An Unfinished Story(93)

Claire watched Oliver and Whitaker share a knowing smile. Then Oliver flipped his hair off his eyes again and said, “Yeah, I’m really lucky.”

“I’m thinking about taking that bed that’s available,” Whitaker said. “I’d sit by this pool all day every day. Do you think you’ll be here until college? If you’re going to college, that is.”

Oliver nodded. “I want to go to Duke.”

“Duke? Wow.”

“All depends on how I do next year.”

“Do you have the grades Duke requires?”

Oliver was perking up, speaking with more assurance. “I didn’t in ninth grade, but this past year I was kicking ass.” He stopped himself. “Oops, sorry.”

Claire shook her head at them as Oliver and Whitaker smiled again.

“How about baseball?” Claire asked, moving on. “Could you play for them?”

“No, I’m not that good. I’ll keep playing in high school, but I doubt a college will want me. At least, not a big college.”

The thump from a car’s bass shook the ground as it drew near. Once it quieted, Claire asked, “What position do you play?” She knew very little about baseball but was suddenly much more interested.

Oliver punched his palm. “Pitcher.”

“Pitcher?” Whitaker said. “How fast is your fastball?”

Oliver raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Why does everyone ask that?”

“I don’t know. I guess for those of us who don’t know a lot about baseball, it’s the logical question.”

“I’m high seventies at best. There’s a kid on our team throwing in the nineties sometimes. And he throws a mean slider, just buckles right-handers.”

Whitaker offered an encouraging smile. “I’d love to come see you pitch next year.”

“Cool,” Oliver said casually, as if he didn’t take Whitaker’s promise seriously. Perhaps wanting to steer away from talking about himself, he asked, “So what do you need to know for this book?”

Whitaker sat up straighter. “That is exactly the question I’ve been wondering to myself for months now. I truly don’t know. It’s weird talking to you, actually, like you just walked off the page.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Claire jumped in. “Oliver, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, we don’t need to talk about the book or David. The last thing we want to do is upset you.”

“I don’t mind,” Oliver said. “Is the book any good?”

“More than good.” Whitaker looked at Claire for a second and then returned his eyes to Oliver. “Would you like to read it? You kind of have to, actually. Assuming you’re interested.”

“Yeah, sure.” Oliver finished his water.

“Awesome. We, of course, want your permission to publish it. You might get kind of famous. David made you out to be a pretty cool cat.”

Oliver smiled at the idea.

“Claire and I are desperately curious to know what’s true and what he made up. Maybe you and I can come up with the ending together. It’s difficult taking another man’s idea and adding to it. But now that you and I know each other, I have a feeling you could help me finish. If you’re up for it.”

Oliver took his time thinking about it.

Claire thought he couldn’t have been more adorable, and she wanted to see him smile again.

He finally said, “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“The story ended abruptly, like I told you. Orlando is in trouble. I think David used his creative license to drum up some drama. Doesn’t seem like you were in too much trouble back then.” Whitaker was fishing some.

Oliver looked back to the house for a moment. “I was when he caught me, but he kind of helped me out of it. I stopped hanging around the wrong kids and started playing baseball. He’s the one who talked me into trying out.”

Claire smiled, wishing she could have been there. A flash of anger returned, thinking all David had to do was tell her from the beginning.

“That’s awesome you’re still playing,” Whitaker said. “If I was in your shoes and thought he’d run off on me, I might have slipped back to my old ways. Know what I’m saying?”

A shoulder shrug. “I guess I have a good coach. He looks out for me. Comes by here sometimes. And I have a therapist who’s helped some.”

“Dude, you got it going on. Seriously. You could probably teach me a thing or two.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Claire agreed.

Oliver offered a closed-lip smile, and Claire could see they were getting through to him. And it wasn’t about getting answers out of him. It was about seeing how she and Whitaker might get involved with his life, help him continue on this positive trajectory.

Claire decided to dig deeper. “So what does your therapist say about all this . . . how to handle it? I could use a few pointers.”

“He says that every time I feel guilty, I should think about something else. Like a good thought.”

She clasped her hands together under the table. “That’s pretty good advice. I guess if you accept that your guilt is unwarranted, which it is, then thinking about something happier is probably a good practice.”

Oliver was suddenly staring at the table, biting his lip.