“Come on, Walt,” Frank said, sitting down. “Don’t be like that.”
“Then don’t look at me like that,” Walter said.
“Like what?” Frank said.
“Like how everyone else has been looking at me over the last couple of weeks.”
Walter made sure to whisper and keep his voice down. People were expecting him to explode, and as much as he would have loved to give them a show, he still wanted them to lose interest in him. They could all go back to their lives and stop worrying about now alone Walt with a history of drinking, thank you.
“We’re concerned for you,” Frank said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Walter said.
“Oh, get over yourself,” Frank said. “It’s not like that.”
“You think I’m gonna drink again,” Walter said.
“Do you want to?” Frank said.
“We all do,” Walter made a sweeping motion with his hand. “That’s why we meet here twice a week, so we don’t ever do what we want.”
“Yeah, well, when things happen—”
“My wife is dead,” Walter said. “You don’t need to cut around the comers. I can tell you she won’t mind.”
“Well, she would mind your drinking,” Frank said.
Walter tried to speak, but Frank put his hand up.
“I’m saying that we’re all here for you,” Frank said. “And if you want to talk . . . or not talk, then that’s fine.”
“I am fine.”
“You don’t have to be,” Frank said. “Hell, if you’re fine, then I’m sure that any of the guys and gals in here would trade an arm and a leg to be fine. How is it that you managed to be fine, Walter? We would like to know.”
Walter rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.
Frank seemed to get the message.
“Look,” he said. “I came over here to ask if you wanted to come with a couple of my friends over to Scotia. My pal Benny’s got a boat, and he wants to put it on the Mohawk. Plans on drifting around for a bit, maybe stop by a friend’s house in Vischer Ferry and then come back. You thinking about coming along?”
“Why would I do that?”
“To get out of your house Walt,” Frank said. “Unless you want to tell me that you enjoy being alone there.”
Even though no one in the meeting was looking at him but Frank, he could feel all of their eyes on him, or rather, their attention focused on his body language, what he was going to say, the tone of his voice, and so on. They were all watching him, but they at least had the politeness not to make it public. They still weren’t polite enough to leave him damn well alone like he wanted, but he had to give them some credit for covering it up.
Frank leaned back in the chair.
“You’re not a bad guy, Walt,” Frank said.
“You know what I did,” Walter said.
“I know you didn’t plan for it to happen,” Frank said. “Sure, you might have been drunk out of your mind when it happened, but you didn’t have much of a say in the actual events. Jack and Annabelle could still have flown into that truck regardless if you had been sober or not. But right now, Walt, right now, you do have a choice.”
The meeting was starting to convene.
“You have a second chance here, Walt,” Frank said. “You aren’t a bad guy, I know, but when bad things happen to people, it makes ’em desperate. And there’s nothing more dangerous than an upset, desperate man. You and I both know the danger such an occurrence has, not only on the person, but the people around them as well. Think about my offer; we can talk after the meeting.”
The meeting was small and uneventful.
What did all these people know, with their small problems? Hell, the closest thing to how Walter felt and viewed himself was Bob, of all people, who at this time was still very much able to walk and talk and beat his wife. Bob wasn’t a good person, and neither was Walter. He was tired of their purity, tired of it all.
You’re not a bad person, Frank had said, but what did Frank know? None of them had seen what he saw, heard the sound of his son’s skull bursting open like a frozen watermelon or the sound his daughter had made as the glass pierced her face. None of them knew what it was like to go home after that, to open the door and tell Beth that he had done it, he had turned away for one moment, and at that moment their lives had more or less ended. He thought about killing himself, jumping off the Hudson Bridge, or one of the other ones—as long as the drop was long and the water was frozen solid, it would work for him. He was flexible that way.
Sure, some of these people here at the meeting had problems with their children, but at least they had children, they had someone to look back on someone to redeem themselves.
Walter didn’t have anything, and with his wife nothing more than ashes, he didn’t have much left anyway.
He didn’t go with Frank that weekend to Scotia, nor did he go with Frank on any other occasion.
You’re not a bad guy, Walter, You’re desperate.
You can be both, he thought, turning toward Rebecca.
“It’s not your fault,” Walter said. “None of this is your fault.”
“It’s my father’s,” Rebecca said.
“Yes, but don’t be so quick to judge,” Walter said. “Your father did what he did out of love.”
“A lot of people have been killed by love,” Rebecca said.
“Oh, spare me the teenage melodrama, okay?” Walter said. “You’re obviously a lot older than your years, so act like an adult. Your father didn’t know what he was doing when he did what he did, but don’t be so eager to cut him out of your life. Plenty of fathers have made mistakes over the years, and if his worst sin was that he wanted to keep his wife from dying and protect his family, then he
