by Boo Walker
Oliver looked back up. “I wouldn’t say that I’m one of the cool kids.”
“No?”
He shook his head. “No, definitely not.”
“There will be other girls. Better girls.” Claire noticed a table with empty water glasses but didn’t want to disrupt her conversation with Oliver, so she tried to ignore it. “Growing up is so tough. I wish I could say being an adult is easier, but I haven’t found it to be that way.”
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.”
Her throat closed momentarily. “What are you talking about?”
“If I hadn’t been such a punk, none of this would have happened.” With all the defeat in the world, he said, “He’d still be alive.”
Claire grabbed his arm and stopped him from walking. A fire burned in her heart. “Never once have I thought that way. You had nothing to do with him dying.”
Oliver looked toward the sand.
She lifted his head up by his chin and looked him in the eyes. “I am so extremely thankful that you came into our lives. And I’m so happy that David was able to feel what it was like to be a father before he died. I don’t ever want you to think you had something to do with his death. You didn’t. You hear me?”
He offered an unsure nod.
She let go of him. “I’ve felt the same way, like it’s my fault. Like he’d still be here if I hadn’t been so vehemently opposed to adoption.” She shook her head. “We can’t think like that.”
Oliver nodded again, and she pulled him into a hug. He squeezed hard, and she knew he’d needed to get that off his chest.
They kept walking and talking, and the gloom of David’s death left their conversation. Soon they were laughing again.
When she finally spotted a tooth, Claire yelled, “Ah, gotcha!” She reached down and retrieved the black tooth, which was about a half inch tall. She handed it to Oliver.
“No way,” he said, lifting his palm closer to his eye, examining her find.
“Hold on. You’ve never seen one?”
“I’ve seen them at Boyd Hill, just didn’t think we’d find one.” He looked left to the water and then held up the tooth. “I don’t understand how anyone goes swimming in there.”
“Sharks want nothing to do with people. Besides, that tooth is probably ten thousand years old.”
“Well, I’m sure he had kids and then his kids had kids.”
Claire smiled. “Baby sharks are called pups.”
A wave ran up around their legs. “Did you ever learn to swim?” Claire asked, recalling the scene in David’s book. “No big deal if you haven’t, just wondering.”
“Yeah, I can swim. But I like swimming in pools better. Where you can see what’s in there with you.”
Though the storm crept closer, the sun was breaking through the cumulus clouds, and the temperature rose several degrees instantly. Oliver removed his shirt, revealing his super-white stomach and chest. She noticed a pink scar, about four inches long, running from his clavicle to his shoulder. Though she had no idea where it came from, she could only imagine. And instead of letting the scar sadden her, it only served to make her feel even more compassion for him.
After walking a little farther, they sat in the sand. A couple was setting up a University of Florida Gators tent behind them.
Claire tapped his arm with the back of her hand. “Hey, I had an idea the other day. I want to start a foundation in David’s name to support foster children in the area.”
“That’s pretty cool.” He was digging a hole with his heels.
“I thought you might be interested in being the spokesperson.”
Oliver tossed a shell toward the water. “What do you mean?”
“I’d need someone who can speak from experience, tell people what it’s like for you. You could be that young man. You can help me raise money and bring awareness to all the children in need. I think you’d be great at it. And it would be awesome for your résumé—especially a Duke application. What do y
ou think?”
He picked up another shell. “Would I have to talk to, like, a lot of people? Like public speaking?”
“If you wanted to. Public speaking is something you get used to. Might as well get it over with before college.”
He dug the shell into the sand. “I hate getting in front of people.”
Claire turned to him. “What? You’re a pitcher, standing all by yourself on the mound.”
“Yeah, but that’s different. I’m just throwing a ball.”
“Public speaking is basically throwing fastballs with your mouth.”
Oliver rolled his eyes.
“Seriously.” Claire wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead. “I know you’d be good at it.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Of course you can. There’s no pressure. It was just something I thought you might enjoy.”
He stopped moving his feet. “I guess you’re right. I do need to get over the public speaking thing at some point.”
“We can take baby steps,” Claire said. “You don’t have to go address Congress. I was thinking we could visit some of the other foster homes to start out. I bet some of the kids newer to the system would love to hear how you’ve figured out your way. It could make a big difference. They’d look up to you.”
A thread of excitement ran through his words as he said, “Yeah, I could do that.”
Claire pushed up from the sand and offered him a hand. “Let’s get dried off and go do something fun.”
As she pulled him up, he asked, “Like what?”
“We could go annoy Whitaker while he’s trying to write.”
Oliver snorted. “That sounds kind of fun.”
Chapter 39
LET’S GO, YANKEES
Two months later and the Florida sun had officially baptized August with its first one-hundred-degree day. The humidity hung thick in the air, slowing everything and everyone down.
Whitaker and Claire had been spending a lot of quality time with Oliver, visiting his foster family’s house, taking him on adventures, even slowly introducing him to the Grant family, starting with Jack and Sadie—who’d welcomed him with open arms (or, as Whitaker had halfway joked, welcomed him with the Grant family’s vampiric bite). Oliver was not nearly as reserved as he had been when they’d first met him at the park. There were still hints of skepticism in his eyes and body language, but he’d come a long, long way.
Whitaker had secretly been writing, but he wasn’t worried about word count or delivering the perfect ending. He was having fun, writing from the heart. He wrote when the moment moved him, and he went where the story pulled him. But the pressure wasn’t there. He didn’t wake feeling the need to impress anyone. He didn’t wake feeling constrained by his ego.
He woke excited about telling the story that was coming alive before his very eyes, the breakthroughs of an egocentric man and the waking of a boy who has every reason in the world to keep on sleeping.
It wasn’t hard to put that on paper.
When Claire asked how things were going, he’d say with a grin, “I’m getting there.”
When she’d asked him this morning, he didn’t admit that he was only paragraphs away from typing “The End.” What only he and other writers could know was that typing those two words was the same as a mountaineer stabbing his flag into the peak of the mountain he’d just traversed, and he felt it coming.
Regarding that brunette librarian with a sword and shield that he called the muse, he’d been reminded of the most important lesson in writing. She certainly rewarded those writers who found the discipline to sit in the chair every single day, but she most rewarded those who remembered that there was life outside of a story, that a true writer must find his awakening in the real world.
Namely, Whitaker was in love, having found his real-life muse. Never had he cared for a woman as much as he did for Claire. He often caught himself watching her sleep or doing a task as mundane as putting away the dishes, losing himself in her movements and her facial expressions. She was a wonder that never ceased to tingle his senses. He still craved to hear her speak, especially as her voice rang with more cheeriness and positivity with each passing day.
And Oliver. One thing Whitaker knew for sure. David hadn’t done the boy justice in Saving Orlando. And absolutely no words could. Not even if Whitaker knew every language in the world could he describe the beauty and resilience of Oliver. He was one of a kind.
That was why when Jack Grant had surprised them all a week ago, telling them he’d bought additional tickets to go with his two season tickets for the series opener of the Yankees–Rays game, Whitaker’s heart had nearly burst out of his chest. Not only had his father bought the tickets as a way to officially accept Claire and Oliver into their lives, which was enough of a powerful message in and of itself. But Jack was continuing to contribute to the loving cocoon wrapping around Oliver, and that was what the boy needed: people in his corner, caring for him.
Claire was perhaps even more active than Whitaker in building this circle of love. Whitaker had seen the mother in her come alive, and she was there for him all the time, working closely with Jacky and Oliver’s case manager, making sure he had everything he needed, thinking of the things that only a woman with motherly instincts was able.
Due to the migration of the snowbirds and the century-long history St. Pete and Tampa Bay had with the New York Yankees, Tropicana Field in downtown St. Pete came alive when the Yankees came to town. Though the covered, air-conditioned stadium was home to the Tampa Bay Rays, Yankees fans often outnumbered the frustrated Rays fans, who wanted new management and a new stadium. It didn’t help that many in the Rays administration had been doing everything they could to move the stadium out of St. Pete.
It was a damn fine day to go to a baseball game. And an even finer day to take Oliver to the first regular-season game of his life. Whitaker, Claire, and Oliver climbed out of their Uber at the front door and quickly found some shade under an oak tree to wait on Whitaker’s parents. When the Yankees came to town, it was always a packed house. Decked-out Rays and Yankees fans moved in hordes toward the stadium, an occasional chant rising up from the excitement.
Oliver was wearing a white Yankees jersey with black stripes and the hat Claire had given him, and he looked to be bursting at the seams, ready to get inside and take his seat. Claire and Oliver were joking with each other as Whitaker scanned the crowd for his parents.
There they were.
Staff Sergeant Jack Grant was limping across the street in his veteran’s hat. Sadie was next to him, overdressed for a game, waving excitedly all the way until she reached them. Though Oliver had only known the Grants for a little over a month, no one had spoiled Oliver more than Sadie. She treated him no differently than her other grandchildren.
“Hey, Dad,” Whitaker said.
Jack stuck out his hand, but Whitaker opened his arms and wrapped them around his father’s shoulders. Holding back a cry, Whitaker said, “You’re one hell of a guy. You’ve made his whole world.”
Jack patted Whitaker’s back before letting him go. “He’s a great kid. I wish I could give him the world.”
“This is a good start.”
“Well, I’m more excited than he is. And I hope he doesn’t mind, but I want to see my Rays tear the Yanks apart. We’re only two games back.” Jack smacked Whitaker on the shoulder and moved on to Oliver and Claire.
Whitaker hugged and kissed his mother. “Where are your Rays colors?”
“They’ve never been my colors, darling. Besides,” she said, peering over at Oliver, “I think I’ll pull for the Yankees today.” Then she winked.
Whitaker turned in time to see Jack pecking Claire on the cheek and then shaking Oliver’s hand. Oliver looked up into Jack’s eyes.
“Now, that’s a handshake, son!” Jack exclaimed.
Oliver busted out a grin that nearly brought Whitaker to his knees. Every time his father had pushed him to the edge, Jack would break
from his hardened veteran shell and stun the world with the love that was so evidently still alive in his heart.
It’s funny to think how we process experiences differently, Claire pondered, watching Oliver’s reaction when he saw the seats, which were six rows behind the plate.
“Are you kidding me!” he yelled, spinning his head around, taking in the bright lights and loud music, then putting his eyes on the field.
When he sat down between Claire and Jack, he said, “This is the greatest day of my life. Thank you, Jack. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. As long as your Yankees lose, I’ll bring you back.” Jack hit him on the leg.
Oliver smiled and returned his eyes to the action.
When the Yankees took the field, Oliver stood, put his pointer finger and thumb against his mouth, and blew out a loud whistle. Bursting with energy, he pointed at each player, calling them out by name, throwing out stats too. Claire, Whitaker, and Oliver had watched at least five games together on TV recently, and Claire had learned more about baseball in the last month than she’d known in her entire life of being a fair-weather Cubs and Rays fan.
They ate popcorn and peanuts, watched the players warm up, and listened with joy as Oliver continued to spit out numbers like a statistician, teaching them all a thing or two. A cameraman working his way down the steps stopped to take a picture of the five of them. Jack paid forty bucks for a package of various-size copies.
Once batting practice was finished, as Oliver was chomping at the bit for the game to begin, Jack tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Oli, come with me. I want to show you something. We’ll be right back.”
Oliver looked at him in surprise, and Claire thought he might turn him down. The game was about to start! But no one turned Jack Grant down. Especially when he’d bought the tickets.
Oliver and Jack ascended the steps and disappeared.
“What’s that all about?” Claire asked Sadie.
“I have no idea. You know Jack. Probably wants to show him the water tank with the stingrays.”
Sadie looked back and forth between Claire and Whitaker. “I like you two together.”
