The Loose Ends List(51)

I feel bad for judging her. “You know, maybe this trip would be a good time to turn over a new leaf,” I say. “Everyone has a slutty phase. There’s plenty of time to become a big sober prude.”

“That’s easy for you to say, virgin.”

Janie rests her head on my lap. I play with her hair and remember the days when our biggest problem was where to set up our Barbies. When did life get so complicated?

I lean down and whisper, “I’ll stop being a virgin if you stop being a slut.”

“That’s why I love you so much.” Her voice softens a little. “You come up with crazy deals that I can’t refuse.”



Enzo texts me: I am far from perfect. 1. I am an insufferable slob. 2. I didn’t learn to read until I was 8 and as it turned out I had a learning disability. 3. Every now and again I go through a dark period where I sit on the chair in my briefs and count starlings at the bird feeder. I’m sure there’s more. So there. You’re the perfect one.

We stop at a red light in a sleepy village where three girls around my age are dancing up a steep hill. I wonder what the E’s are doing right now. It’s late in Connecticut, so they’re probably sitting on the lifeguard chairs, making fun of Abby’s obnoxious burps. Maybe there’s a party and they’re all hooking up. They’ve probably recycled some boys already.

The bus rolls into a fairy tale.

“I think this is where the snow globe makers get their ideas,” Mom says as we drag our luggage off the bus. “It’s breathtaking.”

The town overlooks an island in the middle of a pristine Alpine lake, below a cliff where an actual castle sits suspended in time. Gram sends Wes and Uncle Billy into a store for food and leads us all down to the lake. Flat-bottomed boats glide back and forth to the island. When we get to the end of the dock, Gram takes Aunt Rose’s hand.

“Rose, do you remember this place? It’s Bled. We came here years ago with Karl and Martin. Look at the castle, Rose, and the island. Does this ring a bell?”

“Yes. It’s lovely,” Aunt Rose says. But there’s no recognition on her face.

“It’s Bled, our most special sister place on earth, remember?” Gram’s getting frustrated. “You must recognize it. It hasn’t changed a bit.”

“Astrid, come. The boys are here with the food,” Bob says. He leads Gram and Aunt Rose to a table under a tree. Wes spreads out napkins and sandwiches while Uncle Billy sets down a box of cream-filled pastries covered with powdered sugar.

Gram tells us all about her secret trip to Bled with Aunt Rose and Uncle Karl and Grandpa Martin, about how their parents didn’t want them to marry an Irishman or a Slav, so they sent them off to tour Europe and hopefully forget about their boyfriends. Their parents never knew Uncle Karl and Grandpa Martin went with them on their European adventure.

“How scandalous, Assy,” Wes says.

“Oh, it sure was,” Gram says. “We traveled all the way to Slovenia to meet Karl’s rather large-boned, brutish family. Then the four of us came here to Bled.” She pauses, as if she’s deciding whether to say what she’s thinking. “We did the old hotel key switcheroo, if you know what I mean,” she blurts out.

“No, we have no idea what you mean, Mom,” Uncle Billy says, shaking his head.

“Oh, it was heavenly,” Gram says. “We were young and brave and glamorous, and the clothes were well made back then. And”—she points toward the island in the center of the lake—“Rose, it was right over there that Karl asked for your hand in marriage.”

Aunt Rose looks confused. “I, I don’t know. I remember Karl asking me in Central Park.” She taps her foot nervously and furrows her brow.

“That’s what we told Mother and Father, but it happened right here.”

We’re all feeling the tension. We know Gram wants to share this with Aunt Rose so badly. We just don’t know if Aunt Rose can do it.

“Come on, guys. Let’s take a boat ride,” Dad says, nodding toward the island and taking Gram gently by the arm. “Let’s take Rose back to your island, Astrid.”

The man rowing the covered boat speaks enough English to tell us the island has magical properties. Does every place have magical properties? We climb the steps of the old church and sit awhile, taking photos of the lake and the castle.

“Come, Rose. I want to show you something.” Gram takes Aunt Rose’s hand and leads her slowly back down the steps and into the forest. She opens her oversized pocketbook and pulls out a photo from a Ziploc bag.

“This is the spot where we took this.” She shows Aunt Rose a worn black-and-white photo. I’ve seen the photo many times on Gram’s bedroom wall. It’s Gram and Aunt Rose, joyful sisters in A-line dresses and starlet hairdos, with arms joined and legs kicking out.

Aunt Rose studies the photo intently. She looks at Gram. “We looked like Rockettes,” she says.

“We sure did.”

“Where’s the tree?” Aunt Rose cranes her neck toward the water.

“What tree, Aunt Rose?” Mom says.

Aunt Rose wanders toward the lakeshore, thick with trees and brambles. We all follow as she walks down to a tree hanging over the water. Jeb holds her around the waist and she steps into the water in her orthopedic shoes. “Here it is.” She tries to move some brush aside.