Page 92 of Wish I Were Here
And then it comes to me. I turn to Dad. “Remember how you asked if I still remember that partner juggling routine?”
Mrs. Goodwin continues her introductions. “Not only is this performer incredibly handsome…” She fans herself with her hands. “But his balls are huge!” The crowd gasps. “Juggling balls, people. Get your minds out of the gutter!”
The crowd roars with laughter.
Dad’s eyes sparkle. “Doyou remember the partner juggling routine, Kitty Cat?”
“Of course I do.”
“Without further ado…” Mrs. Goodwin says.
Dad takes my hand and tugs me toward the stage. “Come on.”
“I present to you…”
We climb the stairs.
“Andy Lipton… oh!” Mrs. Goodwin’s hand flutters to her lips as she spots me.
Dad picks up the juggling clubs and hands half to me. Then he takes his place on one side of the stage, and I cross to the other side.
Mrs. Goodwin turns back to the microphone. “Actually, I present to you the father-daughter juggling duo of…”She pauses for dramatic effect. Down on the floor, someone beats on a table in a makeshift drumroll. “Andy and Kitty Cat!”
And Dad and I are off. He tosses a club in my direction at the same moment that I toss one in his. We mirror each other’s movements, reaching out to catch the club coming our way in one hand while we throw the next club with the other. Soon, we have four clubs flying back and forth across the stage, then six. The crowd cheers, and the bass from the music thumps through the speakers. Dad gives me the nod, and we each do a spin, landing back in our original formation in time to catch the next club. The movements come back to me, the steady rhythm of throw-catch-throw-catch like a song that’s been playing in the back of my head for all my life.
The crowd begins clapping along. Dad goes left and I go right, keeping the clubs flying as we switch places on the stage. The crowd stomps its feet. We execute another spin, flip the clubs under our legs, and turn around to throw them backward over our heads with perfect precision. Finally, we each do a double spin, toss the clubs as high as possible, and seamlessly catch them, ending in a bow.
The crowd goes wild.
Laughing, Dad wraps me in a hug, and I squeeze him back.
And then I spot Luca in the crowd. He’s staring back, and when he sees me looking, he gives me that smile. Not the wide, charming grin, but the smaller, more subtle smile. The one that he saves just for me.
The crowd screams for an encore.
Keeping my eyes trained on Luca, I lean over to Dad. “I have to go.”
He nods and gives me a light shove in the direction of the stairs. “Go get him.”
I hold out my hand, letting the crowd know that Dad will take over from here—he’s the real star, after all—and then I jog off the stage and wade into the crowd in the direction I saw Luca. I catch a flash of his white T-shirt and colorful limbs, but the audience surges around me. I talk to Lorraine and Ginny, Fabrizio, and Walt and Martin from the book club, and then a whole bunch of people I’ve never met before but who want to give me hugs and rave about my performance.
By the time I manage to slip away, Luca is onstage with Mrs. Goodwin, and the opening notes of “Build Me Up Buttercup” are blaring through the speakers. He reaches out a painted hand, and she takes it with her age-spotted one. I stop in the middle of the gym and watch as Luca pulls Mrs. Goodwin into his chest and then spins her back out. He matches her, kick step for kick step with his dancer’s grace, that familiar grin flashing with each turn toward the audience. I can’t help but smile and clap along, as charmed as the rest of the crowd.
When the dance is over, Mrs. Goodwin and Luca take bow after bow while the audience cheers. Finally, Luca gives the crowd a wave and jogs offstage, disappearing in the wings. Mrs. Goodwin steps up to introduce the aerial troupe on the floor below, and I make my way across the gym to sneak up the steps and duck behind the curtain. I find several of Uncle Vito’s guys moving props and sets, but no Luca. I ask around, but nobody’s seen him.
A moment later, Mrs. Goodwin joins me. “Wonderful show, Catherine. Everything is going beautifully.”
“You and Luca were perfect, Mrs. Goodwin.” I lean over to give her a hug, but I just can’t linger any longer. “Do you know where he went?”
She checks her watch. “Oh, it’s ten o’clock. He had to go put Mrs. Sterling to bed.”
I blink. “He had to what?”
“Mrs. Sterling, who lives on the eleventh floor? She had a stroke about three weeks ago? Wait…” Mrs. Goodwin trails off, looking up at the ceiling and counting on her hands. “Maybe it was four weeks ago…?”
Mrs. Sterling, the older woman who won Luca’s money playing poker. I remember her movements with only one hand, and I’d wondered if she’d had a stroke.
“It doesn’t matter how many weeks,” Mrs. Goodwin continues, brushing it off. “At any rate, her stroke was in early August.”
