An Unfinished Story(101)
A vendor in the aisle yelled, “Ice-cold beer!”
“I think you and your father are the most handsome men in this stadium.”
“I agree,” Claire said, smiling with Sadie.
A few minutes later, while Sadie poked around on her phone, Claire said to Whitaker, “What a great day, huh? I’m not sure anything makes me happier than seeing him smile.”
Whitaker leaned over and kissed her with peanut breath. “I’m right there with you.”
The three of them stood to let a couple in blue wigs and Rays uniforms pass by with nachos and sodas. The smell of the pickled jalape?os rose up into the air, and Claire was tempted to snag a chip. When was the last time she’d had ballpark nachos? Maybe years. The two die-hard fans squeezed in next to Whitaker, and he made small talk with them.
Just as Claire opened her mouth to ask where Jack and Oliver were, she saw them on the field near the dugout. She hit Whitaker on the leg and pointed. “What are they doing down there?”
Whitaker was shaking his head in wide-eyed surprise.
The vendor was coming back up the steps yelling, “Ice-cold beer!”
Claire looked closer and saw a glove on Oliver’s hand.
The announcer cut through the noise of the crowd, saying, “Welcome to Tropicana Field!” His voice echoed throughout the stadium. “We’d like to start off today’s game with the ceremonial first pitch!” More echoes.
Putting it all together, Claire looked at Sadie. “Did you know about this?”
Sadie shook her head.
Claire grabbed Whitaker’s shorts.
The announcer continued, “Today’s ceremonial first pitch will be thrown by a young man representing the David Kite Foundation, a nonprofit working to change the lives of foster children in Pinellas and Pasco Counties.”
Claire couldn’t believe her ears.
“Please welcome Oliver Hastings to the mound.”
Claire stood so quickly she knocked the popcorn out of Whitaker’s hands, and it spilled all over their feet. Whitaker and Sadie stood, too, and they cheered like this was the last game on earth.
As Oliver walked toward the mound, Claire took a peek at Jack, standing on the sidelines with crossed arms. He wore the kind of proud grin you might see on a grandfather.
Claire turned her eyes back to Oliver. His smile stretched to his ears as the catcher handed him a ball and gave him a pep talk. Then Oliver strutted up to the mound as if he’d made that walk a million times.
Before winding up, Oliver looked up and right, searching for where they were sitting. Claire, Whitaker, and Sadie screamed his name until Oliver found them. With the ball tightly clutched in his right hand, he pumped his fist.
Claire melted, and so did everyone around her.
As Oliver wound up, she so hoped he wouldn’t embarrass himself. He didn’t need the shame of a bad throw holding him back. In fact, for a second, she felt angry at Jack for putting such a huge responsibility on him.
Please make it to the catcher, she prayed.
Her fears were unwarranted.
Oliver’s windup was gorgeous, and he slung the ball with grace. It hit the leather of the catcher’s glove with a smack that could be heard all the way up in the seats. Claire cheered even louder, only to be outdone by Whitaker, who was screaming shamelessly.
Claire turned to Sadie and hugged her. “What an amazing idea.”
Sadie nodded in agreement, wiping tears from her eyes. “Jack knows a lot of people in this town, doesn’t he?”
That was the day that Claire fell in love with baseball. And the first day she truly understood what it might mean to be a Grant.
Chapter 40
I DON’T HEAR THUNDER
I have a story. Wrapping up the ending now. I’ll have something for you in a few hours. And by the way, you will love it.
This was the message Whitaker texted his agent early in the morning after the game. He’d been sitting at David’s desk since 3:00 a.m. writing with grand inspiration. One-Eyed Willy had sneaked into his office at about five and was perched on the bookshelf watching Whitaker type.
His agent had finally responded back at six. Give me more.
Whitaker pulled himself away from the ending to respond: Not yet.
I Hear Thunder?
No, Matt, not I Hear Thunder. I am the fucking thunder. Brace yourself. Story imminent. Over and out.
Whitaker closed his messaging app, turned off his Wi-Fi, and went back to work. His fingers danced like they never had before. The end of the story came as if it had been there all along. Of course it had! Whitaker had been so caught up in his own ego that he’d feared his sentences might not be as crafty as they’d been in Napalm Trees, his wordplay not as lofty, his descriptions not as sexy. What he should have focused on was the story! You can string together the most beautiful sentences in the world, but without a story you have nothing.
He’d figured out the missing piece, the glue that bound Kevin and Orlando. He’d originally considered the possibility of Kevin or Orlando dying. That might have been a tearjerker.
But it wouldn’t have been true. It wouldn’t have been true to what David wanted and where David was headed.
And the lesson Whitaker had learned over the past six months was that David was headed toward a love story. One big beautiful love story.
The writer’s fingers continued to fly, and tears rolled down his cheeks as the story nearly told itself. A new character had entered Kevin’s life, turning his world upside down. Turning Orlando’s world upside down.