Most of the money he had went toward gas and the search for the remaining Maple Street children.
As summer approached its end, I started thinking about Walter’s life.
Then one evening I asked:
“Would you like to stop driving?”
He stared at me.
“What?”
“I have a finished basement.”
It had its own entrance.
Its own bathroom.
And almost nobody ever used it.
Walter immediately refused.
He didn’t want to be a burden.
That word.
Burden.
The word lonely people use when they’ve spent too long believing nobody should have to make space for them.
He still had people on Margaret’s list.
He wasn’t finished.
So I told him:
“You can finish the list from here.”
He looked at me.
“I’ll help you.”
I smiled.
“The internet works just as well in my basement as it does in a motel.”
Then I added:
