Page 67 of An Unfinished Story
Back in the convertible, Claire drove them into town. Sarasota came off cleaner and wealthier than St. Pete—perhaps more populated by semiretired snowbirds with disposable income. Whitaker had always loved the vibrancy of Sarasota and appreciated the juxtaposition between it and St. Pete. If they were colors, St. Pete would be orange and purple. Sarasota was bleached white and light blue.
They checked into their rooms at the Sarasota Modern, which they’d booked online on the way down. Hearing the Latin electronic beats easing through the lobby and seeing the pool with its fancy cabanas, tall palm trees, and slick outside bar, Whitaker felt like he was in Miami for a moment. Claire said she’d go through the list of websites, looking at pictures in her room, while Whitaker worked Facebook from his. They asked the concierge for restaurant recommendations and agreed to meet back in the lobby in an hour.
After a quick shower, Whitaker perched up on the balcony overlooking downtown and logged into Facebook. Finding a few of the groups he’d been stalking, he announced himself and mentioned that he was helping someone locate a boy, but all he had was a picture and a first name. Hopefully, he could appeal to someone who could help.
Claire propped three down pillows behind her on the bed in her room. A group of children were playing Marco Polo in the pool below, and Claire loved the sound of their voices sneaking through the cracked balcony door. With the picture of David and Orlando in her hand, she pulled up the first website the woman at the placing agency had shared and navigated to the available children.
Her heart sank as she put her eyes on the first page. The children were of all ages and colors. Some of the pictures showed two or three siblings. Big, bright smiles, all of them staring at the camera, as if they were all asking for help. Or, at least, for a family. Though Claire was still furious at David for lying, she found herself looking through his eyes, seeing the importance of supporting these beautiful beings that had been dealt a difficult hand.
Claire rolled her cursor over a teenager holding a basketball. She was laughing in the picture—a gorgeous smile—and her image had been captured at the perfect moment. Clicking on the photograph, Claire discovered several more shots. One depicted the girl spinning the basketball on the tip of her finger.
Claire stared at her pictures a long time before wiping her eyes and clicking away. This would take longer than she thought. And it would take more out of her than she could have ever imagined.
It didn’t feel right to rush through the pages. She clicked on each child and took a moment to attempt to understand them, to imagine the strength these young boys and girls had tapped into in order to survive and thrive. It broke her heart to think about how many more were out there, not just in Florida but all over the world. Every one of them belonged down in the pool playing Marco Polo.
Clicking on a boy about Orlando’s age, she broke into a full-on cry when she read the words at the top of his profile.Status: On Hold.
Her mouth went dry.How could we live in a world where a human is on hold?Was he being tested out by a family? Like one might test-drive a car? Claire put her hand to her chest and looked into the boy’s eyes. She wanted to reach through the screen and pull him out, to save him from the hard times he was enduring. She wanted to protect him so that he could grow up gradually, not all at once like she imagined most of these kids had been forced to do.
Claire lost hope in finding Orlando as she reached the end of the last website. Lying there on the bed, she set the computer down and breathed through what she’d just experienced. No wonder David had taken to Orlando. What could possibly be more important in life than helping a child thrive?
But why? Why the hell had he not brought her in earlier? Why hadn’t he included her? Staring at the blank screen of the television in front of her, she tried to imagine how she might have handled it if he’d told her about Orlando. She liked to think she would have welcomed Orlando with open arms.
Claire texted Whitaker, updating him and telling him she would need a little extra time to get ready. She sat up, putting her feet on the carpet. Somehow, despite the thousands of children who needed help, and despite David and his lies, she had to keep on living her life.
And that was it,Claire thought. Your heart was ripped to shreds and then you had to turn right around and keep living. But she had a feeling that these children, this thing David had been doing, wasn’t going to leave her. The compulsion to do her part had wedged itself into her heart. For now, though, she stood and went to the shower.
With the long healing cleanse, sadness began to leave her. She committed to figuring out a way to carry on what David had been doing, not for him, but because she’d stumbled upon the call herself. There was no way she could be shown this world and not commit a part of her life to doing something about it.
Knowing Whitaker had reached this conclusion as well, her thoughts went to him. And she felt a sudden urge to be near him, to hear his voice, to share her emotions with him.
With a towel wrapped around her chest, she dried her hair and then walked to the closet to debate wearing the baby-blue dress she’d brought. Not risqué but certainly a little much for two friends getting a bite to eat. She had wanted to wear it tonight, to imply her feelings for him, but something else needed to be done first.
Returning to the bed and taking a seat, she held her hand out and looked at the wedding band and diamond David had given her.
A flash of good and bad memories hit her, and she nearly saw his face as she spoke to him. “I hate my anger toward you. It seems so unfair to make all these assumptions about you lying to me without you being here to defend yourself. I want to believe this was the only lie you’ve ever told me. That you truly just wanted to protect me and were terrified of how I might react. To that end, I’m going to try to forgive you, but ...” She clenched her fist. “You’re making it hard.”
Claire paused and focused on what she really wanted to say. Looking at the rings again, she said, “I think I’m doing what you’d want me to do. I like him, David. What a weird thing to say, something I never could have imagined. But I know you’d understand. He makes me laugh, and I feel so good around him, like the way I used to be with you. It’s different but also kind of wonderful. Don’t think for a moment that taking off these rings means I’m forgetting you, and it has nothing to do with me being mad at you. It’s just time I accept that you’re gone.”
She worked both rings off and clasped them in her hand. David wasn’t speaking to her, but she thought that if he was, he’d say something like, “What took you so long? Go for it!” And, hopefully, he’d say, “I’m so damn sorry for keeping Orlando from you.”
Claire was standing in an all-too-tempting, short light-blue dress, looking at her phone. He couldn’t help but peek at her long legs, which eventually led down to rose gold thong sandals. Before he was caught, he forced himself to divert his eyes. He needed to tread carefully. When she turned, he noticed how low her dress was cut, and he thought to himself,Not fair at all.
Before he was busted exploring dangerous territory, Whitaker turned to the door and said expeditiously, “You look great. I think our Uber is here.” In hindsight, he’d never spoken two sentences so quickly in his life. Didn’t she realize what she was doing to him?
She’d suggested they leave her car with the valet so they could enjoy a bottle of wine. Once he’d located their ride, he opened the back door for her and noticed she’d removed her rings. Was that recently? He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen them. More importantly,whyhad she removed the rings? Was this her way of saying she was finally ready to take the next step? Knowing him, he might read into this bit of good news and get his hopes up, only to find out she’d left them with a jeweler for polishing.
Either way, it wasn’t a question he would run by her, which forced a rather quiet ride through town. The ball was in her court, period. He’d already made his move, and she surely understood his fear of rejection. Removing the rings wasn’t going to cut it as a green light. If she wanted to take their relationship into romantic territory, she needed to fly a banner behind a plane.
Why was Whitaker being awkward? Had he noticed her naked finger?
Claire thanked him for opening the door for her and stepped into the quaint Italian restaurant the concierge had suggested. It was six o’clock and already packed. Being a restaurateur herself, she couldn’t help shaking down the restaurant’s first impression.
The first thing she noticed was the opera music, and it fit well—authentic, not hokey. Just the right volume. The lights were dimmed down nicely. A man was shaping dough in front of a real brick oven. Golden candelabras with years of dripped wax stood on a center table along with several large bottles of wine. The hostess welcomed them with a smile and led them to their seats by the window, where a small candle burned atop a white tablecloth. It was feeling more and more like a date, but she was the only one who knew it. Or was she?
As they both perused menus, Whitaker said, “I could eat Italian every day of the week.”
“I know this about you,” she said. “That’s why they all know you at Pia’s in Gulfport.”
