The Loose Ends List(35)

I’ve been thinking about Skinny Dave. I wonder if he’s in heaven, up past the glittery constellations, in some paradise-shaped other dimension. I want him to be there, far away from the demons that betrayed him.

I don’t ever want to get addicted to anything. Not even Enzo Ivanhoe.





TWELVE


I FOUND OUT this morning that the reason Gram keeps disappearing isn’t to bang Bob Johns five times a day, like she claims. And she’s not walking funny because she’s having too much sex, also like she claims. Pickle has been giving Gram chemo in her cabin since we boarded the ship. She’s tired and wobbly because she’s trying to keep herself alive long enough to get through this trip. I know I have to maintain Gram’s charade and pretend she’s the picture of great health and freakish geriatric sexuality. But she’s getting sicker, and it’s happening faster than I thought.

The woman who always tells me to stand up straight walks with a bend in her back now. The woman who yelled at us for being tired after nine games of Scrabble excuses herself after one. The woman whose favorite line was you can sleep when you’re dead naps almost every day. I see now that the cancer is devouring her insides while she delivers witty lines and struts around the ship wearing her bravest face.

“So what’s the plan, Gram? I know we’re going to Rio at some point, but can you at least give me hints about the rest?”

I’m drinking a smoothie with Gram and Bob on their balcony while Bob rubs Gram’s bunioned feet with lavender lotion and jazz music plays on an old record player.

“No,” she says. “All right, fine. It involves planes, trains, and automobiles.”

“Interesting. I hope we’re not going on one of those propeller planes. Dad will throw a fit.”

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Gram says. “Changing the subject, you need to tell me more about Enzo. Stop being coy. How’s the kissing?”

“Incredible.”

“See, remember I told you back in Bermuda that the next one would be better?”

“He seems like a nice kid,” Bob says. “I had criteria when my children started dating. I didn’t want to be the judgmental overprotective type, but I definitely had my criteria.”

“Do tell,” Gram says.

“I wanted to see that the young man or lady looked me in the eye when we talked, didn’t shy away from personal questions. Not too personal, of course, but things like, what’s your passion in life? I also wanted to see that they bothered to ask me something, anything, about myself. Even ‘How long was your car ride here?’ was good enough.”

“Those are fair things to ask,” Gram says. “Although Wessy was so nervous when we met. He would have failed miserably.”

I can’t imagine Wes being nervous.

“My daughter’s ex-husband failed all three. He looked good on paper—bigwig lawyer, good education—but he refused to look me in the eye. He evaded all my questions and never once asked me anything about myself.” Bob shakes his head slowly. “That creep was bad news.”

“Come on, Bobby, fess up: Did Enzo pass? Maddie’s kissed a lot of frogs, and you talked to him for a long time last night. We need to know.”

“Flying colors,” Bob says. He pats my arm.

“Eww. Not with your bunion lotion hand.”

Bob laughs, and Gram hits me with a pillow.

“Hey, Gram, what happens at the mysterious group you patients are always sneaking off to?”

“Nothing exciting, Mads. We talk about death. Would you like me to elaborate? I know you love the topic.”

“That’s okay. I plan to think about you alive and well until you’re not.”

“Good girl. Oh, speaking of alive and well, Rose is not doing so well. She was always sharp as a tack. I was the airhead of the duo. Now I have to hear the damn Karl-proposing-in-Central-Park story over and over, and about how she can’t eat kielbasa.”

“And how the plumbing doesn’t work,” Bob says.

“Exactly. Listen, Mads. I don’t trust your mother. She’s too self-absorbed, with her rigid little suburban routine. Billy loves to be too busy, and Mary’s a wash.” She pulls me toward her and grabs my shoulders. “I need you girls to take care of Rose. Make sure they don’t stick her in a goddamn institution. We have plenty of money to get her the best help at home. Don’t you let them take her out of that apartment. You’ll be in New York now. Treat her to the Saks lunch counter from time to time.”

“Of course, Gram.” I see the worry in her eyes.

“Good. And make sure to—”

“I’ll keep her far away from kielbasa and sauerkraut.”

“Thank you, my dear.”



I meet Enzo for a run. He laps me. I run harder and faster than I have, probably ever. I’m on the verge of barfing, but I want to impress him. I want him to look at me and think, Oh my God, I get to be with that girl.

It’s sweltering in the Southern Hemisphere. We jump into the pool in our running clothes. The Ornaments are on their lunch break, and it’s just Enzo and me and a swimming pool where the waves mimic the choppy ocean.

“Come here, hold on to me,” Enzo says. I doggy-paddle over and wrap my legs around him. We bob up and down. The waves pull us, and I hold him tighter.