Page 33 of Wish I Were Here
Luca nods. “You think he’ll help?”
“Of course he’ll help,” Lorraine says fiercely. “You’re family.” She turns to me. “Don’t worry. If Luca cares enough to go to all this trouble, Vito will look out for you.”
“Who’s Uncle Vito?” I murmur to Luca. But I already have a pretty good idea. He’s a Morelli, of course. I hear they’re everywhere. And well connected. And possibly in the Mafia. I’m not sure if that should encourage or terrify me.
“You’ll see,” Luca whispers.
I think I’m going to go with terrified.
“He’ll be at the club tonight,” Lorraine says. “Go see him there. Just make sure you arrive before eight so you don’t interrupt his card game.”
“Okay, we should probably head home, then.” Luca pushes his chair back. “Catherine will want to change out of her work clothes before we go to the club.”
I set my spoon in my empty bowl and carry it to the sink. “And the elevator,” I remind Luca. “Don’t forget you’ll want to check on the elevator.” He hasn’t mentioned Dante all day, and I haven’t seen him call to check in.
“Yep, and the elevator,” Luca agrees.
We head down the hall to put our shoes on, and a moment later, Lorraine meets us there with a Tupperware container. “Take this for later.”
“Oh, I couldn’t. That’s your dinner,” I say, but I can’t seem to keep my eyes off it.
“We have a whole pot.” She slides it into my hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Take it, Catherine,” Luca says. “Never argue with an Italian mother who’s trying to feed you.”
Lorraine smiles, patting Luca’s cheek. “I taught my boy well.”
“Okay, I’ll take it. Thank you.” I clutch the container, already thinking of when I can heat it up later.
“I like a girl who can eat.” Lorraine turns to give me a pat on the cheek, too. “Apparently, so does Luca.”
“Jesus, Ma,” Luca mutters, yanking the front door open and stepping out on the porch, but not before I catch a glimpse of his face heating up.
Back at the DeGreco building, the elevator seems to be working properly. I step on and hit the button for the eighth floor. On my way up, it stops at five, and when the door slides open, a tiny gray-haired white woman in a pink housecoat gets on, pushing a walker she’s decorated with plastic flowers. Usually when I pass someone in the hall or ride the elevator with them, I give them a smile, or maybe a polite hello. But Luca must be rubbing off on me, because once the older woman has pressed the number for her floor and the door starts to close, I find myself saying, “Hi, I’m Catherine. I live on eight.”
The woman shuffles her feet to the left, still clutching her walker, to turn toward me and smile. “Mrs. Hartman on nine. I’m so glad the elevator is working today, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I agree. “It seems to be broken a lot, doesn’t it?”
“I can’t imagine what the issue could be,” Mrs. Hartman muses.
The elevator slows at the eighth floor, and I step off. “Have a good day.”
“You, too, dearie.” Mrs. Hartman waves as the door begins to slide into the frame.
And then it hits me. Mrs. Hartman?Is this the woman Luca said has been vandalizing the elevator?“Hey, wait!” I call. But the door is already closed. I give my head a hard shake. That can’t be right anyway. That woman has to be in her nineties, and I doubt she can get around without a walker. How would she possibly manage to break an elevator?
I turn around to find Sal standing alone in the hallway.
“Sal,” I say, stopping in front of him. “Is everything okay?”
“Oh, everything is fine. I’m just going for a little walk down the hall. Gotta get my steps in.”
I unlock my apartment door and then glance at the older man. Luca said Uncle Vito won’t be at the club until later tonight, so I’ve got a little time to kill until we head out later. I should probably get started on my research paper, but I’m feeling too antsy to work, and—as I discovered when I checked my email on the drive over—my access to my university accounts has been suspended anyway. I’ll have to figure out how to sort that out tomorrow. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?” I ask.
“You know, young lady, I would.” Sal hobbles inside and turns left, crashing into my café table.
