“What does that mean?”
He tapped two fingers against his temple. “Accident. Long time ago. Head injury. I only remember pieces. Not the order.”
I glanced at the key. “What about that?”
He touched the brass key gingerly, as if surprised I noticed it. “No idea. Something important, I think.”
After that, I started bringing him food.
Walter had a bad leg too. He could walk, but not well. People kept telling him to stay positive before not hiring him.
After that, I started bringing him food.
Coffee some mornings. Soup at night. Gloves. Socks. A decent hat. I learned when he stayed near the store and when he tried for a bed at the church shelter.
We started talking for real.
“Did you ever marry?” I asked him once.
I told Megan Walter could remember recipes but not his own history.
He thought about it.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “I feel like I would remember disappointing one woman that badly.”
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee.
I kept telling my wife, Megan, about him.
I told Megan Walter could remember recipes but not his own history.
Megan listened to all of it. Then one night she said, “Why don’t we invite him over?”
So the next day, I asked him.
I looked up. “You sure?”
