The Loose Ends List(21)

“Okay, but you know I can’t run and talk at the same time.”

Uncle Billy stays with me, even though I can’t keep his usual pace. We stretch a little, and suddenly I’m really tired.

“We should do this every night,” I say.

“Or on the nights Wes doesn’t get me drunk. He’s telling me he can only tolerate me after we’ve both had a few cocktails.”

“That sounds healthy.”

We lie on our stomachs and dunk our heads in the pool.

“Hey,” Uncle Billy calls out.

“What’s up?” I hear a guy’s voice as I’m pulling my face out of the water.

It’s him. Uncle Billy just said hi to Mystery Guy, who is on the other side of the deck. He looks back and gets into the elevator.

“Who is that?” I say.

“I have no idea. Crew, maybe?”

I’m hoping he didn’t notice me lying on the deck with my face in the pool.

When I get back to the room, I scroll through the crew photos on my bee. He’s not there. If Paige is a patient, he could be, too. But he’s not on the guest list either.

Mystery Guy is somewhere near me right now. Above me. Below me. So close, and yet so far.





EIGHT


THE SHIP JERKS back and forth about a million times and stops in the middle of a bay not far from Jamaica, our first official stop. Aunt Rose and I are waiting for everyone in the lobby.

“Aunt Rose, how are you doing?” I talk to her like she’s a deaf immigrant.

“Oh, I feel pretty good in the mornings. This is a great adventure, huh, Maddie?”

“Yeah, it is. Do you think Gram made the right choice, you know, doing this?” I don’t know if Aunt Rose even fully understands what “this” is. I realize I’ve never noticed Aunt Rose’s eyes. They’re milky gray and kind of pretty.

“I had my friends Alice, Maude, and Bitsy. My plumbing didn’t work, you know. The girls were my family.”

I’m not sure where this is going.

“Karl and I played bridge every Saturday with the girls and the husbands. Then all of a sudden, we got old. We started dropping like flies, only we weren’t flies. We were friends. And now I’m the only one left. And that’s hard, to sit with the memories.” She pauses. “I could never have children, you know. My plumbing didn’t work.”

I take her hand. “Can you teach me how to play bridge, Aunt Rose?”

She smiles. “Yes, dear. I would love to.”

Uncle Billy swoops in, grabs Aunt Rose’s face, and leans in for a big kiss. As gruff as Uncle Billy can be, with his reading glasses and his newspaper and his snobby attitude, he’s always had a soft spot for Aunt Rose.

“Can you stop stealing my damn sister?” Gram’s wearing her safari clothes. “Somebody text Bob. He’s looking all over the ship for her.”

Mom and Dad show up holding hands. Now that they’re about to be empty nesters, maybe they should take up cruising as a hobby.

We line up behind Eddie and pile into the dinghy boats bound for Jamaica.

“Okay, Astrid, enough with the cryptic clues.” Dad clings to the dinghy pole. “Are we going to Jamaica to see Rasta Bob’s homeland?”

“I’m actually not Rasta,” Bob chimes in. “I’m Catholic.”

“Rasta is a religion?” Janie says.

Gram ignores the conversation. “Aaron, after my diagnosis, I came to Jamaica for a week with Bobby when you all thought I was in the Hamptons with Denny.” The dinghy hits a wave, and we all leap off our seats. “Whoa,” Gram says, holding on to Bob. “I spent time with Bob’s big, wonderful family on the other side of the island. So no, we’re not going for Bob. We’re going for ganja.”

“Weed?” Jeb perks up.

“Yes, Jebby, weed. It’s for the sick people. They’re going to stock the ship with cannabis oil, which is the only thing keeping some of these people going, and the rest of us get a day in Jamaica. Francesca’s local contacts are putting together a big Wishwell dinner on the beach.”

“Well, there’s a win-win,” Wes says.

“Mother, isn’t going on a marijuana run with the kids just a little inappropriate?” Mom says.

“Yes, it’s better to get wasted on gin and make an ass out of yourself in front of the kids.” Jeb inserts dagger.

“Jebby, don’t talk to your mother that way,” Gram snaps. “She’s been handed down the damn O’Neill drinking gene—it’s the Irish curse.”

“I thought the Irish curse was a small penis,” Wes says.

“Oh, boy, can we stop? Please. This family is over-the-top.” Dad’s still holding the dinghy pole.

Mom looks down, totally unable to defend herself. Jeb glares at her. He’s such an * lately.

“Karl and I smoked marijuana,” Aunt Rose announces.

“Trish, I’m not planning to smoke with the children, although I’m sure you’ve all tried it.” Gram looks at me.

“No, never.” Janie elbows Jeb.

“I’ve never smoked anything,” I say. I don’t add that it’s because of the movie I watched in seventh grade where they showed a guy trying to smoke a cigarette through the hole in his throat. I think I had a contact high once, in a tent, when Lizzie and Remy blew it in my face.