for the class.”

“You think I’d let you touch me?”

“Suit yourself,” I said.

With assistance, Milford took down his telescope, loaded it in his car and drove over to the headquarters building. He was in the medical facility for awhile. He came out with his shoulder heavily strapped and his injured arm in a sling.

The professor had followed him in. When Milford came out, he was arguing with the professor. He jumped in his car, slammed the door and left in a spray of gravel.

Back at our gathering the professor said, “He’s a damn fool. Medical told him not to drive and I couldn’t convince him to stay. As doped up as he is I’ll be surprised to see him in class Monday.”

The fire had settled into a nice bunch of coals ... out came the cooking gear and we fed ourselves. Hot dogs, hamburgers, some steaks, slab bacon thick sliced, sausage, shrimp; if it’s meat we’ve grilled it.

Then there’s foil wrapped potatoes, unshucked water soaked corn on the cob dripping with butter and salt, on the fire. Potato salad, slaw, macroni salad.

It was, “have nibble” “That looks good, do you mind?” “Oh god, you have GOT to try this,” “Pass that my way, please.” “Good lord, beauty ... AND she cooks.”

And beer! Australians drink. Whatever.

The cleanup was stashing the wire grills, bagging the paper and plastic and cans. Someone collected the empty beer bottles... “I brew. Thanks.” The corked bottles went to a Mead maker.

Someone brought out a harmonica, someone else a dumbec, several guitars, a mandolin, a diggerydo. Some enterprising fellow had a Jamaican box bass. They played. It wasn’t great but it got better. Midnight and the professor called it. “Time for school,” he said. Things were put away and we gathered at the meadow with our telescopes.

He began pointing and describing, giving positioning numbers and telling people what they were looking at ... and for. Abby’s Meade was extremely popular. All she had to do was punch in numbers and look through the lens.

“Professor?”

“Abby?”