And for many years, that had been enough.
Then Margaret became sick.
Cancer.
She died in 2003 after a long illness.
The treatment consumed almost everything they had saved.
Walter lost Margaret.
Then their house.
Then eventually the truck.
By the time he was in his fifties, he was widowed, nearly broke, and completely alone.
The children from Maple Street had grown up.
We had gone to college.
Moved away.
Married.
Changed names.
Started families.
Forgotten the ice cream man.
Exactly as children are supposed to.
Walter wrote that for years afterward, he drifted.
He worked different jobs.
Moved between towns.
Never felt rooted anywhere.
He missed Margaret more than anything.
But he also missed all those children he had watched grow up from behind a truck window.
Then he wrote about Margaret’s final request.
During the last weeks of her life, she made Walter promise her something.
Someday, when his grief became bearable enough, he was supposed to find an ice cream truck again.
Then he was supposed to find the children from Maple Street.
