The Loose Ends List(75)

“An anchor, that’s so sweet,” I say.

“It’s my Delta Gamma pin.” She smiles and pins it onto my pajama top. “It symbolizes hope.”

“Oh, Paige.” There are no words.

“Now, this is not a gift. I need you to hold on to it for Grace. Lane will never keep track of it.”

I want to say, Don’t be ridiculous. You’re going to be fine. But I don’t.

“I promise I’ll keep it safe.” I touch the pin. “Thank you, Paige, for being the best big sister ever,” I say.

She holds my shoulders and stares into my eyes. “We’re family now, Maddie.”

We make our way to the emotional crowd.

Wes can’t let go. He and Paige embrace Grace in a baby sandwich hug. Grace puts her pudgy little hand on Paige’s face to sop up the tears. “It’s okay, Gracie. We’re going to the fun playground.”

The engine rumbles, and they have no choice but to leave us waving frantically in our pajamas. We run up to the top deck and keep waving until Wishwell Island is a dot on the sea.

A group text comes just as Uncle Babysitter is starting to calm down. “‘We’ll be Friends Forever, won’t we, Pooh?’ asked Piglet. ‘Even longer,’ Pooh answered.”—A. A. Milne

Janie and I discover the giant vat of jelly beans waiting for us in front of our door.

“I bet you can eat a bunch of those now, huh, you little ho bag?” Janie says.

I text Enzo from under the covers. Does Wishwell Island ever cure anyone?

Yes, he answers. I don’t press for details.

Yes is good enough for me.



Heinz finished the letters. All hands on deck in the ballroom. Aaron

“That’s our cue,” I say to Enzo.

We form an assembly line. Heinz is sitting at a table with a stack of letters, 531 to be exact, under a red stone paperweight. To add to the heartbreak, Heinz taped a sign to the table, written in shaky old-man script, that says Thank you, Wishwell Friends. For each letter, he lifts the paperweight, studies the paper, closes his eyes for a second, kisses the page, and hands it to Jeb or Janie, his trusty rollers. The next group neatly places them in the bottles.

The high-pressure tossing job goes to the young and virile team of Enzo, Burt, Wes, Billy, and me, which is a joke because Enzo is the only good thrower in the group. But we’re very careful. We know what’s in these bottles. We know they are the painful manifestations of a man’s guilt and grief.

As we hurl each fragile papier-maché bottle into the sea, I wonder which ones Aunt Rose painted during her last moments on earth. I wonder what terrible things happened to those poor people Heinz turned in. I know the act of throwing letters into the sea can’t ever change anything, but somehow it matters. It matters to Heinz and it matters to the Wishwellians.

When we finish, there’s a collective sigh and a palpable emptiness. Dad and Bob pull chairs close to Heinz and the three of them stare out at the waves in silence. The rest of us file past them. He shakes my hand and thanks me. I bend down and kiss him on the cheek. “I love you, Heinz,” I blurt out. I rush away, wondering why I just told a man I barely know that I love him.

Gloria and Mom surprise Heinz with Gloria’s signature dessert, a German cream-filled cake called Blitz Torte. Heinz eats his slice slowly, savoring each mouthful. The rest of us thrust our forks in like animals and squabble over every last crumb. It’s heaven in my mouth.

Enzo and I walk Gram to her cabin so Bob can sit awhile with Heinz. Gram’s room is cluttered with medicine bottles and heating pads. “Do you want me to stay, Gram? We can watch a movie.”

“No, that’s okay, honey. I’m conking out for the night. It’s been a long day.” I tuck her in like she’s tucked me in so many times, kiss her cheek, and quietly shut the cabin door.

“I need a massage. My throwing arm hurts,” Enzo says on our way to his room. We skip dinner and game night and karaoke and brunch. I blame it on the vortex, the most powerful force in the universe.





TWENTY-FOUR


WE GET A text to meet in the library. Heinz is already gone. He didn’t want a funeral or any kind of service. But we need to do something to say good-bye. It’s Gloria’s idea to write him a letter.


Dear Heinz,



You spent your long life steeped in guilt and regret. But to us you were gracious and kind. You allowed us to help you honor 531 lost souls, and we will carry you in our hearts always. We love you,

The Wishwellians





We all sign our names. Dad, Bob, Uncle Billy, Vito, and the minister sign The Rat Pack Poker Club next to theirs. Burt rolls the letter, and Dad places it in a papier-maché bottle. Bob and Vito hold it for a minute and throw it into the sea. It is a perfect farewell.

When it’s done, Vito and Gloria gather us in the library and tell us they’re ready, and they want to go together because going together makes them brave. Vito’s Ornaments lose it in a mess of muddy eye makeup and wailing. The minister’s lower lip trembles. His hand shakes uncontrollably, and I feel sorry for him. I have a funny feeling it won’t be long before he’s next.

“Vito doesn’t ever have to struggle for breaths again,” Ty says, his head hanging low as he crawls onto Janie’s bed.