The Loose Ends List(12)

“It’s beautiful,” I say, studying the happy faces of the conga line dancers.

Uncle Billy makes a beeline to the grand piano sitting between the side of a stage and an expanse of windows overlooking the sea.

“Play ‘Heaven,’ because that’s where we are,” Wes says. “Check out the chandeliers. They’re modern and vintage at the same time. Look how they’ve hung them at different heights. Genius.”

“Can we get something to eat?” Jeb says.

“In a minute, Jebby. Come on.” Gram motions us to follow her. She’s full of energy and excitement like an elf taking us through Santa’s workshop.

“This is the café, our most popular hangout spot, other than poolside,” Eddie says. The café is filled with patchwork chairs and rustic tables and a thousand books on floor-to-ceiling shelves.

A family sits in the corner eating waffles. I’m surprised to see a baby in a high chair.

The family turns and waves. There’s a very cute couple, obviously the parents of the baby, and then an older man and lady who both look haggard and sick. The baby slams her hands on the tray and Cheerios go flying all over the place. The cute mom with the blond pixie cut leans down to clean up.

Mustache Guy leads us over to the counter and opens a cabinet. He pulls out small tablets in yellow cases and gives one to Jeb. “I know we’ve asked a lot of you, especially the young people here, by confiscating your electronic devices.” The mom gives the baby a bottle, and she bangs it on the tray. “We call these bees because they’re yellow and they buzz.”

He hands each of us a bee and keeps talking. “Each bee has been programmed for you individually. This is your upgraded smartphone.”

My bee’s MADDIE O’NEILL LEVINE screensaver is obnoxiously flashing my high school yearbook picture. I hit the SHIP icon. Arcade. Art Studio. Bingo. Café. Chapel. Chemotherapy Lounge.

“Every guest is programmed in. Crew goes by title, for example, waitstaff, concierge, emergency nurse, cabin attendant.”

Dance Instruction. Grief Room. Ice Cream Parlor.

“Of course, there’s no outside contact, but we make things very easy on board.”

Massage. Memorial Planning. Movie Theater. Patients-Only Floor. Pool Deck. Radiation. Side Excursions. Yoga.

“This is so cool.” Janie scrolls down the music list.

“Where’s the casino?” Dad calls out in his abnormally loud tourist voice.

“We ended up replacing it with the patients-only floor, but we have an arcade and a nice card room.” Dad scowls. In addition to science and useless trivia, Dad loves the craps table.

Aunt Rose looks a little dazed. She’s sitting in an oversized chair with her head drooped to one side.

“Hey, Janie,” I whisper. “Do you want to hit the pool deck or the chemotherapy lounge first?”

“How about we meet in the middle and go to bingo?” she says.

We continue touring the main floor of the ship. The old-school arcade will be fun. The good news is there are lots of places to hide from my family if they annoy me.

Our eyes move from our bees to the view from inside the glass elevators.

“I cannot wait for you kids to see your cabins. I’ve been working on this for a long time,” Gram says.

“Astrid, you just found out you were sick. How have you been working on this for a long time?” Dad says.

“I found out I was sick last month. I’ve known I’m old for a while now. I started planning my trip as soon as I got home from seeing Ruth off. I just kept hoping not to get hit by a bus or murdered before I could do this.”

“You’ve always been a planner, Mother,” Mom says as the door opens.

“Here we are, babies.” Gram steps out first. “Bobby and I need some alone time. Don’t bother us until tonight.”



Our cabin is straight out of the best episode of a home decorating show, only with better linens. Gram stocked the room with our favorite toiletries and candy and issues of Vogue stacked next to issues of Scientific American.

“Look, Janie, we can figure out obscure patterns in the universe by analyzing changing fashion trends,” I say.

She stares at me. “Or not,” she says blankly.

I pick up the silver framed picture on my nightstand of Gram and me watching fireworks in Bermuda when I was three years old. Gram’s pressing her face into my mess of curls, and I’m laughing up at the sky. That is how I will always remember us.

Janie and I sit on the bamboo swing on our very own balcony and watch the newest arrivals learn they won’t be able to use cell phones. This family is huge. There must be more than twenty of them. They are all dark-haired and stubby, running around and making sweeping arm movements.

We watch the stubby family follow Eddie onto the ship, and decide to unpack while we’re still running on adrenaline. I fling open the closet and find a treasure trove, a bounty fit for a Vogue editor. The colors and textures blend like a bouquet in size four for Janie, size eight for me.

“Of course Gram has to label the outfits,” Janie says, pointing out the tags looped around each hanger. “Can you say control freak?”

“Ooh. This one’s for the Latin night. That could be fun.” I pull out a flouncy electric-blue dress.

Somebody pounds on the door. We both jump.