The Loose Ends List(6)

“You sound like your mother.”

“Never say that again.”

The main library door slides open. It’s Titi with a man I’ve never seen before.

“That is definitely not Titi’s husband.” Wes elbows me in the ribs.

“No. I don’t know who that is,” I whisper. I’ve met Titi’s husband. Joe is a male version of Titi, short and squat with glasses and orthopedic shoes. This guy is tall and broad, and older, maybe early eighties, and he has the longest salt-and-pepper dreads I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing a fitted white T-shirt and army-green cargo pants with leather sandals, and turquoise rings that somehow suit him, a rare exception to the guys-look-stupid-in-jewelry rule.

Dread Guy gives us all a nod and sits on the desk next to where Crusty Head is standing. I can’t imagine Gram would want a random stranger sitting on her imported mahogany desk with gold etchings.

Gram comes back in, probably from standing in the secret passageway with her ear against the wall. She’s still so normal looking in her tailored jeans and cropped leather jacket with the double strand of pearls. How can she have cancer?

“What’s the plan?” she says. “Who’s in, who’s out? I have a lot to do, so let’s get this settled.”

“Who’s the black man?” Aunt Rose blurts.

Wes looks at me and, with a smirk, mouths, Oh. My. God.

“You don’t recognize him? It’s been a long time, I suppose. It’s Bob Johns, Rose.”

Aunt Rose squints as if squinting will help her remember this person. “Is that you, Bob? My goodness, you’re as handsome as ever,” she says. “What on earth is Bob Johns doing here?”

Dread Guy jumps off the desk, pulls Aunt Rose to her feet, and picks her up into a big bear hug. Aunt Rose giggles and gives the guy an awkward kiss on the chin.

“Who the hell is Bob Johns?” Wes and Janie whisper at the same time.

I shrug.

“Everyone, this is Mr. Robert Amos Johns, the love of my life.” Gram extends her arm toward the guy like a magician’s assistant and looks up at his dread-framed face.

“Funny, Astrid. The jokes keep coming,” Dad says.

“Nope. Not a joke. Bob is the love of my life.” Gram takes a sip of Uncle Billy’s drink.

Janie pinches my leg.

“Mom, stop. We’re having a tough enough time here,” Aunt Mary says through clenched teeth.

“Hi, folks,” Bob Johns says. “I’m thinking this might not have been a good night to meet you all.” He has some sort of an accent and a deep baritone voice.

“Bob’s coming with us,” Gram announces, slapping Bob on the back.

“I’m done,” Aunt Mary says as she grabs Brit by the arm. “Not happening, Mom. This is ridiculous. Dad was the love of your life. Dad. Remember him?” She pauses for a moment as if her body wants to stay, but she won’t let it. “Come on, Jane.”

Gram walks over to Aunt Mary and faces her. She puts her hands on her shoulders and looks up at her miserable face. “My funny little Mary Mae. It’s okay if you don’t approve,” Gram says as if she anticipated Aunt Mary’s reaction and practiced her response a hundred times. “I love you just the same. Always have. Always will.”

Gram turns to Brit, who looks like she’s going to hurl. I can’t tell if she’s sad or mad. “I love you, too, my sweet baby girl.” Gram tucks a strand of hair behind Brit’s ear and smiles. Brit can’t bring herself to look Gram in the eye.

Aunt Mary’s lip trembles furiously. She motions for Janie to get up.

“I’m going on the cruise,” Janie announces, as she stands to follow Brit.

“Enough, Jane,” Aunt Mary snarls.

Aunt Mary and Brit storm out. Janie hugs Gram and follows them. “See you on the water,” she says.

“Keep it real,” I yell. Whatever that means.

We’re all tired. Gram tells us about how she met Bob at a jazz club where he was playing trumpet and they had to keep their relationship a secret from her uptight parents and the rest of the backwards-ass world of the 1940s. I watch her lips move and wonder what the cancer looks like inside her. It is a dream. I will wake up and she will be fine.



It’s nine o’clock, but it feels like midnight.

“Good to meet you, dude.” Jeb gives Bob Johns a fist pump and grabs his bag of groceries. “Gram, email the plan.” I realize Jeb hasn’t said a thing the entire time, which isn’t unusual. Mom always says to leave him alone, that he’s an introvert and he needs to get his energy from a quiet place inside himself and that she can relate. I think he gets his energy from paint fumes and really good weed.

Our exit is full of awkward hugs and misplaced kisses and small talk. How do you leave an evening like this in any normal way? I look back as the elevator opens. Gram is standing there, her arm around Bob Johns, his arm around her. They grin and wave, as if they have been doing it this way every day for sixty years.





THREE


I DRIVE THE minivan to Connecticut while my parents snuggle in the back. Mom is talking in her baby voice about how she’s in shock while Dad rubs her neck and goes on and on about his friend at Sloan Kettering. I decide to dump them off at home and go to the party.