The Loose Ends List(8)

“That was a good birthday.”

“I always wished I had a grandmother like her. My grandma was diabetic with face warts and an amputated foot. She scared the hell out of me, and I was glad when she died. I’m sorry, that’s terrible, but it’s true,” Rachel says.

“I know. She scared me, too.”

“What about when we went down to Gram’s apartment in the city and she invited that guy who actually knew some of the original Star Trek cast members? Titi made us dinner, and the guy sat there all night while I grilled him.”

“Yeah, you said you’d marry that guy someday,” I say.

“That’s right.” Rachel laughs. “I should look him up.”

I’m glad I trusted Rachel with my secret.

We tap our water bottles together and toast to Gram, the most amazing person we have ever known.



I barely sleep. Ethan drunk-texts apologies all night long. I eventually text back Stop bothering me. It’s over, but he doesn’t get the hint. I just want him to go away.

It’s not even seven when I go down to the kitchen and find Dad drafting an email to the principal at his school, telling her he can’t teach the summer robotics camp due to a family “situation.”

I catch a train to Grand Central. I’m in no shape to drive. It’s weird to be on the train early on a Saturday morning with the deli workers and nurses going about their normal routines. People are reading newspapers and sipping coffee, laughing and making small talk, and I kind of hate them for not feeling the same anxiety I’m feeling right now.

The elevator opens to Bob Johns sleeping on the sectional with my favorite blanket. I try to sneak past him and go straight to Gram’s room, but he opens his eyes.

“Hey there, Maddie.” He knows my name.

“Hi.” I have no idea what to say to this guy.

“You here to check on your gram?”

“Yeah.”

“Janie’s in there with her. She came late last night with all her luggage. She says she’s moving in until the cruise.”

Janie beat me here again.

I sit on the edge of the ottoman and take a yoga breath. I need to get my shit together before I go in there.

“Do you live here now?” I ask Bob Johns.

“No, no. I wanted to make sure Astrid was okay. She was nervous about telling you all the news.” I’m pretty sure the accent is Jamaican.

“I’m sorry my family acted like a bunch of idiots last night. Gram kept you a secret. We had no idea.”

“Yeah, my kids were pretty surprised when I told them I was going on a cruise with an old girlfriend,” Bob says. “And then when I told them she was a white Park Avenue debutante, they nearly fell to the floor laughing.”

“That’s better than my aunt Mary’s reaction. Trust me, she’s mean to everyone.”

“She wasn’t mean. She was just being protective of her mother.”

I don’t even know what to say to that, so I blurt out the first thing that comes to my mind. “How long did you and Gram date?”

“About three years.”

“Wow. That’s a long time.”

“Yes, but nobody was going to be okay with Astrid North and Bob Johns living happily ever after. We had a good run, though, with our wild jazz club friends.”

“My grandpa Martin preferred Irish music.”

“Would you believe I knew your grandfather?” Bob smiles. “He wanted to meet me, so we got together for a beer one night and joked about your gram.”

I try to picture this big dreadlocked guy with quiet, balding Grandpa Martin.

“He was a good guy. I’m thinking he and my wife are smiling down on us from heaven.”

“Do you think Gram’s as sick as she says?”

His eyes fill with pity, and I know the answer before he says it. “Yes, kiddo. I do.”

We sit for a minute in silence. All I can think about is what cancer looks like on the inside. Does it have a color?

“How about we have one of Titi’s gigantic chocolate chip muffins?” Bob says.

“Not hungry. I think I’ll go get into bed with them.”

The room is dark. Gram loves her remote-control blackout shades. I feel my way over to the bed and crawl between Janie and Gram, who is snoring softly, making p-p-p sounds.

I can’t believe this is happening.



We spend the day going through stuff in Gram’s apartment. She’s planning to have a farewell open house weekend for all her friends and neighbors before she leaves for the cruise. She’ll tell them about the cancer, but leave out the part about the death-with-dignity ship.

“Look, girlies,” Gram says. She holds up a photo of Janie, Brit, Jeb, and me on the sprawling porch of Aunt Rose’s Charleston house. We’re all under the age of five and completely naked. “I think I’ll post this one online.”

“Why are we naked?” I say.

“You were always naked,” Gram says. “Luckily the sun wasn’t as strong back then, although your neurotic father was obsessed with sunscreen.” She stares back down at the photo. “Oh, those were the days.”

Every picture and random relic holds memories. There’s the pink sand in crystal vases from Gram’s Bermuda house and the shadow box with our locks of baby hair and the collage of our traditional Christmas Day photos, always taken in Central Park.