Page 50 of An Unfinished Story
Claire rolled her eyes. He didn’t know how to stop with the humor. “I wonder what your alma mater would say about you now.”
“Perhaps revoke my degree. But they kind of like me over there in the English department. I’m somewhat of their darling.”
“If they only knew ... So what will you do when you catch the offender? A citizen’s arrest?”
He shook red pepper flakes onto his next slice. “I was thinking about that the other day. I really don’t know. Maybe I can give him the evil eye, and that will be enough.” He showed her his best evil eye, which was more adorable than threatening.
“Oh, that will put the fear of God in him.”
“Can I just say something?” Whitaker asked. “Enough about me.You’vereally come alive in the past few days. I don’t mean it to sound like I’m hitting on you, but you’re so much more beautiful when you’re happy. And so fun to be around.”
“I feel happier,” she admitted, welcoming the compliment. “Thank you. And you look pretty good yourself.”
“Thanks for noticing. Turns out all I had to do was run a few miles in the mornings and stop eating like a goat. But anyway, it’s nice having you around.”
Claire blushed. “You too.”
“Not to mention, you’re the only one who thinks I’m funny these days.”
“Or I’m really good at faking it.”
Whitaker raised his hand. “Medic, please. Someone just stabbed me in the heart.”
Claire laughed, and there was nothing fake about it.
After cleaning up, they moved their conversation to the living room. “I woke up in the middle of the night,” Whitaker said, resting his feet on the coffee table, “and for a minute I thought I was him. I was in a group home, waking up in a bunk bed. It breaks my heart thinking of all the kids out there who grow up without parents.” He shook his head. “To think I’ve spent so long in a mental gutter while children like Orlando are out there fighting real battles. I need to get over myself sometimes.”
Sitting on the other side of the couch, Claire let his thoughts settle in the air. “I can’t wait to read what you’re writing. I can tell you’re changing. For the better, I mean. Just don’t do what David did and keep it all from me. You have to share some of it. At least a few teasers here and there.”
“Soon enough,” Whitaker said. “I’ll share soon enough.”
“I will sneak into your house in the middle of the night if I have to.”
“Is that a threat or a promise?”
Though she couldn’t deny feeling guilty, it felt nice to be hit on, to be wanted. Whitaker was attempting to hide his feelings for her less and less. “I don’t know,” she said. “Is that a flirt or a blunder?”
Whitaker showed all his teeth. “I’d say a blunder of a flirt.”
Their eyes locked, and Claire could see that he was waiting for her to say something, to take a step forward.
Instead, she looked away.
Chapter 21
MAY THEFOURTHBE WITHYOU
After three weeks of writing David’s novel, Whitaker made the final decision to quit his job. He didn’t tell anyone but Claire the news. He still had royalty checks fromNapalm Treescoming in and a few last stocks he could sell; plus Claire had given him 20 percent of her promised offer. It wasn’t possible to continue trying to help people invest when all Whitaker cared about was the written word.
He looked at his decision like there was no better way to invest the rest of his money other than in his dream, a dream that he’d already proved lucrative in the past. He hadn’t hinted about the project to his agent yet, because he wanted to see how the ending came out, but he knew he would be all over it. Same for the publishers.
Whitaker didn’t have time for a day job anyway, even if it was less demanding than the one his father had offered. Writing this novel was taking everything he had, demanding countless hours of editing and polishing, plus tons of research. He’d built a small network of experts in the foster care world who’d welcomed his questions either by phone or over a cup of coffee, and something was happening that he hadn’t anticipated. The knowledge he was gaining was sure to giveSaving Orlandoan air of authenticity, but his motivation to learn had grown beyond the project. With each heartbreaking story he heard, he felt increasingly attracted to the cause of helping these children and knew he’d be involved one way or another long after this book hit the shelves.
A little over two months after Whitaker’s blunder of a flirt, Claire finally got a chance to hear part of what he’d been working on. It was May 4, and they were both sitting on the houndstooth sofa at his house, halfway turned toward each other. TNT was running aStar Warsmarathon, which played on the muted television. Whitaker had made a run to his cellar downtown, and they were drinking a fifteen-year-old Barolo.
Maybe it was the wine that had given Whitaker courage. He’d printed out his selection and was reading the passage where Kevin took Orlando to Longboat Key. Orlando had never been in the water. He didn’t know how to swim and was terrified of sharks and jellyfish and other potentially dangerous creatures.
Whitaker licked his finger and turned to the next page. “Standing waist-deep in the still water, I yelled back to him, ‘Come on!’ Rigid and afraid, Orlando looked back at me like he’d seen a fin circling. I tried again. ‘You’re not living if you’re not totally freaked out!’ Something must have rung true in those words, and the boy who’d become a son to me broke into a run, splashing into the water as if he’d done it only yesterday. A smile burst out of him as I cheered him on with everything I had. What wonder had ever dazzled me more than this moment?”
