An Unfinished Story(87)

In the silence that followed, she heard an engine starting up on one of the boats near the landing.

Oliver rubbed his eyes, still climbing back from the news. “I thought he was just like all the others.”

Tears flowed like waterfalls from the adults. Claire swallowed, now knowing exactly what the foreign feeling was. It was the inner mother inside of her trying to escape, the instincts she had suppressed so deeply that she’d forgotten about them. Until now. Looking back at Oliver, she saw him as his mother might, and her heart ached for him.

“Who could blame you?” Whitaker asked, wiping his eyes. “No one knew to tell you. Claire didn’t know anything about you until recently.”

As Claire processed her years of running from the mother within her, Whitaker told Oliver briefly about the book, then added, “Apparently, you meant everything to David. He was writing a book about you. Not exactly about you, but based on your relationship with David. We think you really changed his life.”

“Yeah, I knew about the book,” Oliver said. “He talked about it sometimes.”

“What did he say?” Claire asked, caught off guard once again at how well Oliver possibly knew David.

“Just that he was writing a story with me in it. Like, you know, a kid based off me.”

Whitaker took over. “He didn’t finish it, but the kid is in trouble in the book. Were you in some kind of trouble?”

Oliver looked at Kari and back to Whitaker. “No, I wasn’t in any kind of trouble.”

“But you said you and David had gotten in an argument.”

Oliver nodded. “I had skipped a baseball game, and he started lecturing me. I didn’t like it. So we got in a fight. It was the day before I was supposed to meet Claire. That was the last time I saw him. He dropped me off at the group home and told me he’d be back the next day to take me to meet Claire. I was kind of a jerk but told him I’d still go.”

Claire squeezed Whitaker’s hand and asked Oliver, “I don’t understand why he didn’t give me a heads-up that you were coming, at least. Why the surprise?”

Oliver shrugged. “I don’t know . . .”

She could tell he was holding something back. “What is it?”

With his eyes back on the table, Oliver muttered, “I really don’t know . . .”

Claire’s heart stopped. Had David wanted to adopt this young man? Was that the unspoken truth? Of course it was. She could have been this boy’s mother! No wonder these feelings were coming at her so hard.

Attempting to collect herself, she said in a shaky voice, “He should have told me about you from the beginning.” And Claire had to ask. “Was there anything else he was keeping from me? I guess you wouldn’t know.”

Oliver glanced at her and shook his head.

This young boy might have been her son. It was all too much, the revelations, the deception.

Thankfully, Whitaker stepped in. “He took you to a baseball game down in Sarasota? What was that all about?”

“The Yankees, Orioles, yeah. How’d you know?”

Coming back to reality, Claire dug into her purse. “The only reason we’re here is because we found this picture in his desk.” She slid it across the table.

Oliver stared at it for a long time. “I can’t believe he’s dead. And I’ve spent all these years hating him.” He kept staring at the photo until a smile came.

“Was it a good day?” Whitaker asked.

Oliver looked at him, much brighter this time. “The best. Are you kidding me? Starlin Castro hit one out of the park at the bottom of the eighth, bases loaded. I jumped up and spilled my hot dog all over David, ketchup and relish and everything.”

He handed the picture back to Claire.

She shook her head. “No, it’s yours. You keep it, please.”

Oliver pulled it back with a thanks.

Needing a break from the intensity, Claire asked, “Where do you live? What’s your life like now? We tried to find you at the Oakwood House.” She couldn’t believe she was talking to a boy who might have become her son if David had not been killed. How would she have reacted when they’d come in the door? She wasn’t sure.

“Oh, yeah,” Oliver said. “That was a long time ago. I’m with a family now.”

“You’re adopted?” Claire asked with a shaky voice.

“No, I’m living with a foster family. Very different than a group home. There’s five of us in there right now.”

In a soft, exhausted voice, Claire asked, “Can I ask where your parents are?” Maybe the answer could help Claire understand him.

Oliver looked at Kari, who was dabbing her forehead with a handkerchief, then back at Claire. “Whoever my father is, he doesn’t know I exist. My mom’s somewhere up in Georgia, in and out of jail. She’s an addict.”

Claire’s bottom lip jutted out. “When’s the last time you saw her?”

“Two years ago. She tried to get me back, but then went bad again. Her rights were terminated when I was twelve.”

Claire found herself nodding at the strength of this young man. “That’s gotta be tough.”

“It happens.”

So many questions, but they couldn’t drill him forever. They talked for twenty more minutes, much lighter conversation exploring his world. Oliver told them that he loved sports, but baseball was his favorite. He also loved food and cooking. And he had really good grades. Claire wanted to clap for him as he talked about the good in his life.