by Boo Walker
When she sat down at the breakfast table downstairs, Whitaker sprayed her with a line of words that moved too quickly for her morning brain to comprehend. She put up a hand. “Hold on, slow down. It’s early.” And I was thinking about us.
Whitaker paused. “Are you sure you never met Orlando?”
“Good morning to you too.” The salty smell of bacon wafted over from a table nearby.
“Sorry. Good morning.” He couldn’t stop himself. “I came across something that suggests this story really took place in St. Pete. We’re in the wrong city.”
The nugget of information woke her up. “Why do you say that?”
He told her about his discovery.
“Wait. You read his entire book again?” She couldn’t believe it.
“Just about. I didn’t sleep last night.”
Claire’s eyes widened, thinking that he looked just fine. “You are one determined man. I think you’re reaching. Just because Kevin was going south instead of west on MLK?”
“It’s more than that. It’s not the first time he’s slipped into a St. Pete setting instead of Sarasota. I can’t recall the other example and couldn’t find it, but I remember thinking it was weird. I’m telling you. We’re in the wrong city. Think back. Don’t think about the name Orlando. I’m not even convinced the boy’s name is Orlando. He made up the name Kevin. Why not make up all the characters? Anyway, think back to your time together. Did David ever have anyone help him with chores? Did he ever talk about a kid he’d met? Were there any other parallels to your life?”
“Don’t you think I’ve already gone there?”
“I’m telling you, Claire. Orlando—or whatever his name is—is in St. Pete. Or, at least, he was. It’s not just the subtle mistakes with the setting. It’s that David wrote this book based on a real-life experience. I think he spent a lot of time with Orlando, like more than we are considering. And if so, that wasn’t happening in Sarasota.” Whitaker wiped coffee from his mustache. “To that end, I refuse to believe that no one in David’s life knew of Orlando. I understand that David was hiding him from you. But he had to have told someone.”
Claire stared out the window, watching cars pass by. She didn’t like being reminded that David had been hiding things from her. “I sent the picture to his two best friends, all his brothers and sisters, and both his parents. They’d never seen Orlando before.”
“How about his work? Did you send it to them?”
Claire shook her head. “No. I haven’t really talked to any of them since the funeral.”
Whitaker dipped his chin. “I think we should drive back and visit his office. You said it was on Fourth in St. Pete?”
Claire nodded, trying to process Whitaker’s change of position. “I’m still not convinced enough to think we need to leave Sarasota right now. I think we should stop back by the agency. Did you hear from your contact there, Carissa?”
“Yeah, she texted me last night. Said we can chat today. But she can’t help us if it’s in Sarasota. Remember, we’d be dealing with the placing agency in St. Pete.” Whitaker shook his head. “All I can say is I’ve spent three months reading and tweaking your husband’s story. I’ve gotten to know him. When you’re writing, you see this scene in your head, and you’re putting it down on paper. If he’d made up the scene, he wouldn’t have screwed up the direction. It’s way too much of a coincidence. I think Orlando was in a group home in St. Pete. I think David met him somehow, probably a story similar to what we’ve read.”
Claire dropped her head, feeling the painful impact of a potentially even bigger lie living between David and her. As difficult as such a grand deceit was to accept, it was equally hard to argue with the man in front of her. He was on a mission, and he was showing the genius that he’d been hiding for so long.
One more thought came to her. “What about the picture? David and Orlando were obviously here at some point.”
Whitaker nodded confidently, as if he’d already thought about it. “David brought him down here to a game. Maybe it was a team Orlando liked.”
Claire was beginning to process all the possibilities, if in fact her husband had been keeping this secret from her. “Or maybe he didn’t want to run into anyone he knew. Someone that might tell me they saw David and a boy at a game.”
“Yeah,” Whitaker agreed. “I thought of that too.”
They both ate homemade granola with fresh berries and raw wildflower honey, and they talked about their next moves. After paying the bill, Whitaker asked, “Why don’t you send the photo to the guys at his firm?”
Claire set down her spoon. “No. I’d rather go by in person.”
“Fair enough,” Whitaker agreed, taking a last bite. After chasing it with a sip of coffee, he said, “I need to run and grab my things. Meet back down in twenty?”
Claire nodded, and they both stood, walking in tandem toward the elevator. Claire’s heart rate quickened. She’d decided it was now or never.
Whitaker pressed the button, and they waited.
Claire felt like she was going to faint.
Once they’d entered and the door closed, Whitaker made a comment about the weather.
Claire took a deep breath and looked at him. It was in his warm eyes that she found her composure. She stepped toward him and put a hand on his chest.
Confusion painted his face.
“Do you ever plan on trying to kiss me again?”
He swallowed. “I . . . I’ve wanted to.”
She moved closer, her face inches from his. “Don’t give up on me, okay? I like you. A lot.”
“I like you too,” Whitaker whispered, touching her waist.
Letting herself go, Claire kissed Whitaker, and her heart soared.
When they reached her floor, the bell dinged, and the door opened. Whitaker took her hand. “Don’t go.”
“We can’t stay in here forever.”
Whitaker stole another kiss as she slipped out of the elevator. “I’ll meet you in a few.”
The door closed.
Her desire for him was undeniable. She felt it all over.
Back in her room, she retrieved the wedding band and diamond ring from the soap dish in the bathroom. Holding them tight in her hand, she said, “I’ll always love you, David. Infinity times infinity.” As she placed the rings inside a compartment in her Coach makeup bag, she wrestled with the guilt of moving on. David would have really liked Whitaker and would be so happy for her. Even as mad as she was at David, she still cared what he might think.
Waiting for Whitaker, Claire sat cross-legged on the white leather sofa in the lobby. Electronic chill played on the speakers, but she wasn’t paying attention. She was thinking about their kiss.
Whitaker came around the corner with his bag on his shoulder.
Claire gasped. He’d shaved his mustache. “Aren’t you handsome?” she said, standing. “What got into you?”
He ran a finger above his upper lip. “It was time; that’s all.”
“Then you deserve a reward.” She approached and planted several kisses on his lips. By the time she let go of him, he certainly knew how much she liked him.
Chapter 31
AN OLIVER TWIST
Back in St. Pete, as the orange ball in the sky signified noon, Claire and Whitaker pulled into the parking lot of David’s old architecture firm, Wyatt and Jones, on Fourth Street. Focusing on steel, brick, and sharp angles, the result was one of the most stylish in St. Pete, and David had been instrumental in the design.
As Claire turned off the car, Whitaker asked, “Do you want me to wait here?”
Claire thought about his question for a moment. There was nothing to be ashamed of in bringing another man inside. And she could use the support. “No, please come in. You should see the inside. It’s really a sight to see.”
They walked around to the front. The bamboo entry doors were flanked by vertical gardens called green walls. The succulents and moss glistened from a previous watering. Pulling b
ack one of the doors, they entered the high-ceilinged space, and Claire felt a ripple of nervous anticipation. She hadn’t been here since she’d come in to pick up David’s belongings only days after his death. It had been a day of hugs and tears shared by Claire and all his coworkers, who’d told her how much he meant to the firm. Someone had even called David the mascot.
Light poured in from the large windows, making the giant potted plants very happy. Other than a few patches of exposed brick, the walls and floors were shades of white. Twenty men and women were either sitting or standing at their electric desks. The noise of phone calls, printers, and brainstorming filled the room.
Stopping halfway through the lobby, Claire pointed to her right, seeing David’s old workstation. “That’s where he used to sit. When he started, there were only eight of them in the firm. It looks like they’re growing.”
“I wonder if my dad’s been in here. It’s quite the building.”
“Yeah, they used to be crammed into a corner suite in the office park across the street from the Publix. They built this maybe six years ago.”
“I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it before.”
“It’s funny how you might be right next to something, but you don’t notice it until you’re meant to.” Claire turned to Whitaker to make sure he caught her meaning.
He certainly did. “Isn’t life something?”
Claire scanned the room, noticing several familiar faces. A man named Zeke in chinos and a plaid shirt spotted her and nearly jumped out of his chair, coming their way.
“Claire,” he said, flashing his teeth, opening his arms.
“Hi, Zeke. It’s so good to see you.”
Zeke gave her a tight squeeze. “You look great,” he whispered.
Claire thanked him and looked back to the center of the room. She hadn’t seen most of these people since the funeral. “Lots of new faces around here.”
“I know! We’re growing like crazy.”
“So is St. Pete.”
“That’s exactly right. It’s a good time to be an architect.”
Claire gestured toward Whitaker and introduced him as her friend.
Zeke looked at Whitaker for the first time. “I know you.”
“Oh yeah?” Whitaker said, his ego grinning.
“Yeah, you’re the barista from down the street, right? Made my iced cappuccino this morning?”
Claire froze, unsure of how to react. She kind of wanted to laugh.
Whitaker’s face went white. “Uh, no, actually, I’m not a baristo.” Slicing a hand through the air, he added, “Wrong guy.” A nervous chuckle followed.
Zeke grinned. “I’m kidding. I loved your book.”
A handsome smile rose on Whitaker’s face, accepting defeat in this quick game of wit. He reached for Zeke’s hand. “Well played, sir. Well played.”
The three shared a laugh, and several other of David’s former coworkers herded around them. After more hugs and introductions, Zeke asked, “What are you doing here, by the way? You should stop in more often. We miss you.”
Claire took the floor, feeling David’s old life circling around her, watching her. She wanted them to see she was doing better. “We’re trying to get to the bottom of something and need your help.” She cast her eyes toward the others. “It’s a long story, but I’m trying to find a boy David apparently knew.” Claire dug into her purse. “We found this picture in his desk yesterday.”
Claire handed the photograph to Zeke, and the other coworkers squeezed in around him to take a peek.
“That’s Oliver,” Zeke said.
Claire’s heart buckled.
Whitaker stepped toward her and put a kind hand on her lower back.
“Yeah,” a woman named Eliza agreed, looking at Claire. Eliza had joined the firm the same year as David and was a similar age to Claire, so they’d gravitated toward each other at work events and found they shared similar political views. “David caught him breaking into a man’s car.”
“That’s weird. He didn’t tell me. When was this?” Claire asked.
“Gosh,” Eliza said, her freshly applied lip gloss glistening. “Maybe a year before . . . you know.” Eliza shook her head. “David made Oliver track down the owner and pay him back for the broken window.”
“Yeah,” Zeke said, “David actually gave him a few small jobs around here to make the money.”
“What kind of jobs?” Claire asked.
“A little bit of everything. Cleaning windows. Picking up trash. Washing our cars. Oliver was only eleven or twelve or something. So he wasn’t a huge help, but he was a good kid, under the circumstances. From what David told me, Oliver had been dealt a pretty bad hand.”
Whitaker stepped in. “How long was Oliver hanging around here?”
Eliza lifted a shoulder. “Not long. A few weeks. I’m surprised David never mentioned him to you.”
Claire’s voice cracked. “I am too.”
Everyone was silent. Treading so closely to the topic of David’s death was dangerous business.
Claire once again found herself at the center of a pity party and didn’t like the feeling. Before it got weird, she offered the best explanation. “Probably just another day in the life at the office.” Sometimes, when she’d asked about David’s day at work, he had said something to the effect of, “Just another day in the life. I’d rather leave it at the office and focus on us.”
Zeke returned the photograph. “I didn’t know about him taking Oliver to a baseball game. Actually, I didn’t know he’d hung out with him outside of the few times here.”
Everyone shook their heads, assuring her they didn’t know either.
“That’s the Orioles stadium down in Sarasota, right?” Zeke asked.
Claire nodded.
“What a cool thing to do for him,” Zeke said. “Taking him to a baseball game.”
She smiled, trying to ignore the thoughts of betrayal. Of course, David had had a life at this office that she hadn’t always been caught up with. That was the way office life was. But still. Helping a young boy was the kind of thing he would have mentioned over dinner. Unless he was hiding it to protect her. Her stomach churned.
Claire wasn’t thinking clearly. She looked at Whitaker, encouraging him to take over.
Whitaker read her look and asked Zeke and the others, “Where is Oliver? Or where was he? Any idea how we can find him?”
“Yeah,” Eliza said, apparently eager to get a word in. “I don’t know if he’s still there, but David said he was living in a group home down the street, that big gray house with the white columns. Actually, I saw it for the first time shortly after David died. For a second, I thought I should go tell Oliver the news of David’s passing, but I didn’t know they were still in touch.” At Whitaker’s urging, Eliza shared specific directions.
“What’s this all about?” Zeke asked. “Trying to learn more about David?”
Claire suppressed a rising sadness and looked at everyone. She didn’t want them to see her fragility. Sticking the photograph back into her purse, Claire said, “David was writing a book when he died. About a man helping save a child from a group home. Now we know his novel was inspired by Oliver.”
Zeke looked at Claire and then Whitaker. “So now we know why you’re standing here.”
“Yeah, Whitaker is helping me research the story.”
“And to write it,” Whitaker added. “I’m finishing the story for her. I don’t know if any of you knew, but David was a heck of a writer.”
Claire choked up. It was the first time Whitaker had gone public with the news that he’d taken on the project.
“Oh yeah,” Zeke said. “He loved to talk about writing. He mentioned he was working on something. I’m glad you’re going to finish it for him.” Zeke looked back at Claire. “Please let us know what we can do to help. Of course I want to read it the moment it’s ready. I’m sure we all do.” He looked back at Whitaker. “Make sure you do David justice. He was one of the fin
est men I’ve ever known.”
Whitaker offered a nod, and Claire smiled. “Thanks, Zeke.” Though inside, she wasn’t smiling. She was questioning Zeke’s kind words. Apparently, no one knew who David truly was. She felt a tectonic shift of anger deep inside.
When they returned to the car, Whitaker dropped into the passenger seat. “They’re a nice group.”
“Yeah, David loved working there.” Claire slid into her side and returned to the more important topic. “Did we really just find him? I guess Orlando is Oliver.”
Whitaker closed his door. “I think we’re hot on his trail.”
What Claire failed to mention was that she was scared to death.
Showing he was there for her, Whitaker reached past the empty Gatorade bottle in the cup holder and took Claire’s hand. “Hey.”
Claire let out a sigh and turned to him. She had yet to turn on the ignition. The parking lot was empty of pedestrians.
“This is really deep stuff, Whitaker. And it’s become completely evident that David was protecting me. I mean, his coworkers knew more than me!” Claire drifted off for a moment. “David didn’t want me to know that he’d become a father to this boy. Doesn’t it feel that way to you?”
It definitely felt that way, but Whitaker wanted to be gentle. “Kind of, but I think he was acting more like a big brother—to the boy, not to you. We’ll know much more when we find Oliver. But, yes, I think he didn’t want to bring you down as he worked through his own pain of not being a father.” Whitaker felt an urge to point out the lighter side of their discovery. “But, hey, Claire. I have a feeling Oliver was helping him in a big way. And I’m sure he planned on telling you eventually. It’s not like he was keeping some big secret. He met a kid at work and tried to help him out.”
Claire squeezed his hand. “I know. There’s no use jumping to conclusions. I feel like such a bitch. I can’t help thinking back to that day when I told him to stop pestering me about a baby.” She clenched her fists together. “I was so stupid! He wanted to be a father, and I was so selfish that I couldn’t see through my own mess. If we would have kept with our adoption plan, we could have had a child that year.” She touched her belly and sighed. “I was so hardheaded. I think I wanted a baby just as much as him, but I somehow suppressed it, like an extended form of shock when you’re numb to the pain.”