An Unfinished Story(44)
It occurred to him that he had forgotten to clean the bathroom. He felt like punching himself in the face. What an idiot! Still, he couldn’t tell her no. Not unless . . .
Not unless he told her the plumbing was broken.
Hmm, then she’d ask about the second bathroom. Oh, Matteo, what do I do now?
With tremendous trepidation, the knight in severely tarnished armor nodded and opened the door wider. “Come on in. Please excuse the mess.”
Chapter 17
TWO DAMAGED SOULS
While driving into Gulfport on the way to Whitaker’s house, distracted by her thoughts, Claire had slammed on the brakes just in time to avoid a muscular man in a sleeveless shirt and flip-flops, walking a German shepherd. It was a few minutes before nine, a mild blue glow to the night sky.
Claire was desperate to hear what Whitaker had to say. He was now the only other person on earth who had read the manuscript. And he liked it! The fact that he’d read it in a day and invited her over immediately said it all. He’d been desperate to ask her about other copies and drafts. Her stalking had apparently paid off.
When she entered his house for the first time, a strong citrus scent attacked her nostrils. The walls were bare and furniture sparse, as if he’d just moved in. A surprisingly fancy houndstooth sofa stood out in the center of the living room like a giant wedding ring in a dark alley. She’d heard he had been married, so this house was obviously his post-divorce bachelor pad.
Pointing to his left, Whitaker said, “The bathroom is down the hall there. First door on the right.”
Claire thanked him and followed his direction. She could see a laptop resting on a folding desk in a room at the far end. Had to be his office. No wonder he was having difficulties writing.
Finding the guest bathroom, she flipped the switch. She saw the Poo-Pourri spray and figured that was what he’d used to spray the house. How bachelor of him.
When she returned to the living room, he sprang from the sofa. “Please don’t judge me too much by my mess. But I guess you now get an idea of where my head is these days. A proper midlife crisis.”
“No judgment here.” At least, she was trying not to pass judgment.
He crossed his arms. “I want to say again how sorry I am for lying. As you can see, I’m in even worse shape than Kevin is in the beginning of the story, as far as midlife crises go. But that doesn’t excuse me lying to you.”
Claire totally agreed but chose not to respond.
Whitaker sighed. “Frankly, I’m so embarrassed by this place I suggest we go somewhere else.”
Back outside, she moved her purse from the passenger seat of the convertible, and he climbed in with a messenger bag. He gave her directions to a wine bar only a half mile away, and they shared small talk as they made the short drive south.
“I can’t imagine running a restaurant,” he said, glancing at her, “especially a successful one. What’s your secret?”
“I grew up in my father’s diner, so it’s all I’ve ever known.” She looked up for a moment, as if her father were among the stars waking in the darkening sky. Leo had been such a good father, even after her mother had left them to start her other family. Claire could still hear his roaring laugh that would pour out of the kitchen and make all the guests in the dining room smile. Who knew? If he were still alive, Claire still might have been in Chicago running the diner with him.
With her eyes back on the road, Claire imagined Leo aligning the stars in her favor, helping her preserve David’s legacy. Despite Whitaker’s many faults, he seemed like a genuine and kind man—very different from David, but hopefully the right choice to finish the book.
Whitaker ran a hand through his longish hair. “As many restaurants as I’ve seen open and close over the years, it must truly be in your blood. Seems like there are so many things you have to perfect: the menu, the staff, the setting. And only if you knock them all out of the park can you survive your first year.”
Claire could have added many more to his list but got his point. “Our first year wasn’t exactly easy, but let’s just say I knew what to look for. My dad opened Leo’s back in the seventies, and it became an institution in the Loop. I learned from a lot of his mistakes.”
It was nice remembering her father, but she was eager to get into the discussion about the book as they parked along the main street in Gulfport. They sat outside under a yellow awning lit up with Christmas lights. Music akin to that of Buena Vista Social Club tickled the night air, which was just cool enough to make one consider long sleeves or pants. Alcohol-infused laughter came from the only other occupied table, where two couples were enjoying a night out on the town.
A young man with a seashell necklace burst out of the front door spitting Spanish with a Cuban tilt. Claire knew a little Spanish from school but couldn’t keep up.
Whitaker stood and embraced the man, machine-gunning him back fluently.
After a minute of back and forth, their faces in close proximity, Whitaker turned and introduced his friend Miguel to Claire. “You might know Leo’s South on the beach,” Whitaker said. “That’s her place.”
“Oh, of course. My wife and I love your food. I’m so happy to have you.” Miguel turned to Whitaker. “For you, my friend, I’ve procured a Galician godello from a very small producer that will be right up your alley.”