The Loose Ends List(39)

I look over the railing as he heads inside, making room for me on the balcony. The ocean is angrier than I’ve seen it in a while. It’s not helping my stomach.

“Yum. Bring that tray over here.” Paige looks pale and tired.

“How are you?” I say.

“I’m okay. Just exhausted. I feel like I did a triathlon—my whole body aches. I’m sorry you had to be there. Lane said you were really upset.”

She sounds like herself. I sit across from her at the tiny balcony table. “Honestly? I really was. I’ve never seen a seizure and didn’t know what to do. I’m so glad you’re okay. Did you even know what was going on?”

Paige wolfs down a cupcake and bites into another.

“Not really. It’s hard to explain. After, I felt groggy like I was sedated. I’m still kind of out of it. It’s a crappy feeling. The doctors are tweaking my medication, and I’m amping up the cannabis oil. I’m not missing Rio for anything.” She blinks a few times like she’s trying to focus.

“Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks. The cupcake was perfect, and I’ll nap soon. I’m just grateful for amazing Uncle Babysitter. My parents can finally rest a bit, and Gracie doesn’t have to see me like this. Anyway, tell me something good. I’m tired of talking about sickness and all that boring crap.”

“Let me think. How about gossip?”

“You know I love gossip.”

“Your seizure outed my brother’s sordid affair with Camilla.”

“No way.”

“Yup. I yelled for help, and Jeb and Camilla came running out in their underwear. You need to stay a little more alert during these seizures, Paige. You’re missing all the scandal.”

Paige laughs.

“We won’t tell Camilla that Jeb’s a chronic masturbator. He’ll never live down the time in Bermuda when Janie and Brit walked in on him with Gram’s Redbook magazine.”

“Oh my God, stop. My whole body is sore. It hurts to laugh.”

I get up to go. “Are you coming tonight?”

“I’ll be there. I’m not letting a little seizure hold me back.”

If that was a little seizure, I’m thinking a big seizure could take the whole ship down, but just being around Paige makes me feel better.

Now I’m ready to dance.





THIRTEEN


THE CANDLELIT BALLROOM is decked out with tropical flowers and oversized feathers for the Latin dance party. Janie sipped champagne and did my hair in a slicked-back bun to go with my flouncy electric-blue flamenco dress.

None of the patients are here yet. They’ve disappeared to their mysterious group, now joined by the alleged Nazi. Nobody knows what they’re doing down there. They could be painting one another’s genitals with maple syrup, for all I know, or building a time machine. We’re blindly following them around the globe, and they’re keeping secrets.

“Where is everybody?” Mom and Dad arrive with Aunt Rose.

“Billy and Wes just finished taking samba and tango lessons in the dining room,” Bob says. “Although they could be giving the lessons. Those guys can dance.”

The band starts with a samba song, and I’m stuck dancing with the minister. He’s half my size and so rhythmically challenged it’s painful. I scan the room for Enzo, but all I see are a gaggle of Ornaments dancing in a group, my parents attempting the samba, and Bob Johns and Marshall drinking at the bar. Janie’s outside with Ty. I’m beginning to think the patients are the fun ones in the group.

Enzo finally arrives with Jeb and Burt, who look baked out of their minds, and cuts in on the minister. He flings me out and pulls me in and flings me around the dance floor like a professional.

“How did you learn how to dance like this?” I’m breathless.

“My mother forced me to take lessons on our Wishwell trips.”

The music slows, and he holds me close. He’s wearing fitted black pants and a crisp patterned blue shirt. I tell Dad to go get his bee. I want a picture of us.

The wheelchair brigade pushes its way in. Paige is in the wheelchair tonight. Janie points to Holly and gives me a thumbs-up. She looks regal, with a sparkly headband on her short hair and a shimmery princess gown. Marshall pushes Holly out to the dance floor as Uncle Billy gets up on stage.

“Wishwell friends, it has come to our attention that we have a dancer in the house. Mr. Bob Johns has asked to do the honors.” Bob climbs up with his trumpet. Billy holds the mic to Bob’s mouth.

“Holly, this one’s for you,” he says in his deep voice.

Bob plays “At Last.” We gather in a circle around the dance floor, listening to the trumpet tell a love story that’s sad and soulful all at once. Marshall stares down into Holly’s eyes and bends to kiss her lips. He takes his place behind the wheelchair and spins her around and around—this time, Holly moves, and we stay still. Enzo drapes his arm around me and grips my shoulder as if his hand is saying, Please don’t get sick, or maybe that’s what I’m saying to myself.

The band takes over when Bob finishes, and the dancing goes on for hours. But even as Uncle Billy and Wes and the Ornaments and the “kids” are energized, the patients drop off early, one by one, as if to say, This is how it’ll be.