The Loose Ends List(82)

I study his silver-and-turquoise rings.

“What was it like when you and Gram broke up?”

Bob laughs. He tells me about how he fell into a deep abyss and thought he would die of heartbreak. He flew to Jamaica and sat on a banana crate in front of his uncle’s store for a year, drinking rum and peeing his pants until his sister yanked him up by the hair and told him to do something with his life. That’s when he went back to New York, met his wife, and dusted off his trumpet.

“Do you ever regret not spending your whole life with Gram?”

He slurps his smoothie and waves to Eddie.

“You know what? I don’t. Astrid and I always said this was our one great love. But we said that because we didn’t have to live together and fight over who takes out the garbage or how to squeeze the toothpaste.” He shakes his head. “Astrid kicked me out of bed after a week on the ship. Couldn’t take the snoring. That’s life, Maddie, garbage and toothpaste and snoring.”

His face softens.

“If you think about it, we had the best of both worlds. Passion and romance were the bookends of our lives. But the books, well, your family and my family and all those messy, fantastic years were the books.”

“You’re one of my books now, Bob,” I say.

“That’s good to hear, Maddie girl.”

I reach over and give Bob a big hug. He smells familiar. He smells like Gram.





TWENTY-SEVEN


FRANCESCA WANTS US to go to the grief circle to help process our losses. Mom and Dad aren’t making me go yet. The grief hits worst at night, when I’m left alone with Enzo’s sleep sounds and the ship’s creaks. I lie on my back, choking away the tears, paralyzed in the darkness.

I feel her. The air is heavy. I know she’s beside me.

I want to touch her one more time, to feel the bones popping out of her frail hand. I want to kiss her cheek and hear her call me Maddie girl. The worst part of all is I’m terrified I’ll forget her.



Enzo and I pull the lounge chairs up to the balcony railing so we can lie on our stomachs and scan the sea for dolphins. The pods sometimes follow us in the morning.

“Let’s order pancakes,” Enzo says. “Soon I’ll be eating fava beans and pita for breakfast.”

That’s his way of saying it’s almost over.

I get up and go into the shower. We knew it was coming. He’s going to Egypt, and I’m going to New York. This has to end.

I stand in the dark under a warm stream, trying to rinse the pain away. The door slides open.

“Can I just have a few minutes?” I say feebly.

“Maddie, I know you’re pissy. I’m coming in.” He throws off his boxers.

“I’m not pissy. I’m sad,” I whisper. I don’t want to cry, but I can’t control it. I can’t control anything.

“Come here.” He pulls me toward him, and we stand naked and still.

After a long time, he says, “Do you remember before Brazil, when we thought we only had Rome to look forward to and we were determined to make our time in Rome fantastic?”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“So wouldn’t we have given anything for a week? We still have a week, Maddie.”

“That’s true.”

“Isn’t it better to end on good terms? Let’s admit most relationships die of boredom or resentment.”

“But maybe we would be different.”

“Nothing this good lasts forever, Maddie. Let’s enjoy this good now.”

“This good?” I kiss him softly.

“Yes. This good.”

He turns me around so the stream hits my face, and presses lemony soap against my back. The soap glides over the tiny starfish and down my leg.

It hits me. I know what we need to do.



We make a list of seven Loose Ends. Seven for luck.


One. Shag a thousand times. (Modified to shag as much as possible.)

Two. Be nocturnal.

We’ve stopped sleeping at night. We’re defying the demons and the dreams and staying wide awake. We sleep all day with the sunbeams sneaking through the blinds, bathing our naked bodies in warmth and light. We rise in time for dinner, ready for adventures.



Three. Have a picnic.

Enzo waits until midnight when the Ornaments are finished with their biscotti and gossip. He blindfolds me and leads me through decks and corridors to the bow of the ship. We lie on a pile of blankets surrounded by twinkle lights and eat seven kinds of cheeses and warm bread and olives with sparkling pomegranate soda and a chocolate cake so fancy it could be our wedding night. We toss the leftovers overboard and dance in silence until dawn.



Four. A night with the kids table.

It starts in the game room as a rowdy billiards tournament with Camilla, Ty, and me against Enzo, Jeb, and Janie. Their team wins. We run around like twelve-year-olds, raid the vintage wine cellar, and sneak into the chapel. We lie on the pews, watching the moonlight through stained glass. We make bottles in the craft room, three times the size of the Heinz bottles, and stuff them with things we find along the way.

We end up in the Grotto choreographing a hot tub dance to that U2 song “Beautiful Day.”

Before dawn we use our last burst of energy on wishes. We write wishes on napkins, stuff them into our bottles, and, one by one, throw the bottles into the sea. We hold hands and watch a rogue wave gulp them up with one big swallow. If somebody discovers mine on a faraway beach, they’ll wonder why anyone would fill a soggy paper bottle with a hibiscus flower, seven jelly beans, a squirt of sunscreen, and a wish on a napkin.