The Loose Ends List(11)

“She’ll be here in a minute,” Uncle Billy says. He and Wes prop up Aunt Rose, who seems to be having a hard time with the trip so far. She’s more frail and confused than ever.

“Rose never should have come. This is too much for her,” Dad whispers to Mom and me.

“She wanted to be here, Aaron,” Mom says. “They’re joined at the hip. She’s not going to leave my mother now.” Uncle Billy gives Aunt Rose a sip of his coffee and wipes the dribbles from her chin with his sleeve. “It’s just the stress of traveling is hard on a ninety-three-year-old woman. She’ll be okay once she’s settled in her cabin.”

Gram climbs out of the limo and wipes her eyes with a handkerchief. Titi sticks her arm out the window to wave.

“What are Titi and Joe going to do now that Titi’s not her housekeeper?” Janie asks Wes. We watch Gram blow kisses at the limo as it disappears down the deserted street.

“She’s sending them to Hawaii. That’s Titi’s prize for putting up with Assy all those years. The woman’s a saint.”

“Titi loves Gram,” I say.

“Assy loves Titi more,” Wes says.

Mustache Guy introduces himself as Eddie and steps forward with an announcement.

“Okay, listen up, everybody. As confidentiality is of utmost importance to the Wishwell guests and crew, we ask that you relinquish all electronic devices, including phones.” We literally gasp. “Don’t worry, you will get them back. We promise to keep your equipment in a safe until you’ve completed your journey. If you need to make a call or text, you have fifteen minutes to do so now. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Wes and Uncle Billy nearly drop Aunt Rose into the crack between the landing and the sludgy water. “What the hell?” Uncle Billy throws up his hands. “How can they do this?”

Wes runs to the end of the dock and back like a lost ostrich and frantically starts texting and tweeting. Uncle Billy calls their catering assistant, Donna, and yells at her to wake the hell up, it’s an emergency.

Nobody takes the time to argue with Eddie. We all realize that would be wasting the last precious moments of our contact with the civilized world.

Mom calls Aunt Mary, because Janie refuses to waste time on her mother. Dad calls Bev. Janie and Jeb sit on the cold walkway and text furiously. It’s a symphony of words silent and spoken propelling into cyberspace: No signal. Won’t be able to talk. Text me so I get your texts as soon as I get back. Going to exotic places. Just found out no cell service.

“Don’t worry, Mary, we’ll take good care of her.” Mom pauses and hands the phone to Gram. She talks in whispers to her firstborn daughter. I only hope Aunt Mary is being nice.

It’s the middle of the night, although my family doesn’t seem to mind waking up the entire East Coast. I lose time trying to figure out which of the E’s to call so I decide to group text them all. Urgent. We just found out the cruise doesn’t have cell service OR an Internet café. I won’t be able to contact you until I get back. I love you all so so so much. Please don’t forget about me. This is so hard. OMG. I LOVE YOU. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Ha Ha. XOXO

I pull up my various accounts and post a simple sentence: Going on a world cruise with the fam. No service. Have a good summer, suckers. I immediately regret using the word suckers, but it’s not worth changing at this point.

Bob Johns is on the phone with one of his kids. “I love you, too, sweetheart. Give the little ones kisses. I’ll see you in LA.”

The only ones not irritated by the device abandonment order are Gram, because she clearly already knew and didn’t tell us, and Aunt Rose, who just keeps saying, “Somebody call my doorman and tell him to feed Weebles.”

“Rose, Weebles died in 1973. He’s fine,” Gram insists.

I get instant replies. Love you too. Life will come to a halt until you get back. (Remy) I’ve already done everything you wouldn’t do and plan to do more. Love you so much. (Lizzie) Try to make out with a waiter so we can be even. (Abby, who never misses a chance to bring up her hookup with a waiter on her cruise.)

Rachel’s text comes at the last minute. “I have been, and always shall be, your friend.”—Spock (fitting Star Trek quote)

And then it’s over, like a ripped-off Band-Aid that pulls hairy patches of skin with it. One by one, Eddie collects our most prized possessions.

“Don’t worry, we have thousands of books and DVDs on board,” he says, as if books and DVDs will make up for our collective loss. Stupid, stupid Eddie the mustache guy.



Two men hoist our embarrassing volume of luggage onto the ship.

Eddie leads us through security down a long hallway. I’ve been on a few cruises with my parents. I’m expecting the typical glitz and over-the-top gold-plated everything. But the ship’s lobby isn’t like that at all. It’s a tropical paradise, all fresh and clean and vibrant. There’s a tranquil waterfall, surrounded by trees and flowers and clusters of bamboo swings. Looking up, I can see all the way through the curved glass ceiling to the sky.

I want to sit on a swing and take in the cool mist of the waterfall, but Gram tells Eddie to show us around. “We’ll rest when we’re dead,” she says.

Eddie leads us into a ballroom with lush red velvet drapes and a handful of tables covered in off-white tablecloths. A mural showing a row of conga line dancers dressed in vintage clothing spans the entire length of the inside wall. Eddie sees me staring at the words above the mural. AND STILL WE DANCE. “It’s our motto,” he says. “Nice, huh?”