Page 93 of Wish I Were Here
“And Luca… puts her to bed?”
Mrs. Goodwin nods. “They wanted her to go to a nursing home, but you know, those places are where old people go to die.” She waves a hand like,Forget it. “Mrs. Sterling has a nurse who comes by each day, but Luca checks in on her every night.”
Mrs. Sterlingis Luca’s mystery woman on the eleventh floor? When he was running late to meet me, he was helping the older woman? “I didn’t know anything about this…”
Mrs. Goodwin looks surprised. “He didn’t tell you about finding Mrs. Sterling in the mail room?”
The mail room?My head jerks back. Did she say early August? The pieces begin to slide together. “No—” I stutter. “He didn’t.”
“I guess I’m not surprised Luca didn’t say anything.” Mrs. Goodwin sighs. “He doesn’t like to accept praise. But he was a real hero that day, picking the poor woman up and rushing her to the hospital. Doctors say she wouldn’t have made it if it weren’t for Luca’s quick thinking.” She presses a hand to her heart. “But that’s Luca for you. Always taking care of us.”
I picture Luca trailing after Mrs. Goodwin in the pharmacy aisle, patiently waiting for her to choose a lipstick color and hand cream. “Like taking you to run errands or stop at the pharmacy.”
Mrs. Goodwin nods. “You have no idea how hard it is to give up driving. It’s like someone’s stolen your freedom. But my eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so I had no choice. I could get my water pills delivered, but I like to get out and pick things out for myself. It makes me feel like I’m still in charge of my life.”
I’d been annoyed that day when I was along for the ride—that Luca was wasting my time, that he wasn’t doing his job at the front desk. “So Luca helps you.” I gaze around the community center at all the people milling about. “He helpsallof you.”
“The truth is…” Mrs. Goodwin leans in, like she’s about to tell me a secret. “The DeGreco doesn’t really need a doorman. We never had one before Luca started coming by every day to look in on his grandpa when he was sick. He came so often and helped us all out so much, Vito insisted on putting him on the payroll.”
“Uncle Vito?”
Mrs. Goodwin nods. “He owns the building. Someday it will go to Luca. And good thing, too. It will never get into the hands of those nasty developers that way.”
I feel my body flush with shame at the memory of how I’d hounded him about shirking his responsibilities, complaining that he wasn’t following the rules.
A doorman’s job is to be at the door, I’d insisted.
Only if you look at everything from your narrow view of the world, was his reply.
My view of the worldhadbeen as narrow as the cold, soulless hallways of Melanie’s apartment building. But thanks to Luca, it’s stretched and expanded and grown to include older people and Mafia men and burlesque dancers and…Dad. And a doorman who reminds me of my dad in all the best possible ways, with his charm and generosity and openness.
I throw my arms around Mrs. Goodwin and plant a giant kiss on her weathered cheek. “Thank you, Mrs. Goodwin.”
She pats me on the back. “Of course, dear. You go get him.”
Iyank open the door to the DeGreco’s lobby and run inside. It’s dark, all the lights are off except for the emergency ones by the stairs, and my footfalls echo across the tile. Luca’s not here. Maybe he’s still upstairs with Mrs. Sterling, or maybe he went to bed. I check the elevator to see if I can tell which floor it’s on, but the numbers are burned out.
It’s broken again.
“Damn it, Mrs. Hartman,” I mutter. I don’t believe in ghosts, but if my identity can disappear and then magically reappear, I’m not ruling them out, either.
At that moment, I hear a muted shuffle from behind the front desk.Of course.The elevator is broken. I sprint around to the other side and stop short. And then the back of my throat aches with emotion. Because there on the floor is Luca. He’s lounging on the pillow that Mrs. Esposito in 6D gave him, feet crossed and tattooed arms propped behind his head.
I tower over him, and he looks up at me. “Hi.” His lips curve into a hint of a smile. Just enough to make me want more.
“Hi,” I repeat. My heart pounds, but it has nothing to do with my run over here. “How’s Mrs. Sterling?”
“She’s fine. Beat me at poker again.”
“I think you’re letting her win.”
He shrugs, and I know he’d never admit it.
I take a step back to lean against the wall opposite him and slowly slide down until I’m sitting on the floor. He pulls himself to a cross-legged position, and in the semidarkness, our eyes meet.
I grab a corner of his blanket and twist it in my hands. “I know Mrs. Sterling had her stroke the day you were sorting the mail. That’s how my letters got lost.”
He nods slowly.
