Page 38 of An Unfinished Story
“Please, I’m begging you.” He spat pavement dust, the toughness bleeding out of him.
“You want me to let you go so you can do this to someone else? This isn’t my first rodeo.”
The chapter ended with Kevin indecisively staring at his phone with his pointer on the final “1” button, as if it were his finger alone that controlled the boy’s future.
Surprisingly, Whitaker found himself invested in the main characters. As he moved through the pages of absolutely stunning handwriting, several realizations came to him. He paused after the first chapter to mull them over.
Whitaker knew nothing about Claire’s husband. (Wait, was it husband or ex-husband? Maybe deceased husband?) He hadn’t even seen a picture of David, but he knew that by reading these words and by getting to know Kevin, he was also getting to know David.
In the story, Kevin was in his midthirties and wading through a midlife crisis of sorts. Wasn’t everyone in their mid to late thirties? Was David suffering from a similar fight? Was he a happy guy? Was he searching for something? How was his marriage with Claire?
The beginning pages revealed that Kevin had been dumped recently and was feeling like he might never marry. Did this predicament say anything about Claire and her marriage to David? It certainly made Whitaker empathize with him. There was nothing worse than a woman telling you it was over.
Whitaker got the feeling that David was a solid guy, the kind of man Whitaker might have been friends with. The writing was pretty good, but more importantly, he had a lovely view of the world and a unique sense of humor. When it came to writing from the heart, David had the ability. You could teach a writer to follow the rules, but you couldn’t show someone how to pour his heart onto a page.
When Kevin gave Orlando the choice of going back to juvie or working in the yard to pay off the broken car window, the reader, including Whitaker, was given a deep glimpse into Kevin’s soul.
Whitaker fell back into the story as he reveled in David’s novel. By the time he reached the end of the first composition book, he was absolutely immersed. Things would need to be touched up if he accepted the project, which was a possibility taking root. There were, of course, grammar issues amid David’s artful calligraphy, and spots with too much telling. There were sections of dialogue that lacked description or motion and often descriptions that required finessing.
But that wasn’t the point at all. It was good! The characters came alive in Whitaker’s head. David had done a great job of giving Sarasota life.
Whitaker flipped back a page and reread a particular sentence that had caught him. “The beach was an overturned saltshaker pouring out into the Gulf, and above, a stratus cloud eased its way toward Mexico like a pelican fat on bait fish migrating south.”
Several weeks into story time, Kevin opened up to Orlando, telling him how his fiancée had left him the day before their wedding. In return, Orlando shared the details of his broken past. A victim of her own difficult childhood, his mom had been a drug addict and often prostituted herself for her next fix. Orlando was a product of a one-night stand. She’d gotten clean long enough to get him back but then overdosed a week later. Orlando had been found sleeping next to his mother’s dead body. After seven failed placements, he had given up on the chance of family and had decided to age out of the system in his group home.
The first book of the novel ended with Kevin flashing two tickets to Islands of Adventure to visit The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Orlando was a huge fan. The words jumped off the page. “Consider this a bonus. You think you can miss a day of school?”
“You’re joking, right? Are you really taking me to Orlando? Like the two of us going to Harry Potter World? I’ve never been to a theme park.” Orlando paused.
Whitaker reached for the second book and kept going, shredding through pages. He could see Kevin as if he were sitting there next to him, a man waking from a dream, connecting with a paternal instinct long lost, realizing that by giving to this boy, he was feeding himself too. Though Whitaker was a long way from recognizing any paternal instincts, reading about Kevin was almost like looking in the mirror.
Kevin was a disaster of his own unique making, though, playing online poker at work, stealing coworkers’ food from the community fridge, gulping down cable news and screaming at the talking heads. Whitaker roared with joy when Kevin hit bottom, bingeing onDesperate Housewiveswhile pounding wine spritzers.
The typist paused. Should he accept the project, Whitaker knew he’d have to get to know David’s life more. What were his quirks? Had he pulled these ideas out of thin air or had they morphed from his own decay? Whitaker would have to get to know Claire more as well. How had she affected his life?
David had clearly done extensive research on the foster system, and Whitaker wondered where that knowledge had come from. If he did tell Claire yes, that he’d finish the book, he’d need to dive into his own research. He was completely unfamiliar with the life of a child ping-ponging through the system, but he was more than intrigued to learn more.
Getting back to reading, Whitaker wondered if the middle of the story would fall off. Often, writing the first part was easy, but it was keeping the middle alive that made or broke a book.
Whitaker took a few bites of the second half of the sandwich and washed it down with more Coke. He kicked his feet back up and dove into the second book. After another great scene, Whitaker sat up and said, “I’m going to get paper cuts, David. I can’t believe how good this is.”
And then ...
I have to write this book.There it was. The decision.I want to help this book come to life.Whitaker looked at his arms and chill bumps had risen. A story had literally landed on his lap, and he couldn’t believe he’d almost ignored it. What if he hadn’t read it? What if he’d stuck with the lie to Claire? He thought this book might have the answers he was looking for. Might he be so bold as to say Claire was right? He was meant to finish this book.
Sure, helping Claire appealed to Whitaker. Between her persistence, vulnerability, and, let’s face it, beauty, she was a hard woman to say no to. Despite the complication of this book being written by her deceased husband, he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward her.
But it wasn’t just Claire that fueled his sudden desire to finish the book. Or David’s story and the potential satisfaction of helping this dead man come back to life, as Claire said, giving him this final gift. Ultimately, it was because Whitaker saw himself in Kevin. Two selfish fools navigating the world with broken compasses. The only difference was that Kevin had located the Dog Star and found his way back home.
Whitaker craved a way back home, and he wanted to be a part of this journey.
If he had to name one issue with accepting the project, it was that he felt slightly scared. What if he couldn’t do it justice?
Deciding that being scared was not always a bad thing, he continued reading. Wanting to know if Kevin could truly save the boy, Whitaker threw himself right into the third and final composition book. Knowing this story would end prematurely broke Whitaker’s heart. Claire was right. This story needed to go all the way to print.
Whitaker’s heart hurt when Orlando and Kevin got in their first argument. Unable to forgive Kevin, Orlando disappeared, running away from the group home. Kevin spent days looking for him and feared the worst. With only a few pages left, Kevin finally found a clue, hearing that Orlando had returned to his old ways, running with young criminals bound for prison or the grave.
Whitaker had a terrible feeling that either Kevin or Orlando was going to die. And he wasn’t sure he was emotionally prepared.
