Wish I Were Here

Chapter 4

A s I head across the lawn toward the Town Car, Luca jogs around the hood and swings the front passenger-side door open. “Hi,” he says with another wide grin.

“Thanks for coming.” I lift a foot to climb in and then stop. On the seat is a pile of grocery bags.

“Whoops,” Luca says when he notices my hesitation and looks in the car for himself. “Mrs. Goodwin did a little shopping. Let me move these to the trunk.”

He’s already put a big box in the trunk, and I’m not sure if all these bags will fit, too. “It’s fine. I can get in the back.”

I pull open the door and slide into the car. Mrs. Goodwin is still sitting there, behind Luca’s seat, and they’ve picked up another passenger, who is now sitting in the middle. He’s a short, olive-skinned white man, probably in his eighties, with a shiny bald head encircled by a ring of snow-white hair around the sides.

“Hello,” the man says, giving me a smile. “The name’s Sal.”

“Hi. I’m Catherine.”

“We know who you are, dear,” Mrs. Goodwin says.

“I know. I was just telling—”

“How did the meeting go?” Luca asks, sliding into his seat and looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Uh,” I stall. The meeting went well. It was what happened after that’s the problem. But Mrs. Goodwin and Luca have already discussed my underwear today, so I don’t think I really want to share any more personal information. And I’ve just met this Sal person. Although Lord knows what he’s heard about me. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Luca’s eyebrows furrow, almost like that answer bothers him. I can’t imagine why it would. I can’t imagine why he cares. “That doesn’t sound so promising, especially after all the buildup.”

I sigh. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day.”

“It’s ten in the morning.” The furrow deepens.

“You’re right.” I sit up straighter. “The meeting was good. Really,” I reassure him, but maybe I’m also reassuring myself. “It was great. My boss said I have a brilliant mind and he wants to mentor me.” It sounds even better when I say it out loud. Dr. Gupta isn’t the kind of person to throw around idle compliments.

In the narrow mirror, Luca’s eyes connect with mine. They’re wide and dark, lined with long lashes and framed by thick eyebrows and high cheekbones. Despite the fact that the rest of his features are hidden, I can tell he’s giving me his signature grin by the little lines that crinkle at the corners.

“I’m really glad,” he says. His voice lowers a little at the end, as if he’s talking only to me despite the other people in the car. An unexpected warmth takes over my limbs. I quickly look away.

As Luca eases the car into traffic, I catch a glimpse of Dad back out on the lawn, juggling colorful balls now. He has at least seven up in the air at once, and a crowd of college students has taken notice, surrounding him, cheering him on. I wonder how many will put a dollar in his hat, though, and I suspect it’s not very many.

It all comes back to me in a slow wave. Dr. Gupta in his conservative khakis and Dad in his flower lei. Dad offering me a go with the juggling clubs. I press my hands to my eyes. Surely it wasn’t as bad as I’m making it out to be. But then I remember the diaper story.

It was so bad.

And the worst part is, the mortifying run-in with Dad and my boss is only serving as a distraction from the even bigger problem that Dad lost another steady job. He still thinks he’s going to support himself with his clown career. It’s been thirty years. When is he going to accept reality?

I shake my head. Dad and reality are not two words that anyone would use in the same sentence. After all this time, I don’t know why I keep expecting things to be different. Maybe it’s because I hoped this new job was finally going to be my chance to focus on my career and my future. And now, in one toss of a juggling club, it’s all in jeopardy.

I’m so distracted by my thoughts that the next thing I know, Luca is pulling the car into the parking lot of a local pharmacy.

“What are we doing?” I ask, my voice slightly high-pitched. After the morning I’ve had, I really ought to get home and start working on the paper Dr. Gupta and I discussed. But I should have guessed I’m along for the ride on Luca’s errands.

He confirms this by opening his car door. “I’m going to grab Mrs. Goodwin’s prescriptions. Back in a second.”

Mrs. Goodwin wiggles out of her seat belt. “Hold on, young man. I’m coming with you. I need a new shower cap. And some water pills.”

Luca peeks over his shoulder into the back seat. “You okay for a few minutes back there?”

“Sure am,” Sal confirms.

I sigh. “I’m fine.” Looks like we’re going to be here awhile.

Luca and Mrs. Goodwin disappear inside the store.

Sal leans back against the seat and reaches into the pocket of his gray trousers. When he pulls his hand out, an old-fashioned hard candy rests on his palm. “Would you like a butterscotch?”

My stomach growls. I was so keyed up about the meeting with Dr. Gupta that I barely picked at my frittata at our breakfast meeting, and now I’m starving. Through the pharmacy window, I spot Mrs. Goodwin standing in the makeup aisle, comparing the labels on two tubes of lipstick. Luca waits patiently behind her, plastic shopping basket hanging from one arm and a mild, unhurried expression on his face. Sort of like the expression he had when he mentioned getting Dante— whoever that is —to fix the elevator. As if he could happily wait all day.

And, in turn, he could happily make me wait all day, too.

My stomach growls again. “I’d love a butterscotch. Thank you.” I take the candy from Sal, peel away the shiny gold wrapper, and pop it in my mouth. The sweet, buttery flavor bursts on my tongue, momentarily tamping down my hunger, and oddly, soothing a tiny bit of my anxiety, too.

“Here, take another.” Sal slips another butterscotch into my hand. “Keep it in your pocket for later.”

“Thanks.” I wrap my fist around the candy, hoping this doesn’t mean Sal knows something I don’t. Like the fact that we really are going to be here all day. I should hop out of the car and walk to the nearest bus, but I wore heels for the meeting. And the exhaustion of being “on” for the past hour has finally caught up with me. I lean back into the rich leather cushion of the Town Car’s back seat, feeling my body relax. They really don’t make cars like this anymore. I can see why Luca would want to keep driving it after his grandpa was ready to pass it along.

Sal settles in next to me, and although I’m tempted to close my eyes and take a nap, the older man did just ply me with candy, and I feel like I should at least attempt to make some polite conversation.

“Are you a resident of the DeGreco building, too?” I ask him.

He nods. “The missus and I moved into the DeGreco when our kids were grown. So I’ve probably lived there for about thirty years.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” The idea of that kind of permanence fills me with an unexpected longing. When I was ten, I started writing a list in the front cover of my journal of all the different apartments where Dad and I lived. I’ve kept it updated ever since, and so far, I’ve moved fifteen times in twenty years. Dad’s chaos came—ironically—like clockwork. He’d lose his job because he was juggling boxes instead of unloading them or because his boss wouldn’t give him the time off to go to the Ren Faire. We’d get behind on bills, and then the letter would arrive saying we had thirty days to move out. Dad never minded it. In fact, he thrived on the uncertainty, like it was all some big adventure. And he never seemed to understand how hard it was on me—constantly packing our things in boxes, leaving our home behind, finding a new apartment we could afford on the salary of whatever job I managed to talk him into taking.

And then there were the times we couldn’t find an apartment we could afford, and we ended up crashing at Dad’s friend Ginger’s place. Ginger always took us in when Dad and I showed up on her doorstep, and she even fixed up a little closet under the stairs with a reading chair and some fairy lights just for me. Sometimes I thought about begging Ginger to adopt me so I could stop moving and just stand still for a little while. But Dad needed me, and I worried about what would happen to him if he were on his own.

But this time around, Dad swore he’d work hard at his job, follow the rules, and above all, not get fired . I really hoped this was finally my chance to settle down. That the DeGreco would give me the stability I’d longed for my whole life. A real home, one where I could be happy living for a long time, just like Sal. But in light of Dad’s latest resistance to gainful employment, I wonder if I’ll even make it another month before I end up back in with him because I can’t afford the rent on two places.

My heart aches just thinking about having to pack up and move on again. Leaving the DeGreco behind would be a painful blow. I can’t imagine finding another place that’s so perfect for me.

When I first applied to live in the building, Luca told me that most of the other residents are older people in their eighties and even nineties who’ve lived there for decades. He mentioned it a couple of times as he gave me the tour of the apartment and showed me around the shared spaces, almost as if he really wanted to make sure I knew what to expect. I guess there aren’t too many almost thirty-year-olds clamoring to live among the octogenarian crowd, and maybe he wanted to warn me the building would be a little sleepy. But sleepy is exactly what I love about it. A building full of older people means no loud parties spilling in the halls, no music shaking the walls, nobody shouting at midnight.

Mrs. Goodwin and her Carolina shag notwithstanding.

But I remember her blowing me a kiss earlier—wishing me luck at my meeting—and I look down at the black trousers covering my legs. Mrs. Goodwin is a sweet lady, and I’m lucky to have her as a neighbor. Besides, I can’t help but feel like the doorman and his devil-may-care attitude were the real culprits behind the coffee incident this morning. Dancing lessons in the lobby seems like an idea that would come straight from the mind of Luca Morelli.

I really can’t fathom how the owner of the building would put a guy with absolutely no regard for rules or order in charge of running the entire complex. But then I remember Luca’s gaze in the rearview mirror and the irresistible grin tugging at his lips.

I guess Luca does have his charms.

I peer through the gap in the front seats to see if I can spot him and Mrs. Goodwin inside the store again.

“You seem anxious to get going,” Sal observes, leaning back against the seat and crossing his legs with the opposite of urgency. “Are you late for something?”

“Well… not specifically.” But my to-do list is a mile long, and I hate wasting time. I have to finish my syllabi for the four different classes I’ll be teaching, work on my own research, and should probably start looking for new jobs for my dad, too. Clearly, grocery stores aren’t a good fit. All that shiny, round fruit just ripe for juggling. We’ve already exhausted fast food since french fries are too hard to catch and they tend to end up all over the floor. And clothing retail was a total disaster—it turns out that Gap T-shirts are not aerodynamic. “I just need to go home to get some work done for my new job.”

“Are you entering the clown industry?” Sal inquires.

My head jerks up. “What? No.” God, no.

“Your new boss seems to be some sort of juggler.”

Sal must have noticed me on the lawn when the Town Car pulled up. “Oh, that wasn’t my boss. You probably saw me with my dad.” That shaky feeling radiates out to my limbs. “ He’s a clown.”

“That sounds like a fun job,” Sal says mildly.

I remember Dad holding out the clubs earlier, asking if I wanted to give them a go. It’s been years, but I could have juggled at least five of them. With a little practice, I bet I could even get up to six. Juggling is one of those things that comes back to you, kind of like riding a bike. Or, in the case of my family, a unicycle. I used to love juggling and Hula-Hooping and learning all of Dad’s tricks.

It was fun when I was a little kid who didn’t know that bills needed to be paid, or kids should show up to school on time. Before I missed field trips because Dad never sent in the permission slips, and I failed math tests because Dad decided to take us to a music festival instead. It was fun before I understood that clowning isn’t a career, especially if you have a daughter to support entirely on your own. “He seems to enjoy it. But it’s not for me. I’m a mathematician.”

“Ah, I see.” Sal nods, his bald head catches the sunlight slanting in through the side window, and it almost seems to glow. “Well, I’m glad things went well with your boss today, especially after the difficult morning you had.” Sal probably heard all about the coffee catastrophe and trouser exchange from Mrs. Goodwin. I hope she didn’t tell him about my underwear, too.

“The meeting actually did go well,” I say. “But then…” Sometimes my life feels like those clubs Dad was juggling. As soon as I manage to grab one thing, the next gets lobbed into the air. I clench my jaw, crunching down on the flat butterscotch disk with extra force. That familiar anxiety rises up, and I try to swallow it along with the bits of candy. They’re both sharp going down.

“Sometimes I wish I could just… I don’t know. Be someone else.” I mumble that last part under my breath.

Through the pharmacy window, Mrs. Goodwin holds up an uncapped tube of hand cream for Luca to smell. He shakes his head and points to a different brand on the shelf. I feel a strange surge of jealousy at Luca’s ability to be so utterly unconcerned with his responsibilities. He was supposed to be back at the front desk hours ago. He probably wasn’t supposed to leave at all. My dry cleaning is still missing, the elevator is on the fritz, and I’m certain that as we speak, residents are placing illegal flowerpots on the fire escapes and FedEx drivers are roaming around looking for someone to sign for packages. And Luca is calmy choosing lipstick colors and debating the merits of having your hands smell like lavender and coconut versus rose water orange blossom or whatever they are.

What if instead of always grabbing for the juggling clubs, I just let them drop? And left them where they landed? The classes on my roster, the academic papers I’m on my own to write, my dad’s considerable lack of employment. What if, like Luca, I simply wandered off whenever I felt like it?

No, it’s not that I want to be someone else . It’s that, some days, I’d simply like to be…

Nobody.

No commitments. No one expecting anything from me. I can’t remember a time when I experienced that kind of freedom, even in childhood. By the time I was six years old, I was the responsible party in our household. While Dad was just the party .

“Did you say something?” Sal tugs on his earlobe. “Speak up. My hearing isn’t what it used to be.”

My gaze jerks to his. Did I just say all of that out loud?

No. It may have been a rough morning, but I haven’t quite hit the point where I spill my issues to a stranger in the back of a Lincoln Town Car.

“Never mind,” I mumble, crumpling the candy wrapper in my hand. Like I told Luca, it’s been a long morning. I force a laugh to show I was joking. “I’m just a little stressed about all the work I have to do. I’ll feel better as soon as I get home and get started on it.” But as I pull out my carefully ordered list to add the academic paper I’ll be writing all by myself between now and October, my desire to hurry home fades.

Nobody , a strange little voice in my head echoes. Wouldn’t it be nice?

Sal takes another shiny wrapper from his pocket and pulls on it to untwist the ends. He holds it out to me, and I pluck the hard candy off the crinkly paper. “Thanks,” I mumble, stuffing it in my mouth.

Luca appears in the doorway of the pharmacy with an overflowing shopping bag under one arm. He holds the door open for Mrs. Goodwin, giving her a wave of his hand and a bow as she walks past—unencumbered by packages—like she’s the Queen Mother.

I watch Luca jog gracefully over to us and grab the car door for her, his long limbs gliding like a dancer’s. I can see why he’d make an excellent Carolina shag partner for Mrs. Goodwin. And I can also understand why the people in the building want to hang around in the lobby chatting with him, telling a joke, playing a game of cards. He’s undeniably attractive—all lean-muscled, dark-eyed, six-foot-something of him. And then there’s that charm that he directs with equal abandon at people of every size, age, and gender but that somehow makes you feel like he’s directing it only at you.

Maybe riding around in the back seat while Luca and Mrs. Goodwin run errands isn’t so terrible after all. I slide the butterscotch from one cheek to the other, savoring its sweetness. The back seat of this Town Car really is surprisingly comfortable. And Sal seems like pretty good company. Maybe, just for today, I can be nobody.

Tomorrow, I’ll face it all again.

“Where to now?” I ask, once Mrs. Goodwin is settled next to Sal and Luca is in the front seat starting up the engine.

Luca catches my eye in the rearview mirror. “Back to the DeGreco.”

“Oh.” My voice drops at the end. “You don’t have more errands?”

“We do, but we’ll take you home first.”

“I hate to make you go out of the way.”

“It’s no big deal. I know you’re eager to get back. We’ll just swing around that way and drop you. We’re not in a hurry.”

I picture the FedEx driver giving up on obtaining a signature and leaving the packages on the sidewalk in front of the building for someone to steal as they walk by. Of course Luca isn’t in a hurry. He never is. But I’m surprised he’s concerned about my schedule.

“Great.” It comes out more sharply than I intend.

I find Luca’s gaze in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. I look away.

When we pull up in front of the DeGreco, I say goodbye to Mrs. Goodwin and Sal while Luca hops out of the car to get my door. Before he can get there, I push it open myself and swing my feet out. Too late, I realize I’ve mistimed my exit, because he’s stepped forward to offer me his hand at the exact same moment that my legs propel me upward. My shoulder bumps his chest, and I teeter on my unfamiliar heels. He reaches out to steady me, and through the thin material of my blouse, I can feel the warmth of his hand. My gaze drops to his tattooed forearm, and I have the strangest urge to reach over, push his sleeve higher, and find the end of the vine I can see growing toward his bicep.

Cheeks heating, I lift my chin and meet his eyes with as much composure as I can muster, which to be honest, is not much composure at all. “I appreciate you getting me to work and back safely,” I say politely. “And as for the rest, well, hopefully the elevator will be fixed by tomorrow.”

“Anytime at all.” Luca gives me that charming grin, ignoring my dig about the elevator, of course.

I take a step back, but at the last moment, he tightens his grip around my arm, tugging me closer. His grin slowly fades.

“What—” I stutter. “What are you doing?” My voice wavers, and I clear my throat.

Luca leans in, his face moving closer to mine. He smells like something fresh and citrusy, with a tiny hint of the leather seats of the Town Car. For a wild second, I think he’s going to kiss me. And for some completely inexplicable reason, I find myself leaning in, too. My breath catches in my throat. But then, just as his lips are inches from mine, Luca shifts his face to the left, over my shoulder. I feel a tiny brush of his facial stubble against my cheek and the rise of his chest as he takes a breath through his nose like he’s trying to smell my perfume.

“What are you doing ?” I lean sideways to get a look at his face.

“You—” Luca drops back on his heels. I’ve never seen him look flustered before. He shakes his head as if he’s trying to focus. “Sorry. Never mind.” And then before I can say another word, he lets go of my arm and backs away.

I watch him head back to the driver’s seat. What was that about? And more importantly, what was I thinking, leaning into him like that?

Of course, it’s not like he was actually trying to kiss me.

But if he was, would I have let him?

This is the weirdest day I’ve ever had, and that’s saying a lot for someone who grew up with a literal clown. It’s not even eleven in the morning, and already I’ve swapped clothes with my neighbor, had my potty training history trotted out for my boss, and come alarmingly close to making out with my doorman.

I need to wrestle this day back under my control. I head for the door to the building, ready to go upstairs, finish my syllabi, and find my dad a new job. But at the last second, I peek over my shoulder just in time to watch Luca sink gracefully back into the Town Car to continue his errands with Mrs. Goodwin and Sal. A strange longing tugs in my chest.

I actually do need some new work clothes. Maybe they’re going near the mall?

But as I turn around to call out to Luca, my knee bumps something sharp and heavy. I feel it toppling sideways, crashing to the sidewalk, and I slap a hand against the building’s wall to keep from ending up on top of the pile. “Ouch,” I mutter, clinging to the brick. When I’ve managed to get my feet under me, I turn around to survey the scene.

You have got to be kidding me.

FedEx boxes litter the sidewalk. I’m sure the driver dumped them here because nobody was at the front desk to open the door and receive them. And now they’re scattered almost to the street, where anyone could wander by and take one.

With a heavy sigh, I bend over to pick up as many boxes as I can, balancing them in one hand while I try to fish my key out of my purse with the other. Oblivious, Luca pulls the Town Car out into the road with a loud zoom, not even bothering to put on his turn signal first.

Which clearly goes against the traffic laws.