truth is that I’m writing again. I know I hit a dry spell, but I’m coming out of it. If I took a job with you, I’d be saying goodbye to writing forever.”
“Can I be honest back with you?”
“That’s one thing you always are.”
Jack nodded. “You’re a good writer, and I’m proud of you for what you’ve done. Even if you don’t write another book, you’ve done more than most writers alive. There’s something to be said for that. But there comes a point where you have to take life a bit more seriously. Time to start thinking about a new family again. Time to let go of these childhood dreams and . . . become an adult.”
“Don’t go there, Dad. Who says we all have to raise a family? I’m forty. I’m not sure that’s even in the cards anymore. Lisa was the one pushing me. Without her, I’m not sure I’m father material.”
“I think you’d be a great father, but fair enough. You don’t need to force it if you’re not interested. But behind every good man is a good woman.”
Whitaker’s headache was raging. He hated these conversations.
Unsurprisingly, Jack wasn’t done. “We are the sum of our choices, Whit. All the little choices we make as humans create who we are. It’s like the construction business. When I build a project, it’s one good decision at a time. We start with a strong foundation, and then we take every following detail seriously. That’s why my buildings stand the test of time. When I look at you, I see a big pile of bad decisions. I see a building falling apart from the inside out.”
Whitaker crushed the empty beer can in his hand. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m sorry, son. I don’t want to be the dad who crushes your dreams, but it’s been ten years. Some people only have one book in them. Nothing wrong with that.”
A nauseated feeling rose from his stomach as Whitaker stood and started to leave. “There is no future without another book. That’s about the only thing I know these days.” He jumped up onto the dock. “Thanks for the beer.”
“Whitaker, look at you. What is this mustache and the long hair? You’re a good-looking guy. Quit trying to hide it.”
Whitaker ignored his question. “I appreciate the job offer.”
As he walked back around to the front of the house, dodging the others at the party, he wondered why he hadn’t allowed himself to escape this madness, why he hadn’t packed up his Rover and hit the highway.
But he knew. Because St. Pete had given him his first novel, and he knew she was going to give him another one.
Avoiding the dinosaur crowd around the bouncy castle, Whitaker walked the property line toward the street. Thinking he’d successfully sneaked away, he heard his brother’s voice.
“Whit!” Riley yelled. “A buck knife? Who gives a five-year-old a buck knife?”
As he was wrapping it, the gift had made perfect sense, but upon hearing his brother’s condemnation, it became painfully apparent how out of touch Whitaker was with parenthood. He waved his brother away and found a pace somewhere between a walk and run as he cut loose the anchor of his family and put his eyes on the Rover.
For some unknown reason, Claire popped into his mind. And Whitaker wished she could have seen this entire episode. Then she’d know the mess he’d become. If she could swim around in his mind for a little while, she’d see how wrong she’d been to track him down. He was in no condition to help someone else.
Chapter 7
CHASING SMILES
“Let go,” the teacher was saying as she slalomed between the beach towels of the six yogis taking Shavasana during their early-afternoon session. “Let all the tension drift off with the breeze.”
Claire had joined the new studio since moving to the beach, and they offered daily sessions on the sand. She was no stranger to yoga, but since David’s death, she’d abandoned her practice for more intensive and mind-numbing workouts, such as running and spin class. Returning to her practice was a part of her commitment to healing.
But the end of the class, the Shavasana—the part most found the easiest—proved the most uncomfortable for Claire. So much quiet. The screaming of silence, where the seeds of her fury quickly sprouted. Sometimes it wasn’t about David at all.
Her mother was always an easy target, the woman who’d left Claire and her father to marry another man and have more children. Half