Wish I Were Here

Chapter 24

W hen I arrive at the community center the next morning, Mrs. Goodwin is on the stage at the far end of the gymnasium, ordering people around through a microphone. “I want the chairs lined up over here.” She waves her hand in one direction. “Tables over there.” Another wave. “And be sure to leave a wide aisle for the wheelchairs.”

I’m here to meet Dad and show him the space for the fundraiser performances. He texted last night to let me know that in addition to agreeing to do a juggling routine, he’s reached out to his friends and secured Ginger’s burlesque troupe, a group of belly dancers, and possibly an aerial act if the ceiling in the gym is high enough.

As I gaze around the room that hosted the exercise class yesterday and that today is slowly transforming into a cross between a high school prom and a theater production, I realize that half the community is here to pitch in. In addition to Mrs. Goodwin at the microphone, I spot the book club members gluing together felt triangles onto ribbons to make bunting, several of Uncle Vito’s security men on ladders fiddling with the lighting, Ginny’s son Angelo stacking chairs, and dozens of other people I’ve passed in the hallways of the DeGreco or recognize from the shops around the neighborhood. I even see Sal sitting quietly on a bench in the corner, drinking a cup of coffee. I give him a wave, and he smiles in return.

And then I notice Dad is in on the action, wearing a pair of work gloves and pitching in with everyone else. He’s chatting with the person opposite him as they slide the tables into perfect rows—leaving enough room for wheelchairs—and I can tell by the way he waves his hands that he’s telling the story about the time at the Ren Faire when he was juggling fire on a float in the river, set the whole structure aflame, and had to swim to shore in thirty pounds of chain mail, armor, and a helmet.

The guy moving the other end of the table is laughing so hard he has to stop walking and lean on it for support. Though I can’t see his face, I recognize the expanse of lean muscles through his fitted T-shirt. And the tattoos. Of course, the tattoos.

My body heats as I remember pressing my lips to the bird on his shoulder last night. I never expected to be so attracted to a man with tattoos. My last boyfriend, a mathematician I met in my analytic number theory seminar in graduate school, used to wear khakis and a pressed Oxford shirt to class every day. But then again, I never expected to find someone I felt safe enough with to let go of all my careful control the way I did with Luca last night. Or someone who could make me laugh at the same time.

A thrill goes through me at the sight of him—the little lines that crinkle around his eyes when he laughs, the lock of dark hair sliding down his tan forehead. He’s so familiar, but this feeling is brand-new. Thrilling. Like I’m jumping from the fire escape to the rooftop, and at any moment, I could fall.

I make my way in Luca’s direction, and when Dad spots me, he comes over to give me a hug. “Kitty Cat! What an absolute delight.” Though I saw him yesterday, he still greets me like it’s been years. I guess it’s always been this way, like seeing me is the best part of his day. Sometimes when I was a kid, I’d open the front door after school to find a handmade WELCOME HOME sign, a stack of cupcakes, or Dad unicycling around the living room waiting for me.

Though I’ve struggled with our relationship, he’s still my dad, and I know he loves me. But even if half the time he’s in his own world, how could he keep such huge secrets from me? I shake my head, pushing it out of my mind, because maybe I’ll finally get those answers from Melanie tonight. Instead, I focus on Luca, who rounds the table to join us.

“Hey,” he says, not quite touching me, but standing close enough that I feel the warmth of his body. He gives me a sideways smile, his gaze lingering on mine for a moment. If I lean in, I can smell his citrusy scent. That same scent was on my pillow when I woke up this morning, but Luca was already gone. He left a note, though, using the pad on my desk where I keep my lists.

Off to deal with the broken elevator.

Luca sure knows how to charm me.

I pull my attention back to the present when Dad gives Luca a good-natured slap on the back. “I was happy to run into this guy again.”

Luca smiles. “Andy was just telling me about some of the perils of his job.”

I knew he was sharing the story about the fire juggling and chain mail. It’s one of Dad’s favorites, now that he’s not at the bottom of a lake. “We may want to skip the fire throwing at the fundraiser,” I suggest. “Since they’re trying to save the building, not burn it to the ground.”

“I’ll stick to juggling balls and the unicycle,” Dad promises with a laugh.

“Speaking of that…” I gesture up at the stage, where Mrs. Goodwin is still at it with the microphone. “Do you think this space will work out for your friends’ performances?”

Dad gazes around the gymnasium. “The stage will be fine for the dancers and my juggling tricks.”

“What about the aerial act?”

“Luca’s uncle over there was just helping me figure out how we could hang the silks from the beams on the ceiling.” He hitches his chin at Uncle Vito. “Nice guy.”

Of course, Dad’s only saying that because he doesn’t know how close Uncle Vito came to detaching him from his limbs.

“I had no idea there were so many different types of carnival performers in Pittsburgh,” Luca muses.

“There’s a pretty big community, actually. Tight-knit.” Dad looks around the room. “Most of us regularly hang out at ArtSpace, and we all support each other.”

“What’s ArtSpace?”

“Catherine didn’t tell you?”

Luca raises an eyebrow. “No?”

Dad’s face lights up. “It’s a collaborative space for artists to come together to share their work with each other and the community. Anyone is welcome—performing artists, visual artists, whatever floats your boat. The circus community gets together a few times a week to practice our craft and design our acts, and we do occasional performances for the community.”

“Sounds like fun.”

Dad reaches out and gives Luca’s shoulder a squeeze. “You ought to come down sometime. Everyone is welcome, and I’m happy to show you the ropes.”

Luca grins. “I see what you did there.”

“Yep, there are literal ropes hanging from the ceiling,” I say. There’s also an art gallery. I peeked in when I was there the other day and noticed they’re between exhibits.

“If you’re interested in aerials or acrobatics, it’s the best place to learn,” Dad adds.

“I’m more of a visual artist, but I’m willing to give it a try,” Luca says, up for anything, as usual.

“Really?” A smile stretches across Dad’s face. There’s nothing he loves more than encountering a fellow artist. “What’s your medium?”

“I do illustration, mostly.”

“Is any of this yours?” Dad waves a hand at the ink on Luca’s arm.

“Most of it, yeah.”

“Beautiful. You have a lot of talent, but I’m sure you already know that.”

“I mostly do it for fun.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” Dad says. “ArtSpace supports artists of all levels. Let me know if you ever want to check it out.”

“Thanks, Andy. It sounds great. Maybe Catherine can take me over there, and I’ll finally convince her to show me a few of her circus tricks.” He looks at me. “The unicycle?”

“Nope.” I shake my head.

“Acrobatics?”

“Uh-uh.”

Luca sighs. “Fine. At least show me how you can juggle.”

“That is never, ever happening,” I say sweetly. But maybe I will take him to ArtSpace. I’d love to show him the gallery. Just in case he ever wants to get those drawings out of his mom’s attic.

Mrs. Goodwin shimmies over, doing a two-step to the music playing through the speakers. “Helloooo,” she trills. And though she stops in front of us, her shoulders keep bopping. “Now, who is this gentleman?” She looks Dad up and down.

“Andy Lipton, at your service,” Dad says with a bow. “Father of the brilliant Catherine. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you.” From anyone else, it would be a corny line, but Dad sincerely means everything he says, and Mrs. Goodwin beams.

“Catherine, you didn’t tell me your father was so charming.” Two pink spots bloom on her cheeks. “Or so handsome.”

Dad is only forty-eight, tall, and fit from all the juggling and pedaling and balancing on thin lines of webbing. But it’s his charisma that draws people in. He has a way of making everyone want to move in his orbit, and of welcoming them all in. My gaze slides to Luca.

It reminds me of someone else I know.

“My dad is here to talk to you about performing at the fundraiser,” I explain to Mrs. Goodwin. “And he has some friends willing to help out, too.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Mrs. Goodwin claps her hands together.

“I can do my clown show—juggling, unicycle, maybe the slackline if we can rig it up.” Dad pulls out his phone. “And let me show you some videos of the dance troupes. They’ll knock your socks off.”

Mrs. Goodwin giggles. “I’m really interested in seeing your routine, Andy. Especially if it will knock off more than my socks.”

Dad chuckles. “You’re going to make me blush.”

“Catherine.” Luca leans in, his mouth inches from my ear. “Can I see you for a second?” He hitches his head in the direction of a door against the wall. “I need your help with something over here.”

I leave Dad to flirt with Mrs. Goodwin and follow Luca across the gym into the supply closet. He closes the door, and we’re plunged into darkness. I reach out and grab for him to steady myself, and he pulls me up against his chest.

“How do we keep ending up in dark closets together?” I ask, slightly breathless.

“Excellent planning on my part.” Luca slides his arm around my waist.

“So, all of a sudden, you’re a planner.”

“Like I said, you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, right before his lips find mine.

And he must be rubbing off on me, too, because never in a million years did I expect to find myself sneaking off to make out in a supply closet. Or that it would leave me feeling so exhilarated.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you walked in today.”

I reluctantly pull away. “I should probably get back to my dad before he notices I’m gone.”

Luca kisses me one more time, and I head back out into the gym. Dad has gotten out his bag, handed out the balls, and is demonstrating a basic three-ball cascade for Mrs. Goodwin, the book club, and— yep —even Uncle Vito and his guys. Balls are flying everywhere, bouncing off the shiny hardwood floor, but nobody seems to mind. Dad is a good teacher, leaning over to demonstrate an alternative position for Ginny and calling out encouragement to Uncle Vito, who looks frustrated but determined.

Fabrizio and Angelo both show the most natural talent, and Mrs. Goodwin has the most flair. But I spot one of the book club members dropping balls left and right, so I can’t help but head over to pitch in. Within about fifteen minutes, everyone in the group has juggled at least two balls, and several of them have managed three.

“Really nice work, everyone,” Dad says, clapping his hands as we collect the balls in a pile.

“Now, let’s see what you can do, Andy,” Mrs. Goodwin calls.

With a smile, Dad grabs a handful of the juggling balls and shows off his skills, tossing seven into the air and keeping them aloft while he does a series of footwork that’s reminiscent of Mrs. Goodwin’s Carolina shag. The balls speed up as his arms move faster and faster until they’re nothing more than a colorful blur. The community center crowd goes wild. He switches to a single-hand throw, then back to double, all the while moving his hips to the music piped through the speakers. Finally, in one graceful motion, he lets the balls drop one by one into his outstretched hands and ends his show with a bow.

“My goodness,” Mrs. Goodwin says breathlessly, after the applause has died down. “You have amazing talent, Andy. Have you ever worked for the circus?”

Dad shrugs. “Nah. I work locally, mostly.”

“Well, you’re wonderful at this. Did you ever think about trying out when you were younger?”

“Sure, I thought about it.” Dad bends over to tuck the balls back into his tote bag. “But when I was younger, I had a daughter to raise.” He hesitates for a beat, and then straightens, giving me a grin. “That was better than any circus job.”

“Catherine is a lucky girl,” Mrs. Goodwin gushes, taking Dad’s arm and drawing him over to the stage to talk about the sound system for his performance.

I stand in the middle of the gym watching them go. For the first time, it occurs to me that Dad might have actually made a real career of this clown thing.

If it hadn’t been for me.

Could he have joined the circus, traveled the country, and had a chance to show off all his best tricks for an appreciative crowd every night if he hadn’t had a daughter begging him to get a real job?

I don’t have time to think more about it because my phone starts buzzing. I pull it from my pocket, and my body goes cold at the sight of Dr. Gupta’s name scrolling across the screen. I haven’t actually thought very much about my new job these past few days. I’ve been too busy breaking and entering, and going on stakeouts, and meeting my mom.

And I’ve been busy spending time with Luca.

And having more fun than I’ve ever had in my life.

I quickly swipe to answer. “Hello? Dr. Gupta?”

“Catherine?”

“Yes?”

“Catherine, is that you?” Dr. Gupta sounds annoyed. “Are you at a rodeo? I can barely hear you.”

The music is still blaring, people are milling around laughing and talking, and one of Uncle Vito’s guys is up on a ladder with a power drill.

“Sorry.” I dart across the room to slip into the supply closet. The noise dims into the background. “Is this better?”

“I suppose so.”

I clear my throat. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I’m calling to remind you that classes start the week after next.”

The bass from the music out in the gym has faded, but now my anxious pulse beats in my ears. I haven’t looked at my syllabi in days . I’m completely unprepared for the semester to begin. “Of course. I’m aware of that and excited to get started.”

“We’re coming down to the wire here, Catherine. I’m afraid we’re going to have to rescind your offer and hire someone else if this identity snafu doesn’t get resolved soon.”

“No.” I clutch the phone tighter, hoping Dr. Gupta can’t hear the quiver in my voice. “Please don’t hire someone else. I’m really close. I just need another few days.”

“Have you been working on the paper we talked about? Since you can’t be here at the university, I would have expected that you’d at least use the time to work on a draft of the paper.”

“Yes! Yes, of course! I’ve been working on it nonstop.” Except I haven’t been. I’ve barely been thinking about it at all.

“Well, then maybe we can move the deadline up to September.”

“I…” Even without my identity to recover and four classes to plan, churning out an entire research paper by September would be impossible. And it’s ridiculous that he’d expect that of me. Nobody can live up to those standards, especially without any departmental support. I open my mouth to point this out but then quickly clamp it shut. Now isn’t the time to address this, not when I’m about to lose my job. I can talk to Dr. Gupta about deadlines once my identity has been reinstated. When I’m back at work, he’ll be in a better mood. “I’ll be in touch with both you and human resources as soon as possible.”

“You have until Monday,” Dr. Gupta barks. And then he hangs up on me.

I stand in the dark closet, staring at my phone. When I take a deep breath in, my chest squeezes, and I have trouble getting air into my lungs. It’s too hot in here, and I’m lightheaded.

I need to focus.

On getting my identity back. On getting my work done.

I spin on my heel and fumble for the door to make my way back out into the gym. But it’s even hotter here, and the music is too loud, and the power drill is still whirring overhead. I press my hands to my temples. Luca has joined Dad and Mrs. Goodwin onstage, and they’re all practicing the steps to the Carolina shag.

I thought we were here to plan the fundraiser, not to juggle and practice our dance moves. I grab my purse and dig in the side pocket for my to-do list. It’s crumpled and torn in one corner. I haven’t updated it in days. All the little boxes are still unchecked.

Dad laughs at something Luca says, clapping him on the back like they’re old friends. They sure are getting along great. I shouldn’t have expected any less. Up there onstage, the similarities are striking. Dad and Luca are both fun and uninhibited, both charming, both the life of the party.

But are they similar in other ways, too? My childhood comes back to me in flashes. The bills that piled up, the schoolwork I abandoned so we could go to Burning Man, Dad’s inability to hold down a job. And then I can’t help remembering Luca losing my dry cleaning. His naps on the floor of the lobby. The fact that it’s eleven in the morning and he’s not anywhere near his post at the door.

The elevator was still broken when I left this morning.

Luca sees me watching and gives me that charming smile, and I do my best to muster one in return. He says something to Dad and Mrs. Goodwin and heads over to me.

“You okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” My voice sounds hollow in my ears.

“You’re standing in the middle of the gym staring off into space.”

“I’m just—” I stuff my to-do list back in my bag. I’ll write up a new one when I get home and actually check some things off this time. “I’m just thinking of how much I have to do before the semester starts. I should go and get some work done.”

“Seven o’clock at Melanie’s, right?” He shoots a quick glance at Dad. “Did you tell Andy that you met her yet?”

I shake my head. “No. I’d like to wait and see what she has to say about the birth certificate first. My dad was so against me contacting her, I don’t want him to try to talk me out of it.”

Luca wrinkles his brow. “Now that I’m getting to know your dad, it does seem strange that he’d keep this kind of secret from you for all these years.”

I turn to study Dad up on the stage. He’s standing next to Uncle Vito, waving his arms and telling a story. Maybe it’s the flammable boat and chain mail swim again. Inexplicably, Uncle Vito is bent over, clutching his abdomen with his bulging forearms, his shoulders vibrating with laughter. I shake my head. I don’t have an explanation. “I just hope Melanie will be able to give me some answers.”

I’m about to head out, when I remember the prospect of climbing eight flights of stairs back at the DeGreco. “Did you know the elevator is still broken?”

Luca mutters something under his breath. It sounds like a curse, followed by “ Mrs. Hartman. ” He raises an arm to flag Dante down off a ladder.

“What’s up, cuz?” Dante asks after they’ve done their handshake-hug thing.

“Mrs. Hartman.”

Dante lets out a heavy sigh. “She broke it again?”

I picture the older woman I met when she was pushing a walker onto the elevator earlier this week. She seemed so sweet and unassuming. “How is it possible that this woman has broken the elevator half a dozen times, and you haven’t evicted her yet?”

“We’d need a séance to evict her,” Luca mutters.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Dante taps his chin. “Hell of a lot easier than dragging my ladder over there again.”

Now I’m even more confused. “Can someone please explain what you’re talking about?”

Luca and Dante exchange a glance.

“Mrs. Hartman passed away six months ago,” Luca finally says.

“So how could she possibly be…” I stand up straighter, his words registering. Six months ago? “Wait a minute. I met Mrs. Hartman on the elevator a few days ago. She was very much alive.”

Luca tilts his head. “Are you sure about that?”

I stare at him, waiting for his smile to break through. But he just returns my gaze impassively.

“Mrs. Hartman,” I say the name slowly. “The short woman with curly white hair? She uses a walker with fake flowers tied to the handlebar?”

“Yep.” Dante nods. “That’s Mrs. Hartman.”

“You’re saying that woman passed away six months ago.”

“I know it sounds crazy…” Luca begins, but I cut him off.

“You think the building has ghosts ?” My gaze swings back and forth between the two men. “Ghosts who vandalize the elevator?”

Luca lifts a shoulder. “It’s an old building, and lots of people lived there for their whole lives. Some like to hang around for a while. You know… after…”

Dante nods. “Mrs. Hartman caught her husband kissing Judith from 5C on the elevator a couple of months before she died.”

“People can really hold a grudge,” Luca adds.

Mrs. Hartman smiled and called me dearie . She seemed as inconvenienced by the broken elevator situation as I was. There was no brush of cold air on the back of my neck, no moment where the older woman suddenly disappeared and then reappeared. Would a ghost really need a walker? Wouldn’t she just float along unencumbered?

This whole story is completely preposterous.

But of course it is. I remember Luca’s joking tone in the hospital basement when he was trying to convince me there were ghosts in the morgue, his amusement that the idea made me uneasy. Is he teasing me again now? Or is this an excuse because Dante didn’t fix the elevator correctly?

Dante and Luca stare back at me, poker-faced.

I sigh. If I don’t have time for juggling and dancing, I definitely don’t have time for ghosts. Especially made-up ones. “Okay.” I turn to head across the gym. “I’ll just take the stairs.”