An Unfinished Story: A Novel

by Boo Walker

“Yep, two hundred boys have been through here.”

  Claire smiled in awe. She couldn’t even imagine.

  Jacky turned to lead them through the house. Lots of cheery decor: paintings of flowers, bright-colored rugs. “We all have our calling. I grew up in the system, and there were a few adults along the way who saved my life. How could I do anything else? But thank you for saying so.” She turned left down a hall packed with photographs—presumably from the boys who’d lived here. “Oliver’s in the shower. He’ll be down in a minute. Oh, and Kari’s in the kitchen.”

  “How many kids are living here?” Claire asked, taking her time to look at the photographs, her heart heavy and hopeful at the same time.

  “We have five at the moment. One boy was just adopted, so we have an empty bed waiting for someone.”

  Claire turned away from a photo. “How long will that take to fill?”

  “We’re putting our feelers out. Not long.”

  Whitaker shook his head. “How do you do it? I can barely take care of myself.”

  “Never a dull moment,” she drew out.

  They entered an enormous kitchen with three circular dining room tables, two built-in large refrigerators, and a giant island. They’d clearly remodeled to cater to these boys, their loves.

  Kari, Oliver’s case manager, was sitting in a chair in the corner by the window. She looked up from her computer. “Hi, guys.”

  Claire and Whitaker said their hellos.

  “I’ll be here if you need me. Just hammering out some emails.”

  Jacky took a plate of cookies off the granite island and held it toward them. “We bake a lot around here.”

  Claire and Whitaker each reached for one.

  “How could I resist?” Claire took a bite of the chocolate chip cookie, which was still warm and gooey in the middle.

  Whitaker moaned with delight.

  “I’ve had three already,” Kari admitted from her chair. “It’s dangerous coming over here.”

  Jacky set the plate back on the counter and looked at Claire. “They’re made with coconut sugar. And they’re vegan. I’m trying to teach them about eating healthier without cramming it down their throats. These boys have eaten a lot of fast food in their lives.”

  “How can you possibly cook for so many?” Claire followed her question with another bite, tasting the coconut this time.

  “You’re running a restaurant,” Whitaker added, catching a crumb falling from his mouth.

  “Oh, they help,” Jacky assured them. “A couple of them have a real talent in the kitchen. Oliver’s one of them.”

  An idea came to Claire. She brought up Leo’s South, and though Jacky had never eaten there, she’d heard of it. “Well, I’d love to host all of you for breakfast or lunch sometime. On me, of course. And I could give them a tour of the kitchen, introduce them to my chefs.”

  “Oh, they’d love that! Would you like to meet everyone?”

  Claire and Whitaker nodded eagerly.

  Walking into the living room, they found four happy young boys of various skin colors sitting on beanbags playing UNO. Her nerves toyed with her as she took in the scene. Two guitars rested on stands next to an amplifier. There was a keyboard near the window, which looked out back toward the pool. Board games filled the built-in bookshelves. And she noticed an Xbox set up under the television.

  “Everyone,” Jacky said, “meet Claire and Whitaker.”

  A collective chorus of “Hi” greeted them.

  Claire waved and met eyes with each of them. “Nice to meet you.” She couldn’t have imagined navigating the world without stable biological parents at such a young age. And yet here they were, more than dealing with it.

  “Who wants to tell Claire and Whitaker what we did today?”

  They all seemed eager to speak, but one young man beat the others to the punch. He had big blue eyes and flashy silver braces. “We went to a nursing home.”

  “Yeah, and what did you do?” Jacky asked.

  The other boys were giving her their full attention.

  “We helped them out with their phones and tablets.”

  “That’s incredible,” Claire said, looking at the boy with braces and then the others.

  “You wouldn’t believe how helpful they were.”

  “Oh, I can believe it.” Whitaker turned to the boys. “My mom has no idea what she’s doing with technology. Just entering the right password is an accomplishment. And she’s only just learned how to use emojis. Let me tell you something, gentlemen. Baby boomers should not be allowed to use emojis.”

  “Jacky never knows her password,” one boy said.

  Everyone smiled.

  “It’s true,” Jacky admitted. “I don’t.”

  Jacky poked each of them about their favorite subjects in school and then said to Claire and Whitaker, “They all have As and Bs. Not one C in the bunch right now.”

  As Claire and Whitaker made a show of being impressed, Jacky looked back at her children. “But I want to see even more As. Because you know why?”

  The boys looked at her, waiting for an answer.

  “Because I know you have it in you.”

  Once the children had returned to their activities, Jacky gave them a tour. Though she should have been surprised after seeing what Jacky was capable of, Claire was still taken aback when she saw how clean the boys’ rooms were. The beds with Tampa Bay Lightning comforters were made with military precision. The carpet stood tall from a recent vacuum.

  “My father would salute these boys,” Whitaker said. “I can’t even make a bed so well.”

  “It’s the first thing we do when we wake up,” Jacky said.

  Back in the kitchen, Jacky offered them a glass of ice water, which they happily accepted. Kari was still working away. Jacky invited them to the large backyard, which was lined by a tall white vinyl fence. They sat by the well-maintained pool under the shade of an umbrella. A basket overflowed with footballs, Frisbees, soccer balls, and other activities. Beyond the pool, a tall oak tree with a long branch running along the ground stood alone in the Bermuda grass.

  They discussed the wild string of events that had led Claire and Whitaker to this moment. “I know we dropped some heavy news on him yesterday,” Whitaker said as he wrapped up his story. “How’s he handling it?”

  “Oliver’s a tough kid. Sometimes I can make the mistake of thinking he can handle anything. He’s very good at hiding it sometimes. He had such an awful childhood, so he’s learned to dig in and deal. But I know he’s not immune—just tougher than you and me.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  “It’s easy to think of Oliver as a young adult,” Jacky said, “but he’s only fourteen. I don’t know about you, but fourteen was difficult for me.”

  Whitaker itched his arm. “I have a feeling my definition of difficult is much different than yours and Oliver’s.”

  Jacky smiled and nodded. “His therapist has come by three times since Oliver found out about David, including yesterday after your meeting at the park. To an extent, Oliver feels like it’s his fault. That if he hadn’t broken into that car, David would still be alive.”

  Claire’s stomach tightened. “That breaks my heart. And it couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

  They spoke about the stages of grief and what Whitaker and Claire could do to help Oliver work through his emotions. Jacky was seasoned in helping children work through trauma, and Whitaker listened intently as she expounded on what it was like to be fourteen and in Oliver’s shoes.

  “Can I ask a strange question?” Claire asked, taking a detour in the conversation. “I don’t mean anything by it, just trying to learn.” He looked at her. “Why haven’t you adopted him? I mean, it seems so hard to be a foster parent. You’re always saying goodbye.”

  Jacky nodded. “I’ve raised my kids, and they’re all grown up. Fostering is something I do because it fills me up inside. Some of these kids don’t want to be adopted, which is fine by me. And t
he ones that do, I want to help them find their forever homes.”

  Something about that idea of a forever home struck Claire hard. Not like a punch in the face, but like a rumbling earthquake below her feet. Was that what Oliver wanted? A forever home?

  “How does that work?” Whitaker asked. “I mean, the adoptive process.”

  “I’ll get a call from their case managers about a prospective parent, and we’ll set up a matching meeting. If it goes well, we have a few more meetings. If it’s meant to be, then these parents start the adoption process.”

  Claire could see the face of the mom she’d met so many years before, the one who’d ended up giving her baby to someone else. She shook the memory and asked, “What does Oliver want?” And she thought she knew the answer.

  “Oliver is a little jaded after having such a tough go with his mom. I think he might be happy aging out of the system.”

  Claire’s heart kicked at her chest. A reel of another life Oliver might have lived spun by in her mind. She could see David and him fishing from the end of the dock at their old house in Coquina Key, Claire joining them with a picnic lunch.

  “Is that why I didn’t see his picture on the websites?” Claire asked. “The Heart Gallery and the others?”

  “Yeah, he doesn’t like being on there. It’s tough for some kids, especially teenagers, to be on display on the internet. Other kids might pick on them.”

  Claire totally understood. “And he could stay here until he’s eighteen?”

  “Absolutely. I don’t play favorites, but Oliver is truly one of a kind. Such a sweetheart. If I was ever to consider adoption again, he’s the first that comes to mind. You should see the way he cares for the other boys. He’s the leader, always showing the new ones the ropes.”

  They turned to the sound of an opening door. “Well, there he is.”

  Oliver walked outside onto the patio, dressed in jeans and a green polo. He attempted eye contact but dropped his head again nervously.

  Claire and Whitaker stood and shook his hand.

  “How’s it going, buddy?” Whitaker asked.

  Oliver shook his hair off his eyes. “Good.”

  Claire couldn’t tell if Oliver was being sincere.

  After they shook, Whitaker said, “If you ever meet my dad, be careful shaking his hand. The man will crush your bones.”

  Oliver pretended to laugh.

  As the others sat, Jacky stood and excused herself. “I’ll help with dinner. I’m sure y’all have a lot to talk about.”

  After she’d left, Claire asked, “Is Jacky married?”

  “Yeah, Jerry. He’s at work.”

  “What’s he do?”

  “He’s a software developer. Works for a start-up downtown.”

  “Cool guy?”

  “Yeah, super cool. They’re both great.”

  It made Claire happy to know he’d found a good home. Even if it was temporary.

  Whitaker sat back and crossed his legs. “Not that you’re asking, but I tell you, Oliver, I spent most of my twenties and thirties thinking about myself. Then I meet someone like Jacky and realize what a selfish shit I’ve been.”

  Claire eyed him.

  Whitaker covered his mouth. “Sorry for the curse.”

  Oliver smiled, and Claire realized it was the first time since they’d met. “You two are such boys.”

  Claire watched Oliver and Whitaker share a knowing smile. Then Oliver flipped his hair off his eyes again and said, “Yeah, I’m really lucky.”

  “I’m thinking about taking that bed that’s available,” Whitaker said. “I’d sit by this pool all day every day. Do you think you’ll be here until college? If you’re going to college, that is.”

  Oliver nodded. “I want to go to Duke.”

  “Duke? Wow.”

  “All depends on how I do next year.”

  “Do you have the grades Duke requires?”

  Oliver was perking up, speaking with more assurance. “I didn’t in ninth grade, but this past year I was kicking ass.” He stopped himself. “Oops, sorry.”

  Claire shook her head at them as Oliver and Whitaker smiled again.

  “How about baseball?” Claire asked, moving on. “Could you play for them?”

  “No, I’m not that good. I’ll keep playing in high school, but I doubt a college will want me. At least, not a big college.”

  The thump from a car’s bass shook the ground as it drew near. Once it quieted, Claire asked, “What position do you play?” She knew very little about baseball but was suddenly much more interested.

  Oliver punched his palm. “Pitcher.”

  “Pitcher?” Whitaker said. “How fast is your fastball?”

  Oliver raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Why does everyone ask that?”

  “I don’t know. I guess for those of us who don’t know a lot about baseball, it’s the logical question.”

  “I’m high seventies at best. There’s a kid on our team throwing in the nineties sometimes. And he throws a mean slider, just buckles right-handers.”

  Whitaker offered an encouraging smile. “I’d love to come see you pitch next year.”

  “Cool,” Oliver said casually, as if he didn’t take Whitaker’s promise seriously. Perhaps wanting to steer away from talking about himself, he asked, “So what do you need to know for this book?”

  Whitaker sat up straighter. “That is exactly the question I’ve been wondering to myself for months now. I truly don’t know. It’s weird talking to you, actually, like you just walked off the page.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  Claire jumped in. “Oliver, if it makes you feel uncomfortable, we don’t need to talk about the book or David. The last thing we want to do is upset you.”

  “I don’t mind,” Oliver said. “Is the book any good?”

  “More than good.” Whitaker looked at Claire for a second and then returned his eyes to Oliver. “Would you like to read it? You kind of have to, actually. Assuming you’re interested.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Oliver finished his water.

  “Awesome. We, of course, want your permission to publish it. You might get kind of famous. David made you out to be a pretty cool cat.”

  Oliver smiled at the idea.

  “Claire and I are desperately curious to know what’s true and what he made up. Maybe you and I can come up with the ending together. It’s difficult taking another man’s idea and adding to it. But now that you and I know each other, I have a feeling you could help me finish. If you’re up for it.”

  Oliver took his time thinking about it.

  Claire thought he couldn’t have been more adorable, and she wanted to see him smile again.

  He finally said, “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

  “The story ended abruptly, like I told you. Orlando is in trouble. I think David used his creative license to drum up some drama. Doesn’t seem like you were in too much trouble back then.” Whitaker was fishing some.

  Oliver looked back to the house for a moment. “I was when he caught me, but he kind of helped me out of it. I stopped hanging around the wrong kids and started playing baseball. He’s the one who talked me into trying out.”

  Claire smiled, wishing she could have been there. A flash of anger returned, thinking all David had to do was tell her from the beginning.

  “That’s awesome you’re still playing,” Whitaker said. “If I was in your shoes and thought he’d run off on me, I might have slipped back to my old ways. Know what I’m saying?”

  A shoulder shrug. “I guess I have a good coach. He looks out for me. Comes by here sometimes. And I have a therapist who’s helped some.”

  “Dude, you got it going on. Seriously. You could probably teach me a thing or two.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Claire agreed.

  Oliver offered a closed-lip smile, and Claire could see they were getting through to him. And it wasn’t about getting answers out of him. It was about seeing how she and Whitaker might get involv
ed with his life, help him continue on this positive trajectory.

  Claire decided to dig deeper. “So what does your therapist say about all this . . . how to handle it? I could use a few pointers.”

  “He says that every time I feel guilty, I should think about something else. Like a good thought.”

  She clasped her hands together under the table. “That’s pretty good advice. I guess if you accept that your guilt is unwarranted, which it is, then thinking about something happier is probably a good practice.”

  Oliver was suddenly staring at the table, biting his lip.

  Claire set her right hand on the table, palm down. “I didn’t mean to pry, Oliver. I’m so sorry. Let’s not go there, okay?”

  “I don’t care what anyone says,” Oliver admitted, squinting. “If he hadn’t been trying to help me, he wouldn’t have gotten in the accident.” He sniffled and wiped a tear before it rolled down his cheek.

  Claire felt a sudden hollowness behind her rib cage and glanced at Whitaker. They were both stumped. She didn’t know Oliver well enough to get up and hug him. It wasn’t appropriate. Instead, she leaned in. “If he had never met you, he might have died with something missing. But instead he died with a full heart, happy that you were in his life. Trust me. I didn’t know about you, but I knew something was going on. He’d never been so happy in his life. I thought he was just in a good place, but it was because of you.” Claire choked up. “Trust me, it was you. I’m so grateful that he met you.”

  Oliver covered his face with his hands and cried into them.

  Claire looked at Whitaker again and then stood and knelt next to Oliver, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself at all, please. I know all about feeling guilty, and it’s a waste of time.” She felt sick inside and could barely handle seeing him so sad.

  Oliver cried harder, his adult shell cracking, revealing his inner child.

  Choosing to respect the boundaries, Claire resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him.

  When Jacky came out later and invited them to stay for lasagna, they happily accepted. And it was the most filling—and fulfilling—dinner of her life.

  Chapter 37

  THE HAT

  Three days later, Claire was sifting through boxes in her guest bedroom while Willy watched her from the bed. She’d planned dinner with Whitaker and Oliver later and wanted desperately to give Oliver the Yankees hat but wasn’t exactly sure where she’d hidden it.