Page 21 of An Unfinished Story
Whitaker smiled falsely. “Did she send you out here?”
“No, Claire doesn’t know you were staring at her through the window. I snuck out.”
“It would be nice if you didn’t tell her.”
“Will you hear her out?”
Whitaker sighed and could feel himself swaying. How embarrassing this entire episode felt. He turned away from her, toward the orange water. Pivoting back, he said, “Here’s the thing, Didi. I can feel her pain. It’s almost like she and I are going through some similar things. If I were in Claire’s shoes and someone agreed to read the novel, I’d get my hopes up. I don’t want to get her hopes up.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to write it? She says you haven’t written anything in ten years and that she’s offered you money. Is there something else pressing in your life?”
“Aren’t you bold?”
Didi brushed a hand through the air. “I’m too old to filter.”
“I kind of like you,” Whitaker said.
“So ... what is it? Are you too busy and rich to deal with the project?”
Whitaker put a finger on his chin. “As you can most likely detect, I’m not that together right now. The last thing I want to do is take on the responsibility of attempting to finish a piece of work that Claire holds so dear to her heart.”
Didi took a step toward him. “Then I just have one more question. What are you doing spying on her?”
Whitaker scratched his head and pulled at his long, curly hair. Before he could stop himself, he admitted, “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should hear her out.”
Whitaker half smiled. “Please don’t mention to Claire that you saw me out here. I need to be anonymous right now.”
“You need to be anonymous? What a sad thing to say.” Didi turned and began to walk away. “I can tell you really care, so I’ll let you two work it out.”
Chapter 9
SALSANIGHT
Claire had never been more uncomfortable in her whole life. Not even when Benji Solomon tried to make it to first base in ninth grade. Though she used to dance for fun in high school and college, attempting salsa petrified her. Why in the world had she let Didi talk her into this absurd idea?
It was not that the ballroom crowd there was intimidating. Not at all. In fact, they looked like the nicest group in the world. She didn’t know where Didi had run off to—perhaps the bathroom—but the other widows had melted into the crowd of dancers.
Claire was standing by herself in the corner of the large room, feeling like she was back in high school hoping a boy might come ask her to dance. She turned and looked out a window, chasing safety in the still water. A woman was working a small Sunfish, the sail taut with an easterly wind. Claire craved the protection of solitude and wanted to trade places with the sailor.
Soon the instructor, an older man in fancy shoes and a crisp guayabera, clapped his hands and asked everyone to gather around. Claire hesitantly joined the group in the center of the large wooden floor and noticed Didi returning just in time. Claire pushed away the thought of escaping and told herself that she needed to have some fun for once. All the other widows had giant smiles. Why was she so hesitant?
After thanking everyone for coming, the instructor sent them all to find partners. The ladies Claire had come with turned to the men or women next to them.
Claire turned to Didi, the safe choice, but her friend had already linked up and was giggling with another man. Claire suddenly felt light-headed, and she crossed her arms and looked down at the light-wood floor. Oh, how she wanted to leave, to be a sailor on a tiny boat surrounded by water.
Then a man with a genuine smile appeared. “Can I be your partner?”
Claire met his eyes and smiled back. He was twenty years older and wore a Hawaiian shirt tucked into blue shorts pulled up well above his belly button. A woven belt held him together.
“I’m Billy,” he said with an easy South Texas accent, sticking out his hand.
“Claire,” she said in a tremulous voice, wondering how she could so easily manage a large staff at a restaurant but feel vulnerable now.
“I have to warn you,” he said. “I’m terrible at this. Please forgive me, dear.”
Claire raised her hands in surrender. “I’ve never danced salsa in my life, so you’re already doing better than I am.”
