Page 99 of An Unfinished Story
Her throat closed momentarily. “What are you talking about?”
“If I hadn’t been such a punk, none of this would have happened.” With all the defeat in the world, he said, “He’d still be alive.”
Claire grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking. A fire burned in her heart. “Never once have I thought that way. You had nothing to do with him dying.”
Oliver looked toward the sand.
She lifted his head up by his chin and looked him in the eyes. “I am so extremely thankful that you came into our lives. And I’m so happy that David was able to feel what it was like to be a father before he died. I don’t ever want you to think you had something to do with his death. You didn’t. You hear me?”
He offered an unsure nod.
She let go of him. “I’ve felt the same way, like it’s my fault. Like he’d still be here if I hadn’t been so vehemently opposed to adoption.” She shook her head. “We can’t think like that.”
Oliver nodded again, and she pulled him into a hug. He squeezed hard, and she knew he’d needed to get that off his chest.
They kept walking and talking, and the gloom of David’s death left their conversation. Soon they were laughing again.
When she finally spotted a tooth, Claire yelled, “Ah, gotcha!” She reached down and retrieved the black tooth, which was about a half inch tall. She handed it to Oliver.
“No way,” he said, lifting his palm closer to his eye, examining her find.
“Hold on. You’ve never seen one?”
“I’ve seen them at Boyd Hill, just didn’t think we’d find one.” He looked left to the water and then held up the tooth. “I don’t understand how anyone goes swimming in there.”
“Sharks want nothing to do with people. Besides, that tooth is probably ten thousand years old.”
“Well, I’m sure he had kids and then his kids had kids.”
Claire smiled. “Baby sharks are called pups.”
A wave ran up around their legs. “Did you ever learn to swim?” Claire asked, recalling the scene in David’s book. “No big deal if you haven’t, just wondering.”
“Yeah, I can swim. But I like swimming in pools better. Where you can see what’s in there with you.”
Though the storm crept closer, the sun was breaking through the cumulus clouds, and the temperature rose several degrees instantly. Oliver removed his shirt, revealing his super-white stomach and chest. She noticed a pink scar, about four inches long, running from his clavicle to his shoulder. Though she had no idea where it came from, she could only imagine. And instead of letting the scar sadden her, it only served to make her feel even more compassion for him.
After walking a little farther, they sat in the sand. A couple was setting up a University of Florida Gators tent behind them.
Claire tapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Hey, I had an idea the other day. I want to start a foundation in David’s name to support foster children in the area.”
“That’s pretty cool.” He was digging a hole with his heels.
“I thought you might be interested in being the spokesperson.”
Oliver tossed a shell toward the water. “What do you mean?”
“I’d need someone who can speak from experience, tell people what it’s like for you. You could be that young man. You can help me raise money and bring awareness to all the children in need. I think you’d be great at it. And it would be awesome for your résumé—especially a Duke application. What do you think?”
He picked up another shell. “Would I have to talk to, like, a lot of people? Like public speaking?”
“If you wanted to. Public speaking is something you get used to. Might as well get it over with before college.”
He dug the shell into the sand. “I hate getting in front of people.”
Claire turned to him. “What? You’re a pitcher, standing all by yourself on the mound.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. I’m just throwing a ball.”
