early? I’m diving into a little more research now.”
She couldn’t bring herself to suggest a nightcap, not that she needed one. Agreeing to meet at seven, they both entered the elevator and rode up in silence. Why couldn’t she just plant one on him? He was obviously still interested in her. The looks he gave her, the way he listened. He’d already tried once. What was she afraid of?
When the door slid open on her floor, she stepped out of the elevator and offered a quick smile. “Thanks for dinner.”
A handsome smile back. “My pleasure.”
And then the door closed, and she stood there cross armed for a while, wishing she could try again.
Chapter 30
WHAT’S BETTER THAN CEREAL FOR BREAKFAST?
Upstairs in his room, Whitaker sat on the couch again, flipped on cable news, and opened up his laptop. Apparently, his name was still recognizable, as he’d drummed up quite a few comments in the Facebook groups. As part of his post, he’d asked if he could post Orlando’s picture. Several people, one even in all caps, had typed: DO NOT POST HIS PICTURE. Others suggested that surely someone at the placement agency could help. Another said he should talk to the Sarasota Herald-Tribune. One woman told him to PM her, which he did. He almost posted that Orlando could be in trouble and that the search was time sensitive, but that didn’t feel entirely true. Three years had gone by.
After checking, Whitaker brushed his teeth and climbed into the comfy bed with David’s composition books. Now that they were onto the truth, maybe he could learn more. He began reading, taking in the story with an entirely different view. No wonder David had struck a chord; he’d based the story off his own life.
Whitaker yawned as he moved to the second composition book, but something was telling him to keep going. What if a clue lay within these sentences?
Three hours later, Whitaker was flying through the third book, utterly lost in the story. He felt like he’d drunk a cup of coffee. Amid David’s skilled handwriting, Whitaker ran across a scratched-out word that brought him back to reality. There were plenty of mistakes that David had corrected with his pen, but this one in particular stopped Whitaker in his tracks. David had originally written that Kevin was driving south on MLK Jr. Street toward Orlando’s group home. He’d scratched out “south” and written “west.” Not that big of a deal.
Unless you know that MLK in Sarasota doesn’t run south.
But that it does in St. Pete.
Whitaker sat up straighter and pondered the mistake. He tried to put himself in David’s shoes. How do you accidentally mess up directions? If David was writing a scene in Sarasota, he’d be picturing the scene as it was taking place. He’d be driving west in his head on MLK in Sarasota. To accidentally write the word “south” meant that David was picturing the scene in St. Pete.
The boy was real.
What else in the story was real?
And had they known each other for days, weeks, or months? Whitaker had a feeling it was more like months. Whatever the answer, it seemed more plausible that they’d met and bonded in St. Pete.
Ah, but what about the picture at the Orioles game in Sarasota? If David were taking Orlando to a game, why not go to a game in St. Pete? Why would they drive all the way to Sarasota?
But why would David have moved the story to Sarasota in the first place? Well, David had obviously fictionalized the majority of the story. David was Kevin. Sarasota was possibly St. Pete. Then Orlando was almost surely a fictional name. Perhaps David had moved the story to Sarasota to further separate truth from reality and to protect Orlando. To that end, he would never use Orlando’s real name.
Whitaker looked at the time. It was four in the morning. He could barely wait to break all this to Claire.
Claire woke with Whitaker on her mind. He deserved to know that she’d turned a corner in her overcoming the loss of David. And that she couldn’t stop thinking about Whitaker. She imagined his breath on her neck, his arms wrapped around her, protecting her from this sometimes harsh world. Removing the rings was definitely not enough of a message. Why couldn’t she just kiss him already?
When she sat down at the breakfast table downstairs, Whitaker sprayed her with a line of words that moved too quickly for her morning brain to comprehend.