Wish I Were Here

Chapter 19

T he house is so… big.” I stare up at the three-story stone structure. Calling it a house is really a stretch. This place is a mansion. I take in the wide front porch, its roof held aloft by imposing marble columns, the mahogany front door flanked by sidelights set into elaborate wooden moldings, and the perfectly pruned topiaries dotting the manicured lawn. “How is it possible my mom ever lived here ?”

We’re parked across the street from the address Luca punched into the GPS when we got in the car. He checks my stolen hospital file and then peers back at the house through the driver’s side window. “This is definitely the address listed for your mom thirty years ago. You said your dad was really young when you were born.” Luca gazes at the house again. “So she was probably young, too, and this was her parents’ house. Or…” He raises his eyebrows. “Your dad was getting it on with a rich older woman.”

I breathe out a laugh. “I’m pretty sure he and my mom were just two dumb kids who didn’t use protection. But I guess I imagined that maybe my mom gave me up because she was poor and couldn’t take care of me. That she was chasing something important, or a better life.” I wave my hand at the imposing structure casting a shadow over the car from all the way across the street. “But this is—not poor.”

“The good news, though, is that it’s not an apartment building, either, which would probably mean she or her family were more transient. It looks like someone owns this place, and maybe they’ve lived here for decades.”

This almost knocks me sideways. Is it possible my mom—or at least her family—lived right here the whole time? That maybe I even passed her on the street? Would I have recognized her if I had?

Luca pulls on his door handle. “I guess there’s only one way to find out who lives here.” He steps out of the car. “Be right back.”

My mouth drops open. “Wait. Luca! Where are you going?”

But Luca has already crossed the street and is standing next to the mailbox on the curb in front of the house. We’re in an upscale residential neighborhood in the middle of the city, so while Luca might not be mistaken for someone who lives in one of these houses—especially in his white T-shirt, black trousers, and beat-up black leather sneakers—he could probably pass for a gardener or pool boy.

Luca looks left and then right. A couple of cars swish by on the road, but the sidewalk in either direction is empty. He does a quick spin that reminds me of Mrs. Goodwin, reaches into the mailbox, and grabs a handful of mail.

I watch as he lifts his shirt and tucks the mail into his waistband. And then, instead of returning to the car, he looks left and then right again, and then creeps toward the house.

What is he doing now?

Luca approaches a window on the ground floor, stands up on his tiptoes, and peeks inside the house. We’re going to get arrested for sure. He moves to the next window and does the same.

Fifteen seconds later, he’s diving back into the car.

“Oh my God, Luca!”

“What?” he pants, out of breath from his sprint across the street.

“You know stealing people’s mail is illegal!”

He laughs. “So is breaking and entering, but that didn’t stop you.”

“Yeah, but this is—” I sputter. “It’s a federal offense .”

“It’s fine. I’m just borrowing it.” Luca lifts his T-shirt to pull the mail from his waistband and then shuffles through the pile. He flips past a leaflet that’s addressed to Current Resident and a neighborhood bulletin with no address. I’m relieved to see it’s mostly junk mail and we didn’t steal anything important. And then—“ Jackpot. ”

I stare at the paper in Luca’s hands. It’s nothing important, either, just one of those credit card offers. But the name…

Victoria Jankowski.

My mom’s name is listed in my file as Melanie Jankowski. So Victoria must be a relative. “Her mother, maybe?”

Luca nods. “If Melanie grew up in this monstrosity”—he hitches his chin at the mansion—“then it’s possible her parents still own the place. So, that would make Victoria…” He trails off as his eyes shift from the envelope to mine.

“My grandmother.”

Luca tosses the junk mail over his shoulder into the back seat of his car. “When I peeked in, I didn’t see anyone. And there are no cars in the driveway. But it’s only a little after five; a lot of people will still be coming home from work.” He reaches under his seat to pull the lever and slide it back. “Might as well settle in and wait.”

I continue to stare at the house. “It’s just so hard to believe my grandmother might have been here this whole time. Do you think she knew she had a grandchild?”

Luca shrugs. “It’s hard to imagine someone having family and not wanting to even know them. But it happens all the time.”

Since we’re settling in, I lean back in my own seat. “What about you? I met your mom, and she’s clearly involved in your life.”

He barks out a laugh. “ Too involved.”

“You haven’t mentioned your dad.” I remember the warmth and chaos of Luca’s childhood home. Ginny and Lorraine and Angelo. But there was no sign or mention of Luca’s dad. Was he at work?

Luca shrugs. “He’s around. I don’t see him much.”

That startles me. “He lives in Pittsburgh?”

Luca nods. “In Bloomfield, actually.”

“But not with your mom?”

“No, they were never married. Like my sister’s ex, my dad was more of a sperm donor than a parent. I still see him in the neighborhood, but I gave up on counting on him a long time ago.” He says it so calmly, like it’s no big deal that his dad hasn’t been involved in his life. I glance up at the house where my grandmother may or may not live. I can’t imagine being so indifferent.

“Couldn’t your mom have asked Uncle Vito to threaten to cut off your dad’s hand to motivate him to come around more?”

He smirks. “I’m sure she thought about it. But it’s more fun to let my dad sweat it. Besides, if he doesn’t want to be with us, nobody wants to force him.”

I reach out a hand. “I’m sorry, Luca.” I can’t help but feel a rush of anger at this man I’ve never even met. Luca takes care of everyone around him. He deserves better than a deadbeat sperm donor for a father.

But Luca just shrugs again. “Honestly, it’s okay. My dad taught me a lot about the kind of guy I want to be. As in—the opposite of him. And I wasn’t hurting for male role models, as you’ve probably noticed.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said there are a lot of Morellis.”

“You haven’t seen the half of it. Someday, I’ll bring you to Sunday dinner.” He shakes his head slowly as if to warn me to run in the other direction. But I realize how much I’d like that.

“Plus,” Luca continues, “I always had my grandpa. He was really more like a dad to me.”

I glance around the Town Car. “I’m so sorry you lost him.”

“Thanks.” He meets my eyes, and I can see all the emotion that he lacked when talking about his dad. “He was the best.”

“Is your family the reason you took the job at the DeGreco? So you could stay in the neighborhood near them?”

“Yeah, partly. Plus, I just really like older people.” His lips quirk. “They’re fun, and interesting, and wise.”

I think back to my chat with Sal and the interactions at the community center earlier today. I never thought about it before, but maybe it turns out that I like older people, too. “I completely see what you mean.”

Luca sits up. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“I showed the apartment to five different people the day you came to look at it. You’re the only one who was actually happy about the building’s residents. Everyone else seemed vaguely inconvenienced by them. One guy even asked me if any of the old people might be moving to nursing homes soon so younger people could move in.”

“No,” I say, appalled. I remember Mrs. Goodwin pushing me into an elaborate twirl while we practiced the Carolina shag. She has more energy than most thirty-year-olds I know. I can’t imagine what she’d do in a nursing home. Or why anyone would want to send her to one. “That’s terrible.”

Luca leans in. “That was the first thing I liked about you, and I knew right away that you were the one.” His cheeks take on that charming flush. “For the apartment,” he clarifies.

But Luca isn’t just talking about the apartment. It was that same day on the building tour when I flung myself into his arms, and he yanked me against him like I belonged there. I know now that I didn’t imagine that spark between us, or all the ones that followed. This attraction was there in every interaction, even the ones when we were arguing, when I thought he was the most maddening person I’d ever met. I pushed so hard against him. Now I can see that after being on my own for so long, it was hard to let someone in. To disrupt my careful plans.

But there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than in this old car, stealing mail and staking out a mansion. Even if it means I’m here because my entire life hangs in the balance. Because it also means I’m here with Luca.

Suddenly, I’m grateful for this vintage Town Car because it doesn’t have any of the cup holders and storage receptacles taking up space between the seats. It’s just one long bench, and my dress slides easily against the soft leather as I move in his direction.

“Thank you for helping me with this search for my mother, Luca.” I shift even closer. “I don’t know what I would have done without you this past week. I hope you know how much it means to me.”

Luca gazes back, his face serious. “I’m here for you, Catherine. Whenever you need me. I hope you know that.”

He reaches for me, but an SUV pulls up beside us, slowing to a crawl. I jump back to my side of the car and shift in my seat to watch as it glides past. It slows even more as it approaches the mansion in front of us, and I hold my breath. But it doesn’t stop there. Instead, it turns in to a driveway one door down. A teenage boy gets out, pulls some sort of sports equipment from the trunk, and heads into the house.

I sigh. “False alarm. I guess I should have known it wouldn’t be so easy.”

“It’s still early in the evening. We have plenty of time.” Luca’s grin is back. “Besides, this way we’re getting the full stakeout experience.” He rubs his flat stomach. “I just wish I thought to bring doughnuts.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Fabrizio was right. You do watch too many movies.”

“We might as well settle in.” He leans across me to open the glove compartment, his hand brushing my knee. “Do I have any snacks in here?” He comes up empty and clicks it shut.

I check my purse, but with all my nervous energy around tracking down my mother, I didn’t think about food. And then I remember the pocket of my dress. I fish out the butterscotch Sal gave me earlier. “It’s not quite a doughnut, but you can eat this.”

Luca’s face registers surprise. “Was that in your seat when you sat down? I still find those things everywhere.”

“No, I—” But then I trail off because another SUV is heading toward us, slowing as it approaches. “Luca, look.” This time, the car turns off the street into the driveway of the mansion we’ve been watching. I grab his arm. “Someone’s home.”

We both peer out the side window as the car comes to a stop next to the house and someone steps out. She’s too far away for me to make out her facial features, but she looks to be a tall, slender white woman with silver hair. Something about the way she moves suggests that she’s older—maybe approaching eighty.

“She looks like a Victoria,” Luca comments. “I bet that’s your grandma.”

I turn to him with a questioning expression. “What does ‘a Victoria’ look like?”

Luca shrugs. “Queenlike.”

I turn back, and there is a grace to the way the woman glides up the stairs to the porch. Her trousers and blouse look expensive, as if they’ve been tailored just for her and, despite her advanced age, she’s wearing heels.

“She reminds me of you.” Luca’s gaze sweeps over me. “Elegant.”

I look back to the woman. “So what do we do now?”

“Now we go and meet her. Are you ready for this?”

I take a shaky breath. “No.”

“You can do this.” He takes my hand. “I’ll be right there with you.”

What would I do without him?

We cross the street and head up the path to the front door of the house. I ring the bell, and to the left of us, the sound of organ chimes drifts out an open window. About ten seconds later, we hear footsteps tap past that same window.

The door swings open, and on the threshold stands the same older woman we saw moments ago in the driveway. Up close, she looks a little younger than I predicted—closer to seventy—but that might be because she’s put a lot of work into maintaining her appearance. Her shoulder-length silver hair looks professionally styled, her forehead smooth, and her clothes appear just as expensive up close as they did from far away.

Luca commented that she reminds him of me, and as I take her in, I realize the woman is wearing a pair of herringbone trousers and a white blouse that are pretty much a carbon copy of the outfit I wore the day Luca spilled my coffee. Is it a complete coincidence, or did I inherit my grandmother’s sense of style?

My gaze lifts to her face. Her sense of style, and her blue eyes.

“Can I help you?” she asks. Her voice is cold, detached. Not exactly unfriendly, but not warm and welcoming, either. But then again, we’re a couple of strangers standing on her porch. Did I expect her to run outside and fling her arms around me?

“Hi,” I say, and it comes out high-pitched and squeaky. I clear my throat. “We’re looking for a woman named Melanie Jankowski. Would you happen to know how we can get in contact with her?”

The woman peers at us, eyes slightly narrowed. “What is it that you want with Melanie?”

“Well.” I open my mouth, but our entire plan goes out of my head. Because she didn’t say no. She didn’t say she’s never heard of a Melanie Jankowski, or that I must have the wrong house. My gaze darts to Luca. He gives me an encouraging nod. You can do this.

“Well, I—the thing is—”

“Yes?” Her voice is clipped. Impatient.

“The thing is my name is Catherine. Catherine Lipton. And I think Melanie might be my mother.”

The woman’s eyes widen, and she grabs onto the doorframe for support. Her face turns as pale as the white marble floor she’s standing on. For a moment, I think she’s going to pass out. She’s not a young woman, and this could be very bad. Luca’s thoughts seem to be going in the same direction, because he takes a step forward, reaching out a hand.

She recoils from him. “No.” Her hand fumbles to grasp the door handle. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” And with that, she staggers backward and swings the door shut in our faces. A distinct click of the lock carries out to the porch.

Luca and I stare at each other.

“Well,” I finally say. “That didn’t go well.”

“Sure it did,” Luca counters, ever the optimist.

“How do you figure?”

“Now we know we’re in the right place.”

I bite my lip. From the open window to our left, I hear the muffled ping of ringing through a cell phone. It sounds like Victoria is making a call and put it on speaker. Is she calling the police?

“Maybe we should talk in the car.” I turn to head across the porch. There might be Morellis all over town, but the chances of Uncle Marco showing up to let us off the hook for a second time seem pretty slim. I’ve avoided arrest more than once this week, and my luck can hold out for only so long. But before I even make it to the steps, Luca reaches out and grabs my shoulder, pulling me back against him. “ What are you doing?” I demand.

“Shhh.” He leans in, his mouth inches from my ear, his solid chest warm against my back. “Listen.”

I stop fighting and lean back against him. Instead of letting go, he tightens his arm around me. From the same open window comes a muffled, tinny voice through the phone’s speaker. “Hello?”

“Melanie?” The voice of the woman who answered the door drifts out. My pulse picks up speed when I hear the name. Melanie. “Where are you?”

“I’m at St. Anne’s,” says the woman on the other end of the phone. “Where else would I be?”

“ St. Anne’s ?” I hiss. We were just there yesterday. I turn to look at Luca, and my cheek brushes his nose.

“Shhh,” he whispers again.

“Something’s happened,” the older woman says. “I need to talk to you right away.”

“Are you all right? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“What is it, Mother?” Melanie’s voice has a hint of impatience. “I’m in the middle of my shift. ER patients can’t be kept waiting, and we’re short-staffed today.”

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt. Can you call me when you get off?” the older woman says. “It’s important.”

“They’re paging me right now. I’ll call you in a few hours.”

They hang up, and I turn in Luca’s arms to look at him, eyes wide. He holds a finger to his lips and hitches his chin toward the car. As silently as possible, we creep down the stairs. When we’re on the sidewalk, we make a run for it.

“Melanie works at St. Anne’s Hospital,” Luca says, out of breath, once we’re safely back in the car.

“In the emergency room, apparently.” I gaze out the front window. “She’s a doctor. My mother is an ER doctor .” I’m having trouble wrapping my head around this new development. Because if there was one enduring image that I held of my mother growing up, it was that she left me because she was doing something important. Lifesaving. Something bigger than me.

So to find out that this is exactly what she’s doing…

The breath whooshes from my lungs.

“Well…” Luca flops back against the seat, one hand pressed to his stomach and the other palm up against his brow. “I think I’m having a terrible case of food poisoning. I need a doctor.”

And suddenly, I know where this is going.

Earlier today, I made a wish to find my mother. And now I know exactly where she is.

“Let’s get you to the ER right away.”