She snorts. “That’s my husband, but he’s mostly worthless. What do you need?”
“We’re looking for the man who used to live in apartment 1004,” I say. “Jacob Levy. We think he moved out about a year ago.”
She frowns. “Yeah. He did. So what?”
“We need to find him,” Gavin says. “It’s very urgent.”
She narrows her eyes. “You the IRS or something?”
“What? No,” I say. “We’re . . .” And then I don’t know how to continue. How do I tell her that I’m the granddaughter of the woman he loved seventy years ago? That I might even be his granddaughter?
“We’re family,” Gavin fills in smoothly. He nods at me. “She’s his family.”
The words make my heart hurt.
The woman scrutinizes us for a moment more and shrugs. “Whatever you say. I’ll get you his forwarding address.”
My heart beats faster as she shuffles back into her apartment. Gavin and I exchange looks again, but I’m too excited to say anything.
The woman reappears a moment later with a slip of paper. “Jacob Levy. He fell and broke his hip last year,” she says. “He’d been here twenty years, you know. There isn’t no elevator, and when he got back from the hospital, he couldn’t make it up them stairs, what with his hip and all, so the landlord, he offered him the vacant apartment at the end of the hall here. Apartment 101. But Mr. Levy, he said he wanted a view. Picky, if you ask me. So the movers came, end of November.”
She hands me the slip of paper. On it, there’s an address on Whitehall Street, along with an apartment number.
“That’s where he asked us to send his final bill,” the woman says. “I got no idea if he’s still there. But that’s where he went from here.”
“Thank you,” Gavin says.
“Thank you,” I echo. She’s about to close the door when I reach out my hand. “Wait,” I say. “One more thing.”
“Yeah?” She looks perturbed.
“Was he married?” I hold my breath.
“There wasn’t no Mrs. Levy that I know of,” the woman says.
I close my eyes in relief. “What . . . what was he like?” I ask after a moment.
She regards me suspiciously then seems to soften a little. “He was nice,” she says finally. “Always real polite-like. Some of the other tenants here, they treat us like servants, me and my husband. But Mr. Levy, he was always real nice. Always called me ma’am. Always said please and thank you.”
This makes me smile. “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for telling me that.”
I’m about to turn away when she speaks again. “He always seemed sad, though.”
“Sad?” I ask.
“Yeah. He went out for a walk every day, and he always came back at night, after dark, looking like he lost something.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, sorrow flooding through me as we turn away and head out the door. It seems that all those nights Mamie sat waiting for the stars to come out, Jacob was out looking for something too.
It takes us fifteen minutes to cross east to Whitehall Street and head south to find the address the super’s wife gave us. It turns out to be a modern-looking building that soars above the others around it. There’s no doorman, which I’m relieved about; we won’t have to explain our mission to yet one more person.
“Apartment 2232,” I say to Gavin as we head for the elevators. The doors slide open and I punch the number 22, tapping my foot impatiently as the doors close.
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” I murmur as the elevator begins its slow ascent.
Gavin reaches for my hand and squeezes. “We’re going to find him, Hope,” he says.
“I don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done to help me,” I say, pausing long enough to look into his eyes and smile. For a frozen moment, I’m sure he’s about to kiss me, but then the elevator dings and the doors slide open. We’re here.
We race down the hall, right and then left, to apartment 2232. It’s the last apartment on the right-hand side of the hall, and as Gavin knocks, I glance out the window at the hall’s end. It’s a beautiful view, out over the southern tip of Manhattan and across the water. But I can’t focus on that now. I turn toward the door and will it to open.
But there’s no answer, no footsteps from inside.
“Try again,” I say. Gavin nods and knocks again, more loudly this time. Still nothing. I’m trying not to feel entirely deflated. But what now? “Again,” I say weakly. Gavin raps on the door so loudly this time that the door across the hall opens. An old woman stands there, staring at us.