of dialogue that lacked description or motion and often descriptions that required finessing.
But that wasn’t the point at all. It was good! The characters came alive in Whitaker’s head. David had done a great job of giving Sarasota life.
Whitaker flipped back a page and reread a particular sentence that had caught him. “The beach was an overturned saltshaker pouring out into the Gulf, and above, a stratus cloud eased its way toward Mexico like a pelican fat on bait fish migrating south.”
Several weeks into story time, Kevin opened up to Orlando, telling him how his fiancée had left him the day before their wedding. In return, Orlando shared the details of his broken past. A victim of her own difficult childhood, his mom had been a drug addict and often prostituted herself for her next fix. Orlando was a product of a one-night stand. She’d gotten clean long enough to get him back but then overdosed a week later. Orlando had been found sleeping next to his mother’s dead body. After seven failed placements, he had given up on the chance of family and had decided to age out of the system in his group home.
The first book of the novel ended with Kevin flashing two tickets to Islands of Adventure to visit The Wizarding World of Harry Potter. Orlando was a huge fan. The words jumped off the page. “Consider this a bonus. You think you can miss a day of school?”
“You’re joking, right? Are you really taking me to Orlando? Like the two of us going to Harry Potter World? I’ve never been to a theme park.” Orlando paused.
Whitaker reached for the second book and kept going, shredding through pages. He could see Kevin as if he were sitting there next to him, a man waking from a dream, connecting with a paternal instinct long lost, realizing that by giving to this boy, he was feeding himself too. Though Whitaker was a long way from recognizing any paternal instincts, reading about Kevin was almost like looking in the mirror.
Kevin was a disaster of his own unique making, though, playing online poker at work, stealing coworkers’ food from the community fridge, gulping down cable news and screaming at the talking heads. Whitaker roared with joy when Kevin hit bottom, bingeing on Desperate Housewives while pounding wine spritzers.
The typist paused. Should he accept the project, Whitaker knew he’d have to get to know David’s life more. What were his quirks? Had he pulled these ideas out of thin air or had they morphed from his own decay? Whitaker would have to get to know Claire more as well. How had she affected his life?
David had clearly done extensive research on the foster system, and Whitaker wondered where that knowledge had come from. If he did tell Claire yes, that he’d finish the book, he’d need to dive into his own research. He was completely unfamiliar with the life of a child ping-ponging through the system, but he was more than intrigued to learn more.
Getting back to reading, Whitaker wondered if the middle of the story would fall off. Often, writing the first part was easy, but it was keeping the middle alive that made or broke a book.
Whitaker took a few bites of the second half of the sandwich and washed it down with more Coke. He kicked his feet back up and dove into the second book. After another great scene, Whitaker sat up and said, “I’m going to get paper cuts, David. I can’t believe how good this is.”
And then . . .
I have to write this book. There it was. The decision. I want to help this book come to life. Whitaker looked at his arms and chill bumps had risen. A story had literally landed on his lap, and he couldn’t believe he’d almost ignored it. What if he hadn’t read it? What if he’d stuck with the lie to Claire? He thought this book might have the answers he was looking for. Might he be so bold as to say Claire was right? He was meant to finish this book.
Sure, helping Claire appealed to Whitaker. Between her persistence, vulnerability, and, let’s face it, beauty, she was a hard woman to say no to. Despite the complication of this book being written by her deceased husband, he couldn’t deny the attraction he felt toward her.
But it wasn’t just Claire that fueled his sudden desire to finish the book. Or David’s story and the potential satisfaction of