Free The Walking Man by Wright Forbucks Page A

and my father had lost a wife.
    Before I could acknowledge his advice, Smitty said, "The guy I killed was ninety-two years old and nobody seemed to care, but I can't live it down."
    "We have to seek forgiveness."
    "You're right," Smitty said. "But I'm not sure the guy I killed had a family."
    "Don't worry, we'll find somebody to apologize to," I assured him. "Nobody dies without leaving somebody behind."
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    After much ado, Juliette Dritch agreed to let Smitty use the hospital's handicap van to execute our apology tour. We told her we were going leaf-peeping, peak fall being upon us. Our first stop was the caber victim's daughter. We found her after contacting the Town Clerk in Shyshire, who pulled the victim's death certificate. The dead spectator's daughter lived in a small Cape-style home in north-side Shyshire where people didn't follow cultural norms. Her front lawn was full of junk, including rusted ATVs, an old propane grill, and what appeared to be a 1973 Chevy Vega turned planter. It was a Sunday afternoon. There were several cars in her driveway. Clouds of smoke were billowing from the house's backyard; it appeared a barbeque was in progress. Still in the van, I watched from a distance while Smitty summoned the courage to ring the front door bell.
    "Oh my God, it's the guy that killed Dad," the daughter screamed. "So glad you stopped by. Come on in!"
    Per Smitty, minutes after entering the house, the victim's family disclosed they were delighted that their "Pappa" had finally "bought the farm" and gladly accepted Smitty's apology.
    "We know it's wrong," the daughter confided. "We loved Pappa, but we're so God damn happy that he's finally gone. He was a tremendous pain in the ass. You might have noticed, nobody was yelling, 'Hey, Pappa, get outta the way of that caber!'"
    Smitty told me he could smell the alcohol so he knew he was hearing the truth.
    At the insistence of the family, Smitty returned to the van with a side of ribs and a tub of potato salad.
    "How did it go?"
    "I guess I feel better," Smitty said. "The victims are celebrating their Pappa's birthday."
     
    ~ ~ ~
     
    My situation was far more complicated than Smitty's. I'd compounded my wrong with a near decade of silence. During the two-hour trip to Apple, I was too nervous to speak, which prompted Smitty to tell me on several occasions not to worry because everything was going to be okay. As our handicap van pulled into Apple, my mouth was dry and my teeth were chattering. I hadn't called ahead. I didn't know what to expect. Smitty carried me, wheelchair-and-all, to the front door of Hal's house. There was a Honda Accord in the driveway. It looked old; I figured Dad was visiting. I asked Smitty not to speak unless spoken to. Then he rang the front doorbell for me. Hal answered my summons by greeting me like time had never passed from the days when we were running boys.
    "Hey, kids, come on over here," Hal said. "I want you to meet your uncle."
    I began to cry.
    The words I needed to say were never said because it was unnecessary.
    Present in the house was Hal, his wife Gina, Dad, and my two nephews, Frank and Oscar; one was five years old, the other six.
    My guess was Hal had forgiven me years ago, no doubt blaming my condition for my inexcusable treatment of our mother. He acted like he was expecting me, and perhaps he was. He was wearing his 'duller' T-shirt.
    "Daddy, is this the uncle that can't walk?" Oscar asked.
    "Yes," Hal said. "This is my brother, your uncle."
    "Is it true I could stab you in the leg and you wouldn't feel it?" Frank asked.
    "Yes, it's true," I said.
    "Oscar, get the pocket knives!" Frank yelled. "GET THE KNIVES!"
    Hal smiled. "Your nephews."
    "Good to see you, son," Dad said.
    "Meet Smitty," I said.
    Dinner followed.
    I was overjoyed.
     

Chapter Five
    The Frankensteins
     
     
    After my grievous disclosure of my past indiscretions, twenty-two days, twelve hours, and fifteen minutes passed before Maria returned to