the front door, he lowered the volume and returned to battle.
Chapter 5
NO, THANK YOU, GOODBYE
The knocking didn’t stop. Someone out there was determined. Cinching his robe tight, Whitaker crept across the house to a window in the dining room. He peeked and saw the back of a woman with light-brown hair and long, tan legs waiting on the stoop. Who in the world? Perhaps someone interested in pushing her religious beliefs. Or someone selling something. With those legs, probably the latter. Either way, he’d better answer it and run her off, or she’d just come back at an even more inopportune time.
Whitaker walked to the front foyer and cracked open the door about two inches. “How can I help you?”
She was about his age. The rims of her glasses reached from her eyebrows down to the bottom of her nose. That was the style these days, Whitaker thought. She wore a romper with thick stripes of white and faded blue that fit tightly around her skinny waist. He attempted to stop his gaze from descending again but took a quick glance all the way down to her bright pink flip-flops and painted white nails. Whitaker pulled open the door even farther.
Though she looked like she hadn’t slept all night, Whitaker found her arresting. Nerves he hadn’t felt in a long time dizzied him. It occurred to him that he’d seen this woman before, but he couldn’t place her. The big glasses, the seductive eyes and lips—as if a red rose had a face.
“Hi there,” she said. “I’m . . .” She stopped and took a breath.
Why is she nervous? Whitaker wondered.
Stabilized, the woman touched her chest. “I’m Claire Kite.” When the name didn’t register, she said, “You probably don’t remember me, but we met at my restaurant. I own Leo’s South on Pass-a-Grille.”
That’s right, he thought. He flashed back to the days when he was single and used to type in her restaurant, a couple of years after Napalm Trees. He couldn’t remember the specifics, but he remembered her. “Oh, yeah, sure.”
Whitaker realized he shouldn’t have opened the door. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like, the robe, his wild and shaggy hair probably all over the place. “I used to love Leo’s, but it’s been a while. How can I help you?”
“I don’t even know where to begin, really.” She looked down briefly. “Can I come in?”
“Umm, I’m not exactly prepared to accept guests. Sorry. The place is a mess.” He looked down for a wedding ring and noticed a stack of composition books in her left hand. The books covered her ring finger. “You’re not some kind of journalist on the side, are you? I’m not doing interviews.” Other than the ones in my head, he conceded silently.
Stay out of it, Walter.
“No, I’m not a journalist. I just need a few minutes of your time to explain. It’s very important. To me, at least.”
Whitaker thought for a moment. No way was he going to let this beguiling woman come in and see the disaster he’d become. Cold Chinese, zombies frozen on the television. Still, he was intrigued. What did she want from him? The pleading and sadness in her voice suggested that he needed to hear her out.
He pinched his mustache. “Would you please give me a moment? Let me put some clothes on, and we can sit out front. Can I offer you an ice water?”
Claire smiled. “Yes, absolutely. Thank you.”
Whitaker ran up the stairs and pulled on a pair of blue shorts, which had become more difficult to button. Until recently, he’d always weighed around the same as he had during his college days at Emory, so the idea of wearing anything larger than a thirty-two-inch waist terrified him. He pulled on a white T-shirt and rushed into the bathroom. As he gargled mouthwash (no time for brushing), he couldn’t help shaking his head at the man in the mirror. He was still tall, thank goodness. No one could take that from him. But what was this mustache he’d grown? Between that and the unkempt wild hair, he looked like he belonged on a sailboat much farther south, running drugs. Of course that would be looking at him in a more positive light. His father would tell him he looked like a redneck who lived with his hound dog in a single-wide trailer in the middle of Florida.
There wasn’t much more he could do for his appearance while she waited, but he wondered why he even