The Loose Ends List(48)

After hours of Gram badgering Kristian to slow down, it appears in the distance—Snaefellsj?kull, Jules Verne’s Sneffels. It’s a snowcapped mountain with no signs of spewing smoke or flowing lava, which is a letdown and a relief at the same time.

Gram asks Kristian to stop. She crawls up on top of a boulder, supported by Uncle Billy, and shouts, “See, Mummy? It really does exist. And Iceland is not a wretched place at all.” Her voice is full of residual resentment.

We drive awhile longer, stopping to let a painfully slow and distracted herd of sheep cross the road. Wes stands on the seat of the Jeep behind us and frantically points toward the mountain. “Rainbow! Look, guys, it’s a double rainbow!” Two iridescent domes of color and light hover above Gram’s volcano, an unexpected gift from Jules Verne or Gram’s mother, or both.

The off-road ride to the base of the volcano fuels everybody with adrenaline. The other Jeep flies with the top down. Dad’s bald head pops up, and he lifts his arms like he’s on a roller coaster. Jeb and Wes pop up next to him, three fools on a joyride, screaming at the top of their lungs. When we get to Snaefellsj?kull, Kristian offers up a little surprise.

“Anyone interested in visiting the underworld?” Kristian leads us to a tin spaceship thing sticking out of the ground attached to a sign that apparently says THE UNDERWORLDS in Icelandic. He fumbles with a lock and opens the door. “This is an ancient lava tube that descends several hundred meters. Maybe Grandma and Grandpa over here want to stay and wait?”

“Not on your life, Blondie. We’re going down,” Gram says, marching to the front of the line in her hiking boots.

The staircase to the depths of the earth is uncomfortably narrow. The good news is that there aren’t any bats. The bad news is that there is a good chance the volcano will regurgitate lava through this lava tube and singe us all beyond recognition. It’s cramped down here, and I am not getting enough oxygen.

We stop to rest at the bottom of the first landing. Stupid, embarrassing Jeb has to pee on the wall right in front of us. Dad puts on Elf Guy’s headlamp and looks around for a good spot to plant Gram’s book.

“I think we should have a ceremony or something so Mom can say her farewells to the letter,” Uncle Billy says.

“This volcano is believed to be a very powerful healing energy spot,” Elf Guy says.

We form a circle, lit by headlamps and surrounded by ancient lava rock, and stand shoulder to shoulder, bathed in the energy of this underworld lava tube. Gram chooses Wes to lead the ceremony.

Wes clears his throat for dramatic effect. He is clearly flattered that Gram picked him.

“As we stand here beneath this powerful volcano that has stood longer and stronger than any human being, we are humbled and emboldened by its strength, beauty, and endurance.” Wes pauses. “Astrid North O’Neill, you are a gift to every person you meet. Like the volcano, you bring strength, beauty, and endurance to the world. By leaving your cherished book behind, you join us all with the volcano and Jules Verne for eternity.”

Everybody hugs in a lava tube moment of solidarity.

“You should be a preacher, Wes,” Bob says. “That was eloquent.”

“I need a little air,” Uncle Billy says. He disappears up the stairs.

Gram burns the letter with Jeb’s weed lighter. We surround it, mesmerized, as the yellowed page curls and disappears into ash. Gram kisses her book and leaves it in a dark space near the staircase. It’s a heartfelt farewell to little girl Astrid at the end of her long, fabulous life.

We find Uncle Billy sitting on a boulder with his face in his hands. He’s sobbing. Wes and Gram put their arms around him, and we watch from the Jeeps as the three of them hold one another under the changing Icelandic sky.



After the long ride back, I decide not to go clubbing with Helga and Magnus. I leave Jeb and Janie with their vodka shots and make my way down to Gram’s suite.

Gram is tucking Aunt Rose in, so Bob and I order pastries from room service. While we were gone, Mom took Aunt Rose to a clinic and got her antibiotics for a urinary tract infection. They said it was good she went in, because people her age die from urinary tract infections.

Bob tells me about his four kids and seven grandkids and seventeen great-grandkids. All but two have the music gift.

“What do the ungifted do?”

“One’s a banker. One’s a lawyer,” Bob says. “We’ve got the United Nations in our family. Two kids converted to Islam, we have one Buddhist, and one atheist by marriage. And I love the whole bunch of them.”

The pastries arrive, and we spread them out on the coffee table.

“Hey, Gram. Remember when we used to play that game where we would say a word and you would connect it with one of your adventures?”

“Of course, Maddie girl. Let’s play. Bob, you’ll love this. Go ahead. The first word that comes to your mind.”

“How about parade?”

“Let me think.” Gram’s lips pucker as she sifts through volumes of memories. “Got it. One time Martin and I went skiing in Switzerland and ended up walking around a darling little town. A parade popped up out of nowhere with the horns and floats and people marching. After a few mulled wines, Martin had the idea to jump in and join the parade. And there we were, marching along. It was so unlike your grandfather to hoot and holler like that. What fun we had.”