Page 42 of An Unfinished Story
“And both going through some difficulties?”
Claire cocked her head.
“If you want me to do this, you’ll have to let me pry some.”
“I know,” she said, pondering Whitaker’s question. “I’m not bothered by the question. More, just trying to think of his difficulties. I mean, he worked too much, I guess. But he wasn’t really struggling. Almost the opposite, like he’d found the secret to life.” Claire remembered looking at David sometimes, wondering how he could possibly be so happy. Not that they had a reason to be sad anymore, but he was often on a totally different plane of existence, of enlightenment, even.
“Which speaks to my point about wisdom. I can sense it.”
“David had his midlife quirks, too, though his seemed to lean toward healthier vices, like running and biking, and then writing, of course. Once we realized we weren’t going to be parents, I opened Leo’s, and he became an exercise junkie, always training for the next marathon or triathlon. Some people buy Harleys. He bought road bikes.” Claire could see David’s shaven muscular legs protruding from his neon-green cycling shorts. “Then he read your book and started writing. He threw himself into it just as much as he had into his training. He was that kind of guy. Why do anything less than full throttle?”
“I could have taken a few pointers on negotiating the midlife bridge. He sounds much more put together than me.”
Claire tilted her head. “Um, you think?”
“Okay, let’s not get carried away. You apparently enjoy picking on me, but please know that I’m a fragile being with sensitive feelings.”
“And an awful mustache.” Claire couldn’t help but poke at him some. It was too much fun.
“Ouch.” He covered his mustache as if she was about to attack it.
Claire burst into laughter. “You know I’m kidding.”
“I’m glad knocking me down lifts you up.” She could tell by his smile that he was having fun too. He handled being tormented well, almost welcomed it.
“I’m only teasing,” she promised. “Please forgive me. But what is this mustache thing anyway? Some sort of statement piece?”
“I guess you could call it that. David bought a bike; I grew this. Same thing.”
Another shared smile.
“It’s not that bad, is it?” Whitaker asked.
“I can see the appeal for other men your age. If you’re looking for a girlfriend, you might want to rethink it.”
Whitaker smiled the smile of a man who’d spent a long time thinking about relationships and had endured the pain of lost love. “Most certainly not looking for a girlfriend. Maybe the mustache is my deterrent. Like how a single woman wears a ring.”
Claire glanced at the rings and felt her shoulders slump. For an instant, she felt a defensive anger, almost rage, bubble up, but thankfully she caught it just in time and held her tongue.
Whitaker followed her eyes to her finger. “Oh gosh. I didn’t mean it like that.” He sighed. “I feel like a jerk. I was talking about women in general—”
Claire took in a long breath. “It’s fine. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”
Miguel appeared, saving the couple from any further awkwardness. He uncorked the bottle and offered Whitaker the first taste. He sniffed and nodded. “That’ll do, my friend.”
Once Miguel left the table, Whitaker apologized again, and then raised his glass to Claire. “To David.”
She clinked his glass with hers. “To David.”
They both drank to her husband and the gift he’d left.
After enjoying a sniff and sip but not making too much of a spectacle like some wine snobs, Whitaker said, “I’ll try not to put my foot in my mouth again, though we may have to explore some uncomfortable spots. I don’t know that I have the chops that I used to, but I’ll tell you this. I will pour my heart into this project and treat it exactly like it’s my own.”
The reality of David’s book coming to life suddenly struck her, and she felt like crying and leaping for joy at the same time. Claire took another small sip and set her wineglass down. “I know you will.”
Whitaker jumped right back into the guts of Claire’s life. “How was your marriage?”
Claire tensed and felt almost combative as the area between her eyebrows tightened. “What kind of question is that? This story has nothing to do with our marriage.”
