Wish I Were Here

Chapter 15

A re you going to be okay?”

It’s three in the morning, and Luca is standing outside my apartment door. I’m still wearing my scrubs, clutching a file folder to my chest. A file folder that reveals that I’ve been googling the wrong name for decades. That my birth certificate—the copy, anyway—was a lie. In some ways, my whole life has been a lie.

I’m not really sure what “okay” looks like at this point.

I hesitate in the doorway, tempted to invite him in for a drink. I have a bottle of red wine I bought to celebrate when I received the offer from the mathematics department, but I never drank it. Dad was off at the Shanti Festival, and in the end, it seemed kind of depressing to drink alone.

My gaze slides over the janitor coveralls that Luca’s unzipped and folded down to reveal his black T-shirt beneath. He’s already spent his night breaking and entering on my behalf. I’m sure he wants to get to bed, either his own, or maybe that friend on the eleventh floor’s. “I’ll be fine,” I lie.

“Are you going to try calling your dad again?” Luca asks.

I called Dad twice from Luca’s car on the drive home, but he didn’t answer. It could be because he’s asleep. Or isn’t Burning Man this week? I have no idea.

I sigh. “Yes, but to be honest, I don’t have high hopes for that conversation.” It’s not like I can accuse Dad of lying to me, because he’s never told me anything about my mom to begin with. Not a single thing. But it’s still a shock to find out that my birth certificate was essentially a forgery. I guess that explains why I only ever had a photocopy.

Luca takes a step closer, his gaze locking on to mine. “You know what you need?”

I’ve spent enough time with Luca to know literally anything could come out of his mouth right now. So I just shake my head.

He reaches for my hand. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

I don’t know what to say to that, both because I’m trying to work out where he could possibly take me at three in the morning where a fear of heights could be an issue, and because a little zing of electricity shoots through me as his hand closes around mine. “I—no.”

“You sure?”

“I once sailed across a warehouse on a trapeze swing, hanging on only by my knees.”

Luca opens his mouth to say something and then stops. “Really?” he finally manages.

I admit I enjoy seeing his forehead crease and his head tilt as he tries to work out what to make of this information. “Really.”

His grin widens. “I’m going to watch you do that someday.”

“You absolutely are not.”

“We’ll see.” He tightens his grip on my hand. “In the meantime, come with me.”

I set the file folder inside my apartment and let him tug me back into the hall to a window at the end. As Luca releases the locks and slides it open, I remember making a note of all the ways to get out of the building in the event of a fire, and this window was on my list. Luca grabs the frame and pulls himself out onto the metal slats of a fire escape. I mirror his motion, climbing up next to him.

It’s a warm August evening, and the humidity envelops us as soon as we’re outside, mingling with the scent of basil and mint growing in pots on the stairs. I should say something to Luca about that, mention that someone could trip over them, but then I remember all the ways I broke the rules today, and I decide to keep it to myself. Besides, I have other things to worry about, like the fact that we’re eight stories up and I may have miscalculated my fear of heights. The street looks awfully far below us. We’re much higher above the ground than the aerial silks and trapeze swings at ArtSpace. I grab the iron railing for balance. Luca’s arm slides around my waist, pulling me sideways against him.

“You okay? It’s disorienting the first time you look down.”

I nod, leaning into Luca’s solid frame. His citrus scent blends with the herbs, making me lightheaded for an entirely different reason.

“Stay on the inside of the steps.” Luca angles me toward the stairs, and I guess this means we’re going higher. We zigzag back and forth up the rickety iron fire escape, past the windows that open to floors above mine, finally arriving at the platform that leads to the roof. Luca hops gracefully over a low brick wall and lands on the flat, rubbery surface that stretches over the top of the building. Then he turns to help me across. I keep my eyes trained on his so I don’t accidentally peer down through the disorienting sliver of space between the fire escape and the wall as I clamber across.

On the other side, I find my footing, but I don’t step away from the circle of Luca’s arms. I still don’t know why he brought me here, but at the moment, I don’t really care.

He takes me by the shoulders and gently turns me toward the edge of the rooftop. “Catherine,” Luca whispers. “Look around you.”

For the first time since my shaky ascent of the fire escape, I focus on the view, letting out a gasp.

The entire neighborhood unfolds before me. To my right, rows upon rows of slanted rooftops form a jumble of angled shapes under the glow of streetlights. To my left, Liberty Avenue stretches in the distance, the arched windows of the old brick buildings lit up by the occasional lamp in a window, the church steeples shadowed against the night sky. And beyond, past one of the city’s dozens of bridges, the lights of the university’s cathedral sparkle like diamonds on the hillside.

“Oh, Luca.” I grab for his arm. “This is amazing.”

“Beautiful, right?”

“I had no idea the building had this view. I didn’t even know you could come up here.” I do a slow spin, taking it all in.

“It’s the tallest building in the neighborhood. You can see for miles.”

I tilt my head back. The sky is clear tonight, and thousands of lights shimmer overhead. “Living in the middle of the city, I never really think to look up and see the stars.”

“Down there, the streetlights block them out. But sometimes you just need to see it from a different angle.”

Luca has shown me the world from so many different angles. “Thank you for bringing me to this special place.”

“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather show it to.” He tucks my hand in the crook of his arm and leads me across the roof to a metal lounge chair covered by a durable canvas cushion. “Would you like to sit?” Luca brushes a stray leaf to the ground. “Sorry, there’s only one chair. I usually come up here alone, but I’m happy to share if you are.”

I slide onto the lounge and move over to make room.

The cushion sinks under his weight as Luca sits beside me. He slips his arm behind my back, and I settle against his chest, my thigh pressed to his. Through the thin cotton of his T-shirt, I feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart beneath my hand. “Do you come here a lot?”

He nods. “I discovered the roof access when I was a kid playing on the fire escape, and I started climbing up here when I needed a little break from my family.” He gives me a sideways grin and an eye roll. Since I’ve met the Morellis… so many Morellis… I smile back. “I kept a bin of sketch pads and an old beach chair up here, and I’d come up and draw for hours.”

Just beyond where he sits, I spot a waterproof box on the ground. Through the translucent plastic, I can make out piles of sketchbooks and various drawing implements—charcoal, pencils, pens. It looks like he still comes up here to draw.

“My grandpa found me up here one day, and that’s when he discovered I had a talent for drawing.”

Though he smiles at the memory, I can sense his sadness. Shifting a little, I reach out to take his hand and weave our fingers together. Luca’s thumb strokes against my palm, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world. “I bet your grandpa was so proud of you.”

“He was.” Luca’s chest rises and falls. “There’s a little art shop over on Walnut Street, and I think he walked there once a month to buy me new supplies. Every time I showed up at his place, he had a new sketch pad or charcoal pencil for me to try.”

My heart aches for Luca’s incredible loss.

“When he died last year and we cleaned out his place,” Luca continues, “I found piles of my artwork in the cabinet, all organized and labeled by year.”

“Where is it now?”

“I put it in my mom’s attic.” Luca shakes his head. “I just couldn’t face it, you know?”

I remember the conversation when Luca said he’d planned to do an art show, but it hadn’t worked out. “Is that why your show was canceled last year? Because it was too painful to go ahead with it?”

Luca hesitates and then nods. “He was my biggest fan. It wouldn’t have been the same without him. But…” He sighs. “I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to keep it packed away forever.”

My gaze shifts to the box of art supplies. I’m dying to open it and pore over every one of Luca’s sketches. “Would you be willing to show me a few of your drawings?”

A week ago, I never would have imagined asking him to share something so private and important. But now, I can’t imagine not . Though I’ve only known Luca for a couple of months and have only really known him for a couple of days, this friendship matters to me. Luca matters to me. I didn’t grow up with a lot of friends, and though I dated in college and grad school, I was too busy to ever get close to anyone. Sitting here with Luca, the buildings lit up in the background, the stars sparkling overhead, I feel a wave of gratitude that this person quite literally stumbled into my life. He’s shown up for me again and again, and I want to do the same for him.

He tilts his head to meet my eyes. “Yeah? You really want to?”

I sit up. “Of course I do.” These drawings are a window into Luca, and I want to open it and climb inside.

Luca reaches for the box next to him. I slide to the foot of the lounge chair and sit cross-legged so I’m facing him, the box between us. Slowly, he lifts the lid. I hold back, giving him a moment to sort through a couple of the sketchbooks, his brows knitting together nervously. Finally, he chooses one, takes a deep breath, and hands it to me.

I flip the cover open, and the air whooshes from my lungs. On the page in front of me is a delicate drawing of a bird in motion. The lines are sketched in pencil, or charcoal maybe, darker in some places and lighter in others, showing the bird as it descends toward a flat surface on the bottom of the page. Its wings curve back, tail feathers strain forward, and something about the grace of its movement reminds me of Luca.

“It’s gorgeous, Luca.” I reach out to touch his arm. “The way you’ve captured the bird’s motion. I want to keep watching it settle peacefully before its whir of activity starts up again.”

He gives me a smile that tells me I understand exactly what he was going for. “There was a whole summer when I was in high school that that guy kept me company up here on the roof, always flitting around me or landing on the foot of my chair.” Luca reaches over to give the page an affectionate pat. “That was the start of my bird-drawing phase. When fall came, I guess he flew south. I still think about him. Sometimes when I climb up here, I still hope to see him hanging out on the wall.”

Nothing about this story surprises me. Luca has a way of connecting with just about everyone he comes into contact with, whether that’s the older people in the building or three-hundred-pound bouncers at a club. Of course even a bird would be drawn to him.

I tilt my head toward the sketchbook to hide the emotions on my face, flipping the page to the next. And this time, I gasp out loud. It’s a drawing of a young woman gazing down at a sleeping baby in her arms. The baby is tiny—a newborn, maybe—and the woman looks tired but captivated. With just a handful of simple lines, Luca has captured all the love and worry and fear that I imagine a new mother must feel.

And then I realize she looks familiar. “Ginny and Angelo?”

Luca nods. “I came up here and drew that one on the day he was born.”

“Has Ginny seen this?” My voice grows hoarse. I swipe a palm at the moisture gathering under my eyes.

Luca shakes his head. “I haven’t really shared these kinds of drawings with anyone, except my grandpa. And now you.”

“No wonder your grandpa was proud of you. These are stunning, Luca. They take my breath away.” I look up, and the lights from the distant buildings shimmer in his eyes. I’ve never been so drawn to someone in my life. He takes my breath away, too. And he’s looking at me like I do the same to him.

Luca slowly takes the sketchbook from my hands, setting it back in the bin and sliding the whole thing to the ground. We’re facing each other on the chair, our knees just touching in the middle. He reaches out, cupping my cheek in the warmth of his palm. I lean forward, closing the distance between us. Our lips meet, gentle, hesitant. We pull apart, and then Luca gives me that smile. The crooked one that makes me feel like there’s nobody else but the two of us, right here in this moment.

He pulls me in again, and I meet him halfway, more urgently now, my palms fisting his shirt to hold on tighter. We fall back against the lounge chair, me leaning against the headrest, Luca propped over me, one hand woven in my hair. With the stars winking overhead, his mouth finds mine, and we stay here, tangled up together until my lips are swollen, cheeks raw from his unshaven face, and the black sky begins to glow on the horizon.

Finally, Luca pulls back, but I can tell he’s reluctant. “It’s five in the morning.” He slides a hand to my cheek. “You’ve had a long day. I should get you to bed.”

“Um,” I mumble. Yes, please.

He gives me a grin that tells me he knows what I’m thinking. “I meant to sleep , Moonstone.”

I sigh. As much as I’d love to stay here with Luca on this magical rooftop, or to crawl into bed with him and forget about everything else, I have an identity to save and a dad to track down in a couple of hours.

We climb back down the fire escape to the eighth floor and slip in the window. And then we’re standing in front of my door just as we were before, but somehow in the span of a couple of hours, my night has been completely transformed. There’s still the shock of finding out about my mother, but it feels less heavy now. I feel less alone. “Thank you,

Luca.”

“For what?” He cocks his head.

“For sharing your drawings with me. For turning this night into something wonderful.”

He presses a gentle kiss to my lips. “You’re going to be okay?”

I nod. “I am now.” I take a step back and open my door. On the floor is the red file folder, right where I left it before we climbed to the roof. I bend down to pick it up.

Luca eyes it for a second. “You know, that file lists your mom’s name. But it also lists an address in Pittsburgh, right?”

I flip open the folder and scan the first page. He’s right, there’s an address for Melanie Jankowski. In my shock at learning her real name, I forgot about the address. “I think it’s a street in Shadyside.”

“Maybe we should drive over there and check it out.”

I take a shaky breath. The address is so close, we could almost walk. “Do you think someone might still live there?”

“It was thirty years ago, so I know it’s a long shot. But worth a try.” He leans in and cups a hand against my cheek. “Get some sleep and then meet me in the lobby at five o’clock this evening.”

I nod, still staring at the address. “Okay,” I whisper.

Luca heads toward the elevator, and I quietly close the door and then lean back against it, still feeling the pressure of his mouth against mine. Though I’m completely exhausted, a thrill runs through me. Whatever this is with Luca feels completely right. And in about twelve hours, I might finally have answers to questions about my mother that I’ve been carrying for my entire life. It’s almost too good to be true.

I push away from the door and head to bed. I have a big day ahead of me.