Page 74 of An Unfinished Story
“This is really deep stuff, Whitaker. And it’s become completely evident that David was protecting me. I mean, his coworkers knew more than me!” Claire drifted off for a moment. “David didn’t want me to know that he’d become a father to this boy. Doesn’t it feel that way to you?”
It definitely felt that way, but Whitaker wanted to be gentle. “Kind of, but I think he was acting more like a big brother—to the boy, not to you. We’ll know much more when we find Oliver. But, yes, I think he didn’t want to bring you down as he worked through his own pain of not being a father.” Whitaker felt an urge to point out the lighter side of their discovery. “But, hey, Claire. I have a feeling Oliver was helping him in a big way. And I’m sure he planned on telling you eventually. It’s not like he was keeping some big secret. He met a kid at work and tried to help him out.”
Claire squeezed his hand. “I know. There’s no use jumping to conclusions. I feel like such a bitch. I can’t help thinking back to that day when I told him to stop pestering me about a baby.” She clenched her fists together. “I was so stupid! He wanted to be a father, and I was so selfish that I couldn’t see through my own mess. If we would have kept with our adoption plan, we could have had a child that year.” She touched her belly and sighed. “I was so hardheaded. I think I wanted a baby just as much as him, but I somehow suppressed it, like an extended form of shock when you’re numb to the pain.”
Whitaker turned more toward her and brushed her hair away from her face. “You can’t go tearing up the past like this, Claire. I get where you’re coming from, and I know it hurts, but don’t go beating yourself up. We’re all trying to survive. And we all make mistakes.”
“What an epic mistake I made.”
Whitaker did not find it easy to see her beating herself up. She’d been through enough. “As you and I both know, everything happens for a reason. Even mistakes. We wouldn’t have this gift of a novel to remember David by if everything up to this moment in your life hadn’t happened. I think David wrote it to tell you exactly how he felt. What better way to share with your partner?”
“He could have tried sitting me down and telling me the truth.” Claire dropped her head in exhaustion. “Thank you for going on this journey with me. I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
Though Whitaker was afraid of crossing boundaries, he moved closer and kissed her. To his surprise, she put her hand on his face and kissed him again and again.
“David would have liked you,” Claire said. “You two could have been great friends.”
“I don’t doubt it.” For a moment, Whitaker found it odd to kiss her and hear David’s name in the same breath. But then again, David would always be a part of her. That was the way it needed to be if he wanted to grow a relationship with her.
Letting go, he sat back and put his arm on the door. “Now, let’s go find this kid.”
The gray house with the white columns was tucked into a corner lot a few blocks away from the architecture firm. Two cardinals resting on the stoop flew away when Claire closed her car door.
Whitaker and Claire ascended the steps, and she wondered how many times David had done the same. Her pulse pounded relentlessly as she looked up to the windows of the second floor. Would it be this easy? A boy she’d read and dreamed about for months waiting behind this door, ready to share David’s secrets?
Whitaker led the way and reached for the doorknob. It was locked, so he rang the bell.
“No turning back now,” Claire said, knowing the answers waiting on the other side of the door could destroy her.
“We could turn and run if you want to. I am really nervous right now.”
“I don’t care what’s on the other side of this door. I’m not moving until someone answers.”
They didn’t have to wait long. A rather large man in an oversize T-shirt with his hair greased back opened up the door halfway. “What can I do for you?”
Claire put her hand on Whitaker’s arm, letting him know that she wanted to take charge. “We’re looking for a boy who lives here. Or used to about three years ago. This is a group home, right?”
The man had a slight lisp. “Yes, it is, but I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
Another brick wall.
Claire put up a hand. “No, wait. I understand that you’re not able to share information, and I get it. But this is a special case.” Claire searched for the strength to be convincing. “My husband died three years ago, and he used to work at the architecture firm just north of here on Fourth. I’ve found a picture recently of my husband and this boy, and it seems my husband was helping him out of some trouble, doing some mentoring. I just want to talk to him a little bit. His name is Oliver.”
The man shook his head and started to close the door. “Even if someone named Oliver did live here, I wouldn’t tell you. I’d lose my job.”
“What can we do then?” Whitaker asked.
“You’ll need to go through the placement agency. They’re the only ones who might be able to help you. But, honestly, I’m not sure they will.”
“Wait, please,” Claire said. “Would you just take a look at this picture?” Claire didn’t wait for a response. She held out the photo and watched the man’s eyes, hoping to see the twinkle of recognition.
He glanced at it briefly. “Again, I’m sorry. You need to go about this legally.”
Whitaker backed up. “He’s right.”
As much as she wanted answers, Claire knew the man was indeed right. But they were so close. Turning away, she broke into a cry and started down the steps, following Whitaker.
