into the abyss, the best stories coming from the deepest of depths, wringing every emotion out of you, leaving you deathly tired but utterly alive. And once you’d finished and felt like you’d given all you had, you had to wake up and do it all over again.
In his Walter Cronkite voice—deep and exact—Whitaker asked himself, “Who in their right mind would put themselves through this every day, Whitaker? Why not take the road more traveled?”
“Because, Walter. This is what I was born to do.” Whitaker caught himself from slamming his fist down on the desk. He didn’t want to wake Claire.
He still had work to do. Turning toward Willy, he said, “I’m gonna make your mama proud, little guy.”
Whitaker scrolled back to the beginning of his writing session and spent another two hours editing and polishing what he felt was a very fine ending. Once he’d read the last lines again out loud, he decided it was time for her to read it.
As the printer dealt out page after page of Saving Orlando, Whitaker sat back with his arms crossed, pondering the night before, how very perfect it was. He felt her presence behind him and rotated in the chair.
Claire was standing at the door, wearing her glasses and a Chicago T-shirt—the band, not the city. “What are you doing out of bed so early?”
Whitaker made a dramatic effort to look her up and down. “I’m wondering the same thing myself.”
Claire turned her head to the printer. “What’s that?”
Whitaker didn’t have to say it out loud. A smile rushed over him.
“You finished, didn’t you?” She stepped farther into the room.
“Every last word.” He rose to standing and leaned in for a kiss.
“How does it feel?” she asked.
“Like the battle has been won.”
She drew a shape, a heart maybe, with her finger on his chest. “I want to read it.”
“Soon enough.”
“No,” she said, pushing him away. “I’m reading it today.”
“That’s why I’m printing it out. But we have a little time until it finishes. You can’t walk in here like this and not let me hold you for a little while.”
“Is that all you’re looking for?” Claire asked, looking at him like he’d stolen a cookie out of the cookie jar. “A little snuggle?”
“For starters.” Whitaker pulled her close and spoke into her ear. “No more words this morning. I’ve said all I can say.” He kissed her cheek.
“You have until the printer has printed the last page.”
“That doesn’t give me much time. I should have written a second epilogue. Maybe an afterword too.”
“Unless you’ve been holding back, I think you’ll be fine.”
“How dare you.”
With a cup of Earl Grey tea steaming beside her and Willy nestled up to her leg, Claire was sitting on one end of the houndstooth sofa holding the stack of white paper making up the last section of Saving Orlando. Whitaker was pretending to read A Gentleman in Moscow in the chair next to the sofa.
“I can’t read it with you watching me,” Claire said, flipping to the next page.
“I’m not watching you. I’m reading.”
“I suppose a man of many languages such as yourself can read upside down if it suits him?”
He turned the book around to see the cover. “Oh, how about that?”
Claire rolled her eyes. “I know you were waiting on me to notice.”
A sly grin. “Nothing gets by you, does it?” He added, “Seriously, I can’t not watch you.”
“It’s good,” she said. “Trust me. It’s the best book I’ve ever read. Stop worrying.”
Whitaker turned the right side of his mouth up into a smile. “Easy for you to say.”
The story moved so quickly and beautifully that she was swept away again and didn’t think at all about the authors. What Whitaker had done for the story was bring Kevin to life. He’d given Kevin the tools he needed to break free, the arc he needed.
Of course, Whitaker had brought a woman into the story, and Claire didn’t have to make too many assumptions to read between the lines.
In his writing, David had never mentioned a woman in Kevin’s life. Only that he was lonely. Making a large creative decision, Whitaker had introduced Orlando’s new case manager, Amy. His last one had left her position, leaving Orlando alone again. Amy quickly stepped in with a full heart, ready to support his growth.
Only as Claire reached the last few paragraphs did she pause to take in the significance of the work David and Whitaker had written—a story of survival, second chances, redemption, and love.