The Unsinkable Greta James(38)

Now she looks at her phone again, trying to imagine being back onstage, singing a brand-new song, all of the execs hoping for a fresh start, all of her fans looking for a story to tell, all of it in concert with the embarrassment and doubt that have been beating like twin drums underneath her grief, that constant fist around her heart.

She knows it’s time. It’s past time. It’s possibly even too late.

But still, she’s not sure she’s ready.

One of the strangest things about death is that it doesn’t mean you stop hearing someone’s voice in your head, and right now, Greta knows exactly what her mom would say.

You’ll be fine. You’re ready. You’ve got this.

But she’s not here to say it.

And so Greta attempts to do it for herself.

I’ll be fine, she writes to Howie. I’m ready. I’ve got this.

She’s just not sure she believes it.





Chapter Fifteen


Greta is standing at the rail, mesmerized by the tiny icebergs floating past in the tranquil water, when Mary appears at her side. She’s wearing a red coat, and her knit hat is pulled tight over her short black hair.

“The bad news,” she says, leaning her elbows on the railing beside Greta, “is that we lost our trivia title. The good news is that we got the one about the Rolling Stones.”

Greta laughs. “Happy to help.”

“I checked on your dad.” Mary rubs her hands together. “He seems a lot better.”

“Did he yell at you about the quarantine too?”

“Honestly,” she says, “I’d be more worried about him if he hadn’t.”

“I feel bad he’s stuck in his room,” Greta says. “I can’t even blame him for being grumpy for once.”

“Go easy on him. He’s having a hard time.”

“We all are.”

Mary gives her an appraising look. “I’m glad you’re getting a little break this week.”

“I’ve been on a break for a while now, actually.”

“I know. I saw the video.”

“You and about two million other people,” Greta says, turning to her with an attempt at a smile. But it falters when she sees the look on Mary’s face, which is so tender it makes her want to cry.

“For what it’s worth, I thought the song was beautiful.”

“That’s only because you miss her too.”

“Maybe,” she says, looking thoughtful. “Will you ever play it again?”

“I’ve been explicitly instructed not to,” she says, then shrugs. “It’s not finished anyway. It’s something I started writing on the plane. Before I knew…” Her voice breaks. “Anyway, even if it hadn’t ruined my entire career, it’s not really a fit for my shows.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just not my brand, a song like that.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “What ever happened to just writing what you’re feeling?”

“You saw what happened,” Greta says ruefully. “I think it’s better if I leave that particular chapter behind for now.”

“That chapter,” Mary says gently, “will be with you for a while. Whether you want it to be or not. Sometimes the only way out is through.”

“That sounds like something my mom would say.”

Mary smiles. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

For a few seconds, they both gaze out as the first glacier comes into view, a brilliant white against the blue-green water.

“She would’ve loved this,” Mary says, then shakes her head. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I know.”

“Sometimes I find myself looking out the window for her when I’m doing the dishes. Or reaching for my phone to call her when something funny happens. It’s like my brain knows but my body doesn’t.”

“My body knows,” Greta says, and it’s a struggle to keep her voice even. “I feel it everywhere. In my heart. My lungs. My bones.”

Mary slips an arm around her shoulders and gives her a squeeze.

“I know she wasn’t perfect,” Greta says. “She could be so frustrating and stubborn, and she was such a sore loser when we played board games. And she never stepped in enough when my dad was being a jerk. She could have, and she didn’t, because she loved him too and I think she felt like it was her job to be neutral. But that’s not how it’s supposed to work, especially not when one person is clearly so wrong. And it always hurt, that she was more silent than I wanted her to be, even though I never said it. Even though I never told her.” She pauses for a second, rocking back on the rail, then shakes her head. “Also, she made the worst coffee. Like, seriously bad. And she had no street smarts. She’d come to New York and act like she was in a musical, like the whole world was singing along with her. And…she left me. She left all of us, but it feels like she left me most of all, and I know that’s completely self-centered, but it’s how I feel. I hate that she’s gone. I just really, really hate it.”

The ship is moving slowly now, barely disturbing the water. Everything around them is still, as if they’ve drifted into a painting.