An Unfinished Story(79)

He could look into her eyes forever. “I’m just cutting to the chase. Enough of this already.”

Whitaker’s phone rang, and he looked at the screen. It was Laura from the agency returning his call. “That was quick,” he said to Claire.

Leaving the table, he answered. “Hey, Laura, thanks for getting back to me. Now, may I ask what you do, exactly?”

“I do a little bit of everything these days. Been at this more than thirty years. Was a case manager for fifteen years. Fostered kids for much longer than that. Now I’m a director here at the agency.”

Her confidence excited him. “Then I’ve found the right person.”

“We’ll see. So you need to find a boy with only a picture and a first name?”

“I know it’s not a lot to go on. We do know the group home where he was three years ago.”

He glanced over at Claire, who was watching him pace back and forth along the sidewalk.

“And if it made it into the file, my friend’s husband was acting as a mentor and had surely gone through the background check process.”

“That helps. But three years is a long time, Whitaker. I hope the boy’s not even in the system anymore. We try to place them as quickly as possible. Either way, on any given day, we’re dealing with over three thousand children. Removals and placements are happening all the time.”

“Understood. Pardon the cliché, but I know it’s a needle-in-a-haystack thing. Nevertheless, I think Oliver would want us to find him.”

“I’ll tell you what. Text me his picture and the other info and let me think on it. I’m not promising anything, but if you’ll be patient, I can turn over a few stones. How about that for a cliché?”

“Not bad, Laura. I like you already.” Whitaker eyed the fish tacos being delivered to the table. “I’ll send the picture right over. And thanks. Thanks so much for everything you do.”

“Once you get to know some of the children, it’s easy to do.”

“I can only imagine.” Whitaker thought about Orlando and Oliver. “Okay, my friend is about to eat my tacos. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Once he’d ended the call, Whitaker texted Laura the photo and other info and then sat back down. “I am carelessly optimistic. It’s a matter of time now.”

“She thinks she can help?” Claire asked.

“She knows she can help. It’s just a matter of her being careful about it. She wants to do whatever’s best for Oliver. Now about that date . . . Is tonight too soon?”





Chapter 32

I’M GETTING THERE

Whitaker had not taken a woman out on a proper date in a long time. Several hours after she’d dropped him off, as he rode along the beach toward her house in his especially clean Land Rover (he’d also fixed the broken belt), he found himself terribly nervous, his mind scrambling, his body jittery. He kept telling himself to relax, that he’d been spending almost every day with this woman for half of a year. Ah, but things were most certainly different now.

It was seven and still bright outside, and the warm breeze was blowing hard against the palm trees along Pass-a-Grille Way. Whitaker eased to a stop in front of her house and tried to compose himself. This was his chance. He’d craved her for so long.

Whitaker wanted a partner to share the fun times with. He wanted someone to remind him of what the fun times were. Claire could be that partner. She was the one who’d lifted him out of the abyss, and she was everything that Whitaker ever wanted, and he was getting his chance. What a lucky guy.

“You’d better not screw it up,” Whitaker told himself, stepping down from the Rover. He straightened his white linen shirt and ran his hands along his hair, hoping he still had some game left in him. He walked into the porch, noticing a copy of The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck on the hammock. He knocked.

Claire opened the door, and the light bent as Whitaker searched for the right words.

She was wearing a one-piece jumper, and it pushed and pulled in all the right places. Her long hair shone as it fell past her shoulders. She looked at him through her glasses. “Hi.”

Whitaker smiled and reached for her hand. He pulled her in and kissed her. “You look amazing.”

“You look more handsome than I’ve ever seen you.” She touched his naked upper lip. “And I so love your face without a mustache.” Another kiss.

Whitaker felt his impulses trying to breach the castle walls, but he reminded himself that he needed to treat her with a tremendous amount of care tonight.

“Come in for a second.” She took his hand and pulled. “I have something for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Whitaker asked, letting her drag him inside.

Whitaker waited with Willy while she scurried into the kitchen and returned with a beautifully wrapped present, clearly a piece of framed art, a couple of feet tall. As she handed it to him, she said, “You’re the one who encouraged me to pick up my camera again, so I thought it only fitting.”

Whitaker carefully untied the elaborate gold bow and pulled back the emerald paper. Holding up the reclaimed wood frame, he looked at the photograph. It was a picture of a manatee in the surf.

“You took this?” he asked, looking at her, blown away by her skill.

“Yeah. Like a month ago.”