An Unfinished Story(81)

As they stood to leave and she put her hand on his arm, he could feel the fires uniting now, one collective wildfire burning in his soul. He didn’t know much for sure in this world. He didn’t even know how he would pull off the ending of David’s book. But he knew that he loved Claire.

When they returned to her bungalow, Whitaker escorted her to the porch door. He found himself nervous again, two opposing voices playing tug-of-war in his head.

Amid a symphony of night sounds, Whitaker pulled her toward him. “I’ll keep trying the social media angle, but I have much more faith in Laura. Let’s give her a chance before we do anything else too drastic. I’m not against making our search more public, but I’m not sure we need to.”

Claire drew a line with her finger from his chest to his navel and whispered, “Fingers crossed.”

They kissed, and as they pulled away, she said, “I’m getting there, Whitaker. Trust me.”

“I know you are.” He put his cheek to hers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

As he returned to the Rover, a smile rushed over him. He couldn’t put a finger on it, but tons of good was coming. Out of this whole mess he’d made, something wonderful was well on its way.



With a cup of coffee and two fried eggs in front of him, Whitaker pondered Claire’s request from the night before. She wanted to meet his parents. What a loaded idea. But he wasn’t as opposed to the notion as he’d thought he might be. The typist might have pushed a meeting off for days, weeks, or even months. But that skin had been shed.

In its place, the writer felt nearly eager to share his current life with his parents. The last time he’d seen them, he’d scurried out of the yacht club with the sad news of Lisa’s engagement. And he’d certainly felt their eyes on him during his absurd and most certainly childish retreat.

“What did we do wrong in raising him?” Jack had probably asked Sadie once Whitaker had left, begging the server for another drink.

“Oh, Jack, he’s still growing up; that’s all.”

“He has gray hairs. I was fighting for my country at half his age.” His grip would have tightened around his empty glass. “I swear to God, kids these days.”

Whitaker had spent too long wondering how that conversation had gone. But now he just wanted them to be involved. To meet Claire, to hear the story of Whitaker and Claire’s journey. And to share their incredible discovery that Oliver was alive.

For a second, as he cut into a deliciously runny yolk, Whitaker wondered why he wasn’t more hesitant. Sure, there was a possibility that Jack could say the wrong thing. He most certainly would embarrass Whitaker to no end. But it didn’t really matter.

Whitaker liked Claire, and he wanted to share her with the ones he loved. And he did love his parents. So damn much. Perhaps all the grief he had with his giant family had been of his own making. Perhaps he was the problem. Either way, that was all in the past. With this new lens on life, Whitaker reached for his phone.

“Mom, good morning.”

“Hey, sugar. Aren’t you up nice and early.”

Whitaker found himself surprised that he didn’t feel suddenly defensive. The typist might have said, “I get up early every morning to write.” But, no, the writer said, “I know. Actually, I woke up feeling so alive today. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”

His ex-wife might have told him she was his biggest fan, but in truth that role had always been filled by his mother. With her pom-poms shaking, Sadie cheered, “I love to hear that! I know you’ve been going through some stuff. And I’ve tried to call.”

“I know you have. Thank you for worrying about me. I had a little setback but feeling much more together now. Actually, I wanted to see if you and Dad wanted to come over this weekend for dinner. I’d like you to meet Claire.”

A pause, the lull between waves. Whitaker imagined Sadie raising her hands as if he’d made a touchdown. Then setting her pom-poms down and doing a toe touch. “Let’s go, Whitaker. Let’s go!”

Unable to contain herself, Sadie jumped down from her cheerleading stunt and said, “We’d love to meet Claire. And Saturday night is great for us. Your dad is fishing earlier, but he’ll be back shortly after lunch.”

“Excellent.” And Whitaker found himself scratching his head, wondering where his sarcasm had gone. He was actually excited.

When he hung up, he cut into his egg again. “Walter, what’s gotten into me?”

In his stately tone, Walter replied, “We’re all glad to have you back, young Whitaker.”

Once the caffeine had fully kicked in, Whitaker realized what he’d just committed to. Sure, he’d been keeping a neater house as of late. But not neat enough for the rendezvous spot for Staff Sergeant Jack Grant and Sadie to meet Claire. He had four days and knew he’d better make the best of them. The writing could take a back seat for a while.

First and foremost, the outside needed some serious attention. Had there been an HOA in his neighborhood, they would have thrown him out years ago. Pulling on some cutoff shorts and beat-up tennis shoes, Whitaker left the house and walked shirtless to the shed. Lizards dashed away as he pulled open the plastic door. The smell of mildew hit him hard. Though he hadn’t planned on it, he decided that cleaning out the shed needed to be his first order of business. He removed everything.