Page 83 of An Unfinished Story
“You may.” Didi switched lanes again. “But something tells me you will love him twice as much after tomorrow.”
Claire smiled and lost herself in the stars. That was a nice thought. Either way, she wouldn’t miss this meeting for the world.
Chapter 34
THESILVERLINING
In a weak attempt to distract Claire from her morning thoughts, Whitaker pointed out a Tampa Bay Rays player’s waterfront home on the way to Bay Vista Park. It didn’t work. She had a one-track mind and couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Reaching the southeastern tip of St. Pete, they pulled into the parking lot of the park, which was on Tampa Bay.
A gazebo stood at the end of a long pier that faced the Sunshine Skyway Bridge, which had taken them to Sarasota almost three weeks before. People were making good use of the park today. A line of trucks with boat trailers waited to ease their boat down the landing. The playground was full of kids swinging on the swings, climbing the towers, and sliding down poles.
As she reached for the car door handle, a tsunami of anxiety hit her. To think it all came down to this.
“I don’t see him,” Claire said, scanning the park through the windshield as her skin tingled.
“They’ll be here.” He put his hand on her arm. “Remember, as nervous as we are, he is too. He’s been through a lot.”
Snapping the car doors shut, they crossed into the lush grass. Claire scrutinized the people around the playground. No kids old enough to be him. Then she saw him near the seawall.
Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, she pointed and muttered, “I think that’s him.” Actually, she knew it was him.
Whitaker followed her gaze toward the sheltered picnic tables on the southern end of the park.
A woman and a boy were standing up from one of the picnic tables. Claire knew the woman was Kari, Oliver’s case manager. She was dressed like a teacher in blue pants and a blue-and-white striped shirt. Oliver wore a baseball shirt, mesh shorts, and bright running shoes.
Claire’s throat closed for a second, and her heart scraped at her rib cage. Amid the nervous jitters pecking at every part of her, the fear of potentially learning things she’d rather not know, she also felt a good deal of excitement, like this adventure she’d been on since finding the composition books had led her to this exact moment.
They walked in silence toward Oliver and his case manager. Though the boy in the photograph was eleven, the young man standing before them was one and the same. He was taller than in the photo, maybe three inches shorter than Whitaker. He had brilliantly blue eyes that looked both curious and skeptical. His hair was the same as it was in the photo, straight and long, long enough to cover his eyes if he didn’t push it to the right. He was a good-looking boy, still so young. Too cute to be called a man, still a few months from sprouting. Awkward he was, but only because everyone was awkward at fourteen.
Claire said the first words. “You must be Oliver.” She reached for his hand, and he shook weakly, averting his eyes. She instantly thought of the pictures she’d scanned through back at the hotel in Sarasota. Why wasn’t he among them? Did he not want to be adopted?
After introductions, Kari gestured toward the picnic table. “Why don’t we sit down?”
“That’s a great idea,” Claire said, trying to sound upbeat and positive.
Claire and Whitaker sat opposite Oliver and his case manager. Two men were playing a game of chess at one of the tables under a gazebo.
“They told you about David?” Whitaker asked.
A nod, Oliver’s sadness coming through.
Claire and Whitaker had already put together that no one had told Oliver about David, and they could only assume he had been left wondering for three long years.
“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way,” Claire said, a foreign feeling rising up inside of her, something so distant she couldn’t place it at first, but it was powerful and thrilling.
“That’s okay.”
Whitaker took over. “We’re still trying to put the pieces together, but you knew him for a while, it sounds like.”
“A year or so.”
These short answers were breaking her heart. Claire had forgotten what it was like to be fourteen, but hearing the boy’s high-pitched yet changing voice reminded her. Fourteen was when you were finally finding yourself, growing into your body, discovering your identity.
“Did you have any idea what happened to him?” Claire asked, already knowing the sad answer.
Oliver shrugged. “I don’t know.” He looked to the parking lot and back again. “I thought he was mad at me.”
“Didn’t you have a way to get in touch with him?”
