“I think Dr. Alex Lovett is one of the only people in the world who wouldn’t find anything odd about it, actually.”
While enjoying the lovely night in she planned for us, one in which we didn’t discuss her dad, or lying to our parents, or anything else that raises my heart rate, I’d started to feel like maybe this project wasn’t the only thing that matters to Cammie—that she was getting some perspective about the bigger picture. Then she got her last potential dad’s reply, and that perspective zoomed right back into a Luca Goedhart–sized frame. Her hopes are higher for this one than they were for the other two combined, and I understand why.
She’s named for his street. If we ignored absolutely every other piece of evidence in our long and winding search, that one truth would be enough to bet on. It’s as close to a giveaway as we’ll get, without asking Dr. Alex for the answer.
With Paolo and Tony, we could read into those experiences and make connections that may or may not be real to paint them as The One, but both also gave us plenty of reasons not to believe it. Luca is the last candidate we have who’s yet to show us any reason he couldn’t be Cammie’s dad.
She’s still able to believe she’ll see him and it’ll click. That he’ll so obviously be this missing piece of her background and he’ll see it, too, and they’ll have a beautiful moment of shared “Aha! Finally,” and ride off into the sunset as a happy father-daughter pair. If that doesn’t happen, I’m fearing the fallout.
One way or another, we’ll get some answers today. Dr. Goedhart’s agreement to meet me—not a very enthusiastic agreement, all told, but maybe that’s just his email style—included a plan to connect here at the Pompeii Archaeological Park at the end of his workday.
“Are we a hundred percent sure we’re at the right gate? Here, can I read the email again?”
This is the third time Cammie’s asked me this, and the third time I confirm, “Yes, it’s the Herculaneum gate. No, I’m not letting you read the email again.”
Cammie shoots me a narrow-eyed glare, though there’s no real heat behind it. I don’t point out that I remember a time, not all that long ago, when she read me the riot act for asking if she was certain of where we were going.
Exploring the park has been somewhat effective in distracting her. We got here a few hours before the meeting time, and Cammie, as much as she tried to play it cool, was practically bouncing as soon as we passed through the ticket turnstiles.
This is, one might say, her Roman Empire. We have stopped at every single point of interest in the virtual guidebook along our meandering way to the Herculaneum gate, spending extra time at places that were especially thrilling to her, like the forum, the Temple of Jupiter, or the two theaters. We also spent a while at the Lupinar, or brothel, where frescoes on the walls advertise some of the services offered there and made my face flush so red, a park employee pointed me to the nearest water fountain.
Cam even bought the audio guide at the entrance, because of course she did, and we’ve huddled close together to share the headphones when there’s a particularly interesting bit of information that she decides I should hear. I feel lucky to experience this with her, even if I’m also hot from the unrelenting sun and distinct lack of shade in a city where most of the rooftops and ceilings were destroyed by a volcanic eruption two thousand years ago, and even though my feet are sore from taking more steps than they ever do in a day, on rutted, rocky streets and walkways.
I’ve also felt my own anxiety grow throughout the day in anticipation of this meetup. Luca Goedhart’s email style was the first of the red flags for me, along with the time it took him to respond. But I’ve also wondered if there’s some fraught history with my dad, making Luca unenthused about meeting me.
“Okay,” Cammie says, stopping in the middle of pacing back and forth across the stone road that once connected Pompeii to its neighboring city in ancient times. “I don’t know how it’s possible with as much sweat as I’ve produced today, but I seriously have to pee.”
She looks determinedly at me with her hands on her hips, as if this is a matter that requires my input.
“Then you should seriously go to the bathroom,” I say.
She releases a frustrated breath. “Okay, but he could get here at any moment. He’s already ten minutes late.”
“Yes,” I agree patiently, “and he doesn’t even know you’ll be here. It’s going to be fine and you’ll feel a lot better if you just go now.”
Her groan is the specific kind that emerges when she knows I’m right about something and doesn’t want to concede. But before I can put up any more arguments that really shouldn’t be necessary in the first place, she’s jogging back into the city, calling over her shoulder, “You better not let anything remotely interesting happen before I return!”
I give an exasperated shake of my head that she doesn’t even see as she turns a corner and leaves my sight. Then I pick up her pacing habit. I have a bad feeling that we’re being stood up, though I haven’t voiced it to Cammie. I’ve been internally strategizing how to manage her disappointment and salvage the great day we were otherwise having.I bet something came up with his work, I’ll tell her, like there’s anything about a place that’s been buried for a couple thousand years that’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until the following business day.
But who knows? Maybe Luca Goedhart is a really important guy with particularly important ancient dirty stuff to deal with. Not just another man in Cammie’s life who’s let her down without good reason, even if he doesn’t know he’s doing it.
“Weston Jacobs?” A deep voice interrupts my thoughts suddenly, and I whirl around so quickly I drop the water bottle I’ve been shuffling back and forth between my hands. It makes a loud clatter as it tumbles across the hard ground.
“Whoa, yeah, hi,” I blurt out frantically. I scramble to pick up the stainless-steel bottle-turned-accidental-gong, not even looking at Luca Goedhart head-on until I’m standing again, my cheeks hot with embarrassment.
But then I find myself frozen in my spot, feeling the color drain from my face, and suddenly, I don’t know what to say. It’s not that the man before me is a dead ringer for Cam, though they share some features. He has gray-blue eyes not unlike Cammie and Dr. Alex’s brighter blue—it’s more their shape than their color that I recognize, the same wide-set, round, perpetually curious look to them, eerily close to the eyes I’ve spent a lot of time staring at lately. But his are paired with sandy-brown hair, not a hint of red. Their noses are similar, a little rounded at the end, and the lips—okay, nope, I can’t let myself stare at this strange man’s mouth, can’t think too much about its resemblance to the one I’ve come to know by the way it feels on mine. Not if I’m going to be able to look him in the eyes—which I do, as I realize I’ve spent an uncomfortable time clocking every one of his features, and hurry to end the silence.
“You can call me West. Thank you so much for meetingme, Dr. Goedhart.” I’m impressed by how little tremor I hear in my own voice, as much as I’m losing my shit on the inside right now. If this man isn’t Cammie’s biological father, I’m calling my eye doctor and requesting emergency vision-correcting surgery.
The man gives me a tight but not quite unfriendly smile and a brisk nod. “Just Luca is fine. Apologies for my tardiness—there was a matter that took longer than expected at the end of my workday. I hope you’ve found your way here okay?”
“Yeah, it was easy for us to find. Good place to meet up.”
I realize my slip only a moment after he does, his head turning to scan our immediate area for the mystery companion I’m referring to.
“Us?” he asks. It’s not like this was going to be a secret much longer. Had nature not called, Cammie would have been beside me when he walked up. But I hadn’t expected to be the one to introduce her solo, and as we already saw from the “cousin” incident, on-the-spot introductions are not my forte.
“Oh, y-yeah,” I stammer. “My friend came with me. She’s just gone to the bathroom but should be right back.”
