Page 98 of An Unfinished Story
Oliver set his hands on his lap. “Is Whitaker your boyfriend?”
Claire’s face tightened for a moment, and she looked around the crowded restaurant, almost as if other diners were listening in. No one was paying attention to them.
“Yes, he is.” Claire felt lighter to have admitted it. “Does that make you angry with me? Because of David, I mean.”
Oliver quickly shook his head. “No way. That was a long time ago.”
Claire nodded, looking at the water glasses again. Where was their server? “Yeah, I know. Believe me, it wasn’t easy. I’ve wrestled with the idea of dating again ever since I met Whitaker. But in the end I know David would want me to move on. And I think he would have liked Whitaker.”
“Yeah, Whitaker’s awesome.”
Realizing she could concentrate better outside of her restaurant, Claire started to stand. “Well, why don’t we go meet the chef and then take a walk along the beach? When’s the last time you did that?”
“I guess last summer. Jacky took all of us.”
“Have you ever found any sharks’ teeth?”
He shook his head.
“Let’s go see what we can find.”
After enlisting a server to fill the water glasses and introducing Oliver to everyone in the kitchen, Claire led Oliver along the sidewalk and over the dunes. They left their shoes by a bench and strolled along the water. Patches of buttery cumulus clouds thickened up the sky. A long way out over the Gulf, a series of darker nimbus clouds promised a coming rain shower. The rainy season was officially underway. Their conversation came easily, and she was grateful to Whitaker for giving them this time together.
Claire taught him how to look for sharks’ teeth, and they combed the sand for shiny black triangles. But after twenty minutes, Claire could tell he was losing faith. “Don’t be discouraged. It took me years to find my first one.”
He tossed the black shell he’d thought might be a tooth into the water. “This is not easy.”
They were working their way north along the tide line toward the Don CeSar. It was sea turtle–nesting season, and volunteers from the Sea Turtle Trackers had come out early one recent morning to mark the nests with wooden stakes and orange tape. Claire explained the struggles of a baby sea turtle trying to get back to the sea after it hatched.
Returning their focus to the hunt for sharks’ teeth, Claire said, “It’s a game of patience and determination. My grandmother taught me, and I’d be happy to pass along my secrets.”
“Is she why you moved to Florida from Illinois?”
“Yeah,” Claire said, picturing her grandmother’s face. “She gave me my love of the Gulf. We would walk up and down this beach every morning, and she’d find at least five teeth every time her feet hit the sand.”
Several more minutes into their search, they came across the famous Kenny in his green mankini, strutting past them. He wore gold aviators, which reflected the rising sun. Claire and Kenny exchanged a hello as they passed.
Once Kenny was a safe distance away, she turned to Oliver.
“Oh my God,” he said, “you know that guy?”
“Everybody knows Kenny.”
Oliver burst into a laugh, and Claire couldn’t help but laugh too. But she didn’t want Kenny to hear, so she caught Oliver, wrapping her arms around him. “Shhh.”
Oliver laughed even harder, pulling her hand away from his mouth.
Claire turned, and if Kenny had heard them, he wasn’t worried about it. He was happily moving down the beach, his mankini pulled up in the back as high as ever.
As they both collected themselves, Claire said, “Whatever floats your boat, right?”
Oliver was still shaking his head. “That should be illegal.”
As they renewed their Don CeSar route, Oliver asked something completely out of the blue. “Hey, Claire, can I tell you something?”
“What’s that?” she asked, hearing by his tone it was of great importance to him.
“I’m sorry that I broke into that car and messed up things with you and David.”
