The Loose Ends List(9)

“What happened to Bob Johns?” I ask, realizing he left the apartment at some point.

“You know, you can call him Bob,” Gram says.

“I like Bob Johns. It has a nice ring to it.”

“Are you girls okay with Bob coming along on the trip?”

“As long as he knows we’re your favorites,” Janie says.

I honestly don’t know what to think of my grandmother’s long-lost boyfriend. He seems nice, but he’s showing up at kind of a bad time.

“Look how hideous I was,” I say to Gram as I hold up a picture of me with blue-banded braces and choppy hair.

“You come here,” Gram says. I get up from the floor and sit facing Gram on the edge of her bed.

I look into her blue eyes. They’re the very same eyes as my own.

“You are gorgeous and smart and full of life. You always have been. Now you need to work on finally getting out of your high school comfort zone. I want you to savor every minute of our adventure.”

“I’ve been out of my comfort zone. Lots of times.”

“Honey, skiing in Switzerland and swimming in Bermuda are about as comfortable as you can get. We’re going to see the world. And I want you to do it without your scrunch face.”

“What scrunch face?”

“The one you put on when I try to take you for dim sum in Chinatown.”

“That place is gross.”

“That’s my point. If you view the world as gross, you’ll never be able to enjoy it. Lose the scrunch face.”

“Tell that to Jeb.”

“No, he’s not scrunch face, he’s downer face.”

“I’m glad you have face nicknames for all of us. What about Janie?”

“Janie’s clueless face.”

“Oh my God, Gram. That’s so mean.” Janie looks up from her stack of pictures.

“You need to get a clue, Jane Margaret, or the world will eat you up,” Gram says.

“Okay, wrinkle face.” Janie leans over and squeezes Gram’s cheek.

“Hey, these wrinkles are the badge of a life well lived, missy. Watch it, or I’ll kick your little behind to the streets. Or even worse, back to your mother’s apartment.”





FOUR


WE’RE ON THE plane to Gram’s Bermuda house, and Janie and Jeb and I are scattered about coach, the plane version of the kids’ table at Thanksgiving. The rest of them get first class, compliments of Gram, who is already in Bermuda with Titi, Titi’s husband, and Bob Johns.

The past three weeks are a blur. I muddled through school, distracted by the Gram news and the Ethan drama. I refused to answer his texts, which made him text me more. Thanks to the E’s, Ellie-the-sophomore will forever be known as Pineapple, even if she never knows why. The E’s had a hard time with me leaving at first, but they used my departure as an excuse to celebrate. Lizzie threw a crazy graduation party the weekend after finals. The night ended with my friends piled on top of me chanting don’t go over and over again until I couldn’t wait to go. The pressure of bodies must have been too much for Abby, who puked all over me. That was the grand finale.

Gram’s open house was epic. According to Titi, Gram invited people to take something from her apartment to remember her by. There was a steady stream of Gram’s beloved groupies, from Saks lunch counter workers and limo drivers to socialites and famous jazz singers. People lingered and told funny stories, and Gram gave everyone souvenirs from her vast collections. It was as if having an object that belonged to Astrid North O’Neill would infuse a little bit of fabulous into their lives.

Janie sticks her boobs out and flirts with the guy next to me until he agrees to swap seats with her. I’m not sure why she bothered, since she might as well be sitting by herself. She obsessively picks at her split ends and is barely talking to me. I’m thinking it’s because her horrible mother and sister abandoned her and haven’t even opened the DVD Wes made of Gram saying her good-byes after they refused to answer Gram’s calls.

“What is it?” I say, hoping she’ll stop the annoying picking.

“Why can’t Gram just have a regular funeral at the Episcopal church with a pretty casket and those round flower arrangements like everyone else?” She looks at me.

“Because she’s Gram.”

Janie sighs.

“Maddie?” she says a few minutes later.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think I’m clueless?”

“No, not at all.” She’s so pitiful looking. I can’t stand to see her like this. I grab her calf and yank on her shoe. “You’re only clueless when it comes to wearing good plane shoes. Why are you wearing heels? You’ll burst the raft if we crash.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Janie says before she brushes a pile of split ends onto my tray table and I smack her.



The cliff-side Bermuda mansion feels like home. It belongs to the North family estate, passed down by generations of people with loads of money—“old money.” Nobody seems to know where it came from in the first place, whether it was shady money or hard-earned. It’s just there now, in trusts and offshore accounts, feeding off itself and swelling ever greater.

I’m so tired; I leave the dinner table during Wes and Uncle Billy’s argument over whether they should cancel their cable service while we’re gone. I make a beeline for the guesthouse, lie on the daybed under the ceiling fan, and fall asleep immediately. I wake to Gram standing over me, an angel in her white nightgown, holding a bowl of applesauce with raisins and a tiny silver spoon. It’s just the two of us in the guesthouse as twilight drapes Bermuda in dusky pink.