An Unfinished Story - Boo Walker Page 0,33

me a year to learn what you just figured out in ten minutes.”

During another attempt, the instructor approached and put his hand on her hips. “You’re getting it, but loosen those hips. Have a little fun with it.”

Fun, she mused. She didn’t even know what fun was anymore.

But she and Billy eventually fell into their rhythm, and like an impostor, a smile planted itself on Claire’s face. But she couldn’t deny, impostor or not, it was a smile that had deep roots, one that she couldn’t have hidden had her life depended on it.

Claire covered her mouth. Though this was fun, she felt guilty. A dark voice inside her was stomping her foot, demanding, “Fun isn’t allowed.” And yet something felt right about what she was doing. She wanted to snap at the ugly voice and tell the little monster that she had every right.

Round and round they went, switching partners, adding new spins and various footwork. Toward the end of the hour, Lashonda and Claire paired.

As they attempted their moves, Lashonda asked, “Have you seen Claire, by chance? She was here earlier. The one with the sad heart on her sleeve.”

Claire caught her drift quickly. “I can’t believe you all talked me into this. But I’m so glad you did.”

The most genuine smile in the world. “Good for you for stepping out. I couldn’t ask for a better birthday present.”

Though she wasn’t necessarily accomplishing anything, Claire had a strong feeling that she was doing something so much more important than getting the monotonous checked off, like something to do with selling the house or running the café. The warrior inside her was breaking through, and she was getting down to the marrow of her life again. It wasn’t about trying to get by. That was all she’d done for so long.

It was about honoring David’s memory by living life to the fullest.

Why had this been such a difficult vision to see? Why such a difficult concept to wrap her head around? Hadn’t everyone been telling her this for years? Was it really this simple? A few little smiles as she stumbled around attempting to dance salsa?

Perhaps.

Claire spent the next two days packing and working with the movers to empty the house. She visited her old home one last time after the cleaners had wiped away the last of her and David’s life together. It was Tuesday morning, a few hours before the closing.

She climbed the steps and entered his empty office. She looked where his desk had been and, for one last time, imagined him sitting there.

“My friend Didi says she talks to her husband, so here goes. David, give me the strength I need. I know you don’t want me to be sad. It’s taken me three years to figure that out. But how do I find happiness? I enjoyed a glimpse of it on the dance floor two days ago, but how do I add to it?” She took in a giant breath and tried to feel his presence. She listened, as if there might be a whisper coming from above.

“I know you can’t talk to me,” she finally said. “Even if you’re listening, I know you can’t respond. Just know that I want to make you proud. Please do what you can to give me a boost every once in a while. I’m going to need it.” She shrugged. “So here I go. I’m off to the closing. I guess the one thing that makes me happy is that saying goodbye to this house isn’t saying goodbye to you.” She choked up and touched her heart. “You’re inside me forever. You’re not allowed to leave, okay?”

Locking up, she descended the steps and climbed into her car. Almost out of habit, she reached into the glove box for her latex glove. But as she began to snap it on, she shook her head. David would forgive a lot of things, but not smoking.

With a guilty little smile, Claire took a detour from her usual reggae and found a salsa playlist. As the rich Latin beats filled her convertible, the welcome taste of hope hit the tip of her tongue.

Chapter 10

I HEAR THUNDER

After a brutal Wednesday dealing with needy clients, Whitaker came home with every intention of writing. Something about his father offering him a job made him desperate to find his words again. It was no secret that it was his father who’d given him a story in the first place. It didn’t take much effort shaking

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