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Emmy smiled, imagining a much younger Tucker Lloyd looking down on Chicago with his heart in his throat.
“It’s better now,” she insisted. “New name aside.”
“Are you one of those purists who will always call it the Sears Tower?”
“If Fenway or Wrigley were bought by a huge corporation, would you call them JCPenney Field or Axe Body Spray Park?”
Tucker made a face but pointed out, “You know the Felons play at Verizon Park, right?”
“Of course. But it was never anything to me except for Verizon Park, you know? And this will always be Sears Tower. You can call something whatever you want, but it won’t change what it is.”
“So you’re a romantic then?”
“If wanting to call a building one thing instead of another makes me romantic, I guess I’m romantic.” She smiled, and they crossed the street when the walk hand invited them.
Emmy paid for their tickets in spite of him insisting he wanted to. Given the late hour of the day, the crowd had thinned significantly. It always amazed Emmy how the tourists faded away at night, when that was the precise time she would have recommended visiting the Skydeck.
They took the elevator all the way up, and a sullen attendant let them out in a maze of barricade ropes which they wound through until they emerged in the near-empty glass-walled observation deck.
Emmy felt a glow in her chest to see the vista of Chicago laid out before her like a platter of gems all lit with magic. The white, yellow and red lights of the city spread out for miles, turning the sky a bruised-purple color.
Tucker sucked in a breath next to her. “Wow.”
“Come on.” She took his hand before she could stop herself and pulled him towards one end of the floor. A small crowd of tourists had their faces pressed to the glass, while two small children were having their photo taken by a chubby woman in a University of Michigan hoodie.
Emmy wove her way around them all until they reached the next wall of glass where a large tour group had just moved out of the way. The Skydeck’s big bragging right was now fully available to them.
“Get up here,” she said, and stepped right off the carpet and into what should have been a midair free fall to her death. Her heartbeat pounded when she set both feet on the glass floor of the viewing box—an outcropping of window that let people stand on the outside of the building and look straight down. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but she often said a small prayer of thanks when she stepped out and didn’t die.
“No thanks,” Tucker replied, both feet still planted firmly on carpet.
“Are you afraid of heights?”
“No.”
Liar. His face had gone white as a sheet, and his palm had become sweaty in hers.
“It’s perfectly safe,” she promised.
“So is standing right here.”
Emmy gave his hand a slight tug, urging him to come closer. “Come on, Tucker, would I do anything to hurt you?”
“You routinely bend my arms into positions the human body was not meant to be in. That’s never fun.” He attempted to pull his hand back, but she held fast.
“Step out here, I’ll count to five, and then you can be done, okay?”
He looked like he might argue until she held up her hand and showed him five fingers, then he hesitantly stepped out onto the glass platform with her.
“One,” she said, squeezing his hand reassuringly. “How did you manage when you came up here to do the Ferris Bueller thing?”
“I didn’t do it. I got up, took one look at the glass and left. And back then they didn’t have these little death boxes.” He glanced down at their feet and shut his eyes. Sweat beaded on his brow.
“So this is a real Chicago first for you. Two.”
He squeezed her hand hard enough it hurt, but she didn’t say anything. “As long as it isn’t a Chicago last.”
“You’re doing great. Open your eyes.”
