Page 55 of An Unfinished Story
Claire looked at the other widows, whose bottom lips were turned out—women who’d also had their lives flipped upside down. She smacked a determined fist against her thigh. “For all of us.”
Claire swallowed a rising tide of emotions and paused to collect herself. She felt her shoulders drop and let out a sigh that could have blown up an oversize pool float in one breath.
One woman clapped, and then the rest followed. Claire met each of their eyes and saw their nodding heads and wet faces. In all the meetings she’d attended, the group had only broken into applause a few times, and their reaction meant everything to her. Claire knew that she was finally breaking out of the cocoon of grief. This was her moment. She’d done it. She’d found the other side of life after David.
Still clapping, a woman stood up and then another. Within moments, the entire circle of women were standing and clapping and cheering her on. Didi offered Claire a hand and lifted her to her feet. Her friend hugged her and then others followed, and for several minutes all of them stood in a circling embrace, the power and hope of thirteen widows—from all walks of life—overcoming the nightmares of losing their soul mates.
It was unquestionably the most touching moment in Claire’s life.
Once they’d all returned to their seats, Lashonda, who was sitting across from Claire, reclaimed the floor. “Thank you for sharing.” She looked at everyone. “As Claire said so eloquently, we must find a way to live a life full enough to count for the ones we’ve lost. We owe that to our husbands.”
Claire was on a roll now and didn’t want to stop until it was all out. “Do you mind if I add one thing?”
“Please,” Lashonda said.
Here I go.“It’s a big deal, at least to me.” She put her hand to her mouth for a moment. “I kissed another man a few days ago. It was the first time I’ve kissed someone other than my husband since before I married him. More than a decade ago.” She let the words settle. “I feel so torn up over it. Like I’m cheating, but I know I’m not.”
The admission came loaded with a closet full of feelings. Sure, there was guilt, so much guilt. The rings around her finger tightened as she confessed. But at the same time, there was an unabashed freedom in saying it out loud. What she’d mulled over for several days now, ever since she had left Whitaker’s house, was that she was not a cheater. She had not cheated on David, and no one would argue otherwise. As obvious as that fact was, she had to keep reminding herself.
Between bouts of guilt, she had also realized how much she’d enjoyed kissing Whitaker. She’d loved the feel of being in his arms and couldn’t deny the attraction she felt toward him. And she was reminded of what it was like to share intimacy with a partner, to not be alone.
After Claire thanked everyone for listening, Lashonda said, “My first husband’s been dead for nine years, and I’m still sad about it. But you know what I’ve realized? I believe we can have more than one soul mate.” She shook her head. “We’re all raised to want to find ‘the one.’ We’re all raised to think that there’soneman out there waiting for us, a magical person we’re meant to spend our lives with. And it’s only a matter of time until we find him.” She raised her hands. “The love of our life. How about thelovesof our life?”
A round of nods.
Lashonda waved her hand in the air, shaking her shoulders with it. “It’s a hard concept to grapple with, but it’s true. I’ve been blessed with two soul mates. When I met my first husband, he was it. I never needed anyone else the rest of my life. We had a great marriage.” She frowned. “But then he was gone. When I fell in love for a second time, I felt guilty, but I concluded that loving another man doesn’t mean that you have to stop loving the first one. I love both of my men equally. In different ways, but equally.” She patted her chest. “I have room inside here for both of them.”
Claire wiped her eyes along with the rest of the women in the circle.
After visiting with several of the widows after the meeting, Claire left with Whitaker on her mind. What she hadn’t shared was that she was worried that she was attracted to Whitaker for the wrong reasons. Yes, she saw the charm of Whitaker Grant. He was just about the wittiest person she’d ever met, and he was brilliant and handsome. If he continued to clean himself up, he’d be one of the most sought-after bachelors in Florida. She certainly couldn’t deny that she enjoyed spending time with him.
But who had she really kissed that day? Was it Whitaker? Or had she put a mask of David on his face? What a sick thought, but she had to come to grips with the possibility. It wasn’t fair to lead Whitaker on if he were nothing more than the closest she’d ever get to David again, a mere replacement.
One last doubt remained ... How could she ever truly love someone as much as she loved David?
Chapter 24
BADNEWSBEARS
Downtown, Whitaker eased into a spot next to Straub Park under the shade of one of the many giant banyan trees, their long, straggly vines conjuring up Tarzanian memories from the playground of his youth. A light rain had fallen long enough to dampen the ground, and the acres of grass shined green in thanks. Across the street, diners broke bread under the umbrellaed tables that stretched for blocks along Beach Drive.
Whitaker strolled past the Museum of Fine Arts, remembering the day he’d given a writing lecture from between walls that hosted some of the finest art in Florida. It had been a long time since he’d strolled through a museum, since before Lisa had left. God, when was the last time he’d attended any of his city’s offerings? Had he lost touch with the city he’d professed his love to?
Established more than a century earlier, the Baywater Yacht Club stood between the lines of restaurants along Beach Drive and the legions of boats bobbing in the marina. Whitaker circled to the front of the building and passed under the flagpole that had been designed to look like a ship’s mast. Though he always felt like a fish out of water, Whitaker had been visiting this club since he was a child, and familiar faces welcomed him as he worked his way to the dining room. Lines of the black-tied commodores who’d run the club looked back at him from their black-and-white photographs on the walls.
Whitaker hated dressing up and felt awkward in his khaki pants and pink polo shirt, but he’d tucked in his shirt to avoid his father’s scrutiny, which could sometimes draw blood. The floors of the grill were covered in a carpet the colors of autumn, and Whitaker thought the pattern might have served well as window curtains for his deceased grandmother’s house ... back in the 1970s.
Upon seeing their son, Staff Sergeant Jack Grant and his wife, Doña Quixote, stood from their table, which was draped in blue. Sadie came around the table, hugged Whitaker, and kissed him on the cheek. He complimented her blouse and then turned to his father, taking his hand. Having left his veteran’s hat at home, his bald spot was shiny on the top of his head. He wore pressed khaki shorts and a Tommy Bahama shirt. No one offered a stronger grip than Jack Grant. He made sure of that. Whitaker had often wondered if Jack sat in his office tugging on a cigar and squeezing a stress ball, working his hand muscles, making sure he was always the dominant one. Jack could turn a chunk of coal into a diamond in one squeeze.
“Son, it’s good to see you. You’re looking fit.”
“Thanks.” Whitaker squeezed hard, determined to crush his father’s grip. But there wasn’t a chance in hell.
As the three of them sat, Whitaker looked around the room. Half the tables were occupied, many by the remaining snowbirds spending their last few weeks before sailing north for the summer. Looking toward the small bar with two wine fridges behind it, Whitaker nodded at one of the managers he’d known for a long time. Returning his eyes to the table, Whitaker marveled at the sixty-four forks aligned perfectly on the left side of the stack of twenty-seven china pieces decorated with ocean scenes. He looked at the twenty-five knives, wondering which one he should use first. And then the six water glasses lined up next to the four different wineglasses. Sometimes he had a hard time deciphering reality from his exaggerations. The club wasn’tthatfancy. Nevertheless, all he needed was one lowball glass filled to the rim.
As the three of them tested the waters of conversation, Whitaker noticed Jack was particularly silent, which was scary. This evening was obviously a dinner invitation that came with an agenda. For some reason, Whitaker had hoped that maybe, just maybe, Jack and Sadie had wanted to spend some time with their oldest son. Truth be told, Whitaker was very excited—slightly hesitant but eager, as well—to share his new project with them. He hoped they’d notice the fire in his eyes. The Whitaker sitting there before them was a new man, one who worked out and cared about what he put into his body.
Abandoning his grunts and nods, Jack finally cut through the niceties. “We heard you left your job.”
