An Unfinished Story(100)

Claire was perhaps even more active than Whitaker in building this circle of love. Whitaker had seen the mother in her come alive, and she was there for him all the time, working closely with Jacky and Oliver’s case manager, making sure he had everything he needed, thinking of the things that only a woman with motherly instincts was able.



Due to the migration of the snowbirds and the century-long history St. Pete and Tampa Bay had with the New York Yankees, Tropicana Field in downtown St. Pete came alive when the Yankees came to town. Though the covered, air-conditioned stadium was home to the Tampa Bay Rays, Yankees fans often outnumbered the frustrated Rays fans, who wanted new management and a new stadium. It didn’t help that many in the Rays administration had been doing everything they could to move the stadium out of St. Pete.

It was a damn fine day to go to a baseball game. And an even finer day to take Oliver to the first regular-season game of his life. Whitaker, Claire, and Oliver climbed out of their Uber at the front door and quickly found some shade under an oak tree to wait on Whitaker’s parents. When the Yankees came to town, it was always a packed house. Decked-out Rays and Yankees fans moved in hordes toward the stadium, an occasional chant rising up from the excitement.

Oliver was wearing a white Yankees jersey with black stripes and the hat Claire had given him, and he looked to be bursting at the seams, ready to get inside and take his seat. Claire and Oliver were joking with each other as Whitaker scanned the crowd for his parents.

There they were.

Staff Sergeant Jack Grant was limping across the street in his veteran’s hat. Sadie was next to him, overdressed for a game, waving excitedly all the way until she reached them. Though Oliver had only known the Grants for a little over a month, no one had spoiled Oliver more than Sadie. She treated him no differently than her other grandchildren.

“Hey, Dad,” Whitaker said.

Jack stuck out his hand, but Whitaker opened his arms and wrapped them around his father’s shoulders. Holding back a cry, Whitaker said, “You’re one hell of a guy. You’ve made his whole world.”

Jack patted Whitaker’s back before letting him go. “He’s a great kid. I wish I could give him the world.”

“This is a good start.”

“Well, I’m more excited than he is. And I hope he doesn’t mind, but I want to see my Rays tear the Yanks apart. We’re only two games back.” Jack smacked Whitaker on the shoulder and moved on to Oliver and Claire.

Whitaker hugged and kissed his mother. “Where are your Rays colors?”

“They’ve never been my colors, darling. Besides,” she said, peering over at Oliver, “I think I’ll pull for the Yankees today.” Then she winked.

Whitaker turned in time to see Jack pecking Claire on the cheek and then shaking Oliver’s hand. Oliver looked up into Jack’s eyes.

“Now, that’s a handshake, son!” Jack exclaimed.

Oliver busted out a grin that nearly brought Whitaker to his knees. Every time his father had pushed him to the edge, Jack would break from his hardened veteran shell and stun the world with the love that was so evidently still alive in his heart.



It’s funny to think how we process experiences differently, Claire pondered, watching Oliver’s reaction when he saw the seats, which were six rows behind the plate.

“Are you kidding me!” he yelled, spinning his head around, taking in the bright lights and loud music, then putting his eyes on the field.

When he sat down between Claire and Jack, he said, “This is the greatest day of my life. Thank you, Jack. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. As long as your Yankees lose, I’ll bring you back.” Jack hit him on the leg.

Oliver smiled and returned his eyes to the action.

When the Yankees took the field, Oliver stood, put his pointer finger and thumb against his mouth, and blew out a loud whistle. Bursting with energy, he pointed at each player, calling them out by name, throwing out stats too. Claire, Whitaker, and Oliver had watched at least five games together on TV recently, and Claire had learned more about baseball in the last month than she’d known in her entire life of being a fair-weather Cubs and Rays fan.

They ate popcorn and peanuts, watched the players warm up, and listened with joy as Oliver continued to spit out numbers like a statistician, teaching them all a thing or two. A cameraman working his way down the steps stopped to take a picture of the five of them. Jack paid forty bucks for a package of various-size copies.

Once batting practice was finished, as Oliver was chomping at the bit for the game to begin, Jack tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Oli, come with me. I want to show you something. We’ll be right back.”

Oliver looked at him in surprise, and Claire thought he might turn him down. The game was about to start! But no one turned Jack Grant down. Especially when he’d bought the tickets.

Oliver and Jack ascended the steps and disappeared.

“What’s that all about?” Claire asked Sadie.

“I have no idea. You know Jack. Probably wants to show him the water tank with the stingrays.”

Sadie looked back and forth between Claire and Whitaker. “I like you two together.”

Claire wrapped an arm around Whitaker’s neck. “Me too.”

“I think I’m bringing up the rear,” Whitaker said, cracking a peanut shell. “But I guess someone has to. It’s a shame I inherited my father’s looks and not yours, Mom.”