Page 35 of Wish I Were Here
I pause with my teacup halfway to my lips.
Nobody.
Wasn’t there a moment a couple weeks back when I wished for it?No commitments. No one expecting anything from me.
But I didn’t mean it like this. I just wanted a little break from it all. But is it possible that I somehow put that thoughtout into the world, like a wish? Did I manifest this identity mix-up? It’s the strangest thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t have a rational explanation for it.
“Sal, do you believe in wishes?” I lean forward and set my cup on the place mat. “Like if you send something out into the universe, you can actualize it?” As soon as I hear the words, though, I shake my head. I’m starting to sound like Dad and his friends talking about horoscopes and magic and cosmic intervention. Usually, those conversations take place when they’re sitting around a campfire at a music festival, smoking weed and staring up at the stars. I can almost hear the strains of a guitar playing in the distance.
I don’t believe in that stuff.
Sal leans back, seriously considering my question. “I believe life is what you make it.” He looks at me across the coffee table. “Maybe something seems like a disaster. But if you look deeper, maybe it’s an opportunity. It’s all about how you look at it.”
I turn that over in my head. How could my entire identity disappearing be an opportunity? The faculty job at the university is an opportunity, one I worked my entire life to achieve. One that’s about to crumble. Sitting around metaphorically staring at the stars asking what it all means isn’t going to fix this.
I need to get that birth certificate back, and I need to get my life back. So it looks like it’s in the hands of the Mafia man.
Luca is late.
I sit down on the bench by the elevator to wait, because… of course he’s late. I don’t know what I expected.
About fifteen minutes after we were supposed to meet, the front door swings open and Luca strolls in from the sidewalk. I open my mouth to comment, but as my gaze slides over him, I realize this is the first time I’ve seen him wearing something besides his doorman’s uniform. He’s in fitted black jeans that hug his lean thighs, and a plain white T-shirt that clings to his chest and shows off the lines of his biceps. But when my eyes land on his arms, it’s not the lean muscles I’m drawn to, but those tattoos. I’ve caught only glimpses of them before, flashes on his forearms where he’s rolled his sleeves to his elbows. But now I can see that the ink extends all the way up his arms. Flowers and vines and birds winding together to his shoulders. And through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, I catch a couple of dark shadows on his flat stomach, hints of more art concealed there.
When I look up, Luca is watching me with his head cocked, a bemused expression on his face, and I realize I’vebeen caught staring. So I do the only thing I can think of to take the attention off me.
“You’re late.”
“Sorry. I had a thing, and I couldn’t get away.”
I wonder if I’m keeping him from a date. That’s what normal people would be doing on a night like this, right? Going on a date, hanging out at a bar with friends… anything besides tracking down a guy who may or may not be a Mafia boss to help his prickly tenant get her life back.
“No… don’t apologize.” I sigh. “I’m sorry I’m keeping you from something. It’s just that your mom said we should get to the club to see Uncle Vito before his card game starts at eight.” I check my watch. It’s 7:47 p.m.
“Shit.” Luca jogs over to the bench and pulls me to my feet. “Is it really that late? Come on.”
We head out the door and onto the sidewalk, but when I move toward the Town Car, Luca shakes his head, drawing me down the street instead. A few blocks from the DeGreco, he steers me toward a faded black door tucked into a nondescript brick building. I’ve passed this building and this door probably a dozen or more times since I moved into my apartment, but never in a million years would it have occurred to me to stop here. The windows look like they were bricked over decades ago, and though a marquee hangs overhead, the lights have all burned out and the letters are so faded it’s impossible to make out the name of the club. Now that I’m actually stopping to take a look at it, the place looks like the site of a true-crime documentary.
Particularly the spot where the body is found.
“Are you sure this is the place?” I ask, hesitating on the sidewalk.
“Of course I’m sure. Come on.” Luca holds open the door, and reluctantly, I walk through it. I’ve barely made it past the threshold before a man the size of a mountain is towering over me.
He holds up a beefy hand. “Name?” he barks.
“Uh—” Did Luca call ahead? I glance in his direction because I’m pretty sure that Mr. Everest here won’t haveCatherine Liptonon his list.
“Luca Morelli.” Luca steps forward, and the guy breaks into a huge grin. It’s like watching a pit bull turn into a golden retriever puppy right before my eyes.
“Elbow!” he says, reaching over to wrap a massive arm around Luca and pound him on the back. “Good to see you, kid.”
Ah, okay. So, we must have another Morelli here. Is this Uncle Vito?
Luca tugs me over. “This is my friend Catherine. Catherine, this is my cousin Lou.”
“Nice to meet you, Catherine.” The guy holds out his sirloin steak hand and we shake. He turns back to Luca. “You here to see Vito?”
Luca nods.
