The Loose Ends List(78)

We eat burgers and fries and ice cream sundaes and wait for Mark and Burt and Enzo to arrive. It feels flat and empty without Paige and Grace and the others.

I’ve barely talked to Vito’s family, other than Roberta. They look alike and talk alike and move in a group like zebras. It takes too much energy to figure out how to separate them. But they’re funny and sarcastic and smart, just like Vito. Mark’s right, they are Christmas ornaments. One of them alone isn’t very exciting—together they’re so much fun. But even the Ornaments are quiet tonight.

Finally, Burt comes into the ballroom with a red, swollen face. He asks Eddie to turn off the movie and the music.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” We freeze.

“I, uh, Markie can’t do the party. He’s having a tough time. He wants me to tell you he loves you guys.” Burt can barely get the words out. His face is twisted in anguish.

“He says you are his family now and forever, and he just can’t say good-bye to each of you so he asked me to say good-bye to all of you.” Wes and Uncle Billy embrace Burt’s heaving body. “He can’t do it.”

“How about we text him messages?” Wes asks as Burt blows his nose on a napkin.

Burt nods. “I think he’d like that.”

We give Burt hugs and deliver quiet whispers. Wes and Uncle Billy offer to walk him to his cabin, but he wants to go by himself. On the way out, Burt tells me Mark has asked Enzo to be with him in his cabin.

We bend over our bees and text Mark messages of love and comfort. We tell him how he inspired us, moved us, and made us braver. One by one, we get up and walk out, deflated.

Burt texts us all the photo of laughing Mark sprawled out in the wheelbarrow in Jamaica. This is how I’ll always remember him.

Paige texts me right away. You okay?

Yeah. I’m okay.

She sends a picture of Grace blowing a kiss, and I wish I could have that slimy baby mouth on my cheek right now.

I lie on the lounge chair, wrapped in my comforter, and think about the time when I was four or five and Gram screamed at Jeb and me for leaning over her penthouse balcony. It was the only time she ever yelled like that. I hid in the bookcase passageway, ashamed and afraid. I’m not sure why that memory came up. All the memories are swimming to the surface now.

The door opens, and Enzo comes out and slides silently under the blanket. I cradle him, his head on my chest, our legs intertwined.

“Do you hear that?” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“What?”

“The music?”

I don’t hear music. I only hear the waves.

Mark belongs to the sea now.



Jeb and Enzo write the note.


Dear Mark,



You will always be our superstar. You showed us all that it’s not how long we live, but how well we live that counts. You are in good hands with Marley and Hendrix and all the righteous ones. Surf on, good dude, surf on. We love you.

The Wishwellians





TWENTY-SIX


BURT HAS TAKEN to sleeping on Wes and Uncle Billy’s floor. It started the night Mark died, and it’s been going on for a few nights now. They’re cool with it as long as he gives them space to get to the bathroom.

It’s too quiet. I wander the ship, sometimes with Enzo, sometimes with Janie or Mom or Dad. We sit with Gram in her room, but she’s sleeping a lot now. We visit the Ornaments at the pool or flip through magazines in the café. I pace. I fidget. I don’t know what to do.

At night, I burrow into the vortex and stay as long as I can with the waves and my Enzo. He spoons me facing the moonlit water, and we talk about college classes and music and our friends. Regular things.



“When are you going to start running?” Enzo blows past me. It’s raining, and the upper deck is empty. We stop for water, and there it is, a little green light on the side of my buzzing bee. I know what the message is before I pick it up.

Hello, babies. I have a dinner date tonight with Martin and Rose and Karl. I’m looking forward to it. It’s been too long.

My knees buckle, and I sink down to the floor, a shivering, pathetic little mess of fear and grief. Enzo sits next to me and holds me as tightly as a person can hold another person. He wipes my face with his shirt and doesn’t say a word because there are no words.

I’m too weak to get up. Enzo holds my hand and walks me around a little, gives me sips of water, and kisses my forehead.

“I’m okay.” My voice barely works.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“Yeah. I want to lie down and then I want to see my gram.”



We lie in bed with the curtains drawn. I doze off for a few minutes, and I wake with the feeling that everything is fine. Then I remember.

“Can I be alone for a little while?” I say to Enzo. “I’ll text you in an hour.”

He doesn’t press me. He cradles my face in his hands, kisses me on the lips, and gets up to leave.

There’s a wailing noise coming from the hallway. Enzo flings the door open and runs out. I jump up and follow him. Gram is hysterical and heaving on the floor in front of Jeb’s open door. Enzo kneels on the floor next to her while Jeb leans against the wall.

“Jeb, what did you do to her?” I scream. I’ve never seen Gram this upset. She’s the stoic one. She deflects with humor. She tells us to get ahold of ourselves.