Page 93 of An Unfinished Story
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.
Claire set her right hand on the table, palm down. “I didn’t mean to pry, Oliver. I’m so sorry. Let’s not go there, okay?”
“I don’t care what anyone says,” Oliver admitted, squinting. “If he hadn’t been trying to help me, he wouldn’t have gotten in the accident.” He sniffled and wiped a tear before it rolled down his cheek.
Claire felt a sudden hollowness behind her rib cage and glanced at Whitaker. They were both stumped. She didn’t know Oliver well enough to get up and hug him. It wasn’t appropriate. Instead, she leaned in. “If he had never met you, he might have died with something missing. But instead he died with a full heart, happy that you were in his life. Trust me. I didn’t know about you, but I knew something was going on. He’d never been so happy in his life. I thought he was just in a good place, but it was because of you.” Claire choked up. “Trust me, it was you. I’m so grateful that he met you.”
Oliver covered his face with his hands and cried into them.
Claire looked at Whitaker again and then stood and knelt next to Oliver, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself at all, please. I know all about feeling guilty, and it’s a waste of time.” She felt sick inside and could barely handle seeing him so sad.
Oliver cried harder, his adult shell cracking, revealing his inner child.
