The Loose Ends List

by Carrie Firestone

  “She knows people?” I say to Wes.

  “She met some of them in New York.”

  “Can you stay with me? This isn’t my thing.” I follow Wes to the bar.

  “Is this anybody’s thing, Maddie? Seriously?”

  We stand awkwardly and watch the people file in. A very pale elderly woman, completely bald, with purple lipstick, chats with a broad, dark-skinned middle-aged man in a striped suit and Harry Potter glasses. He has a hand on the shoulder of a woman in a wheelchair. From the way she’s kind of slumped over, I don’t think the woman can move at all.

  “What’s wrong, Mads? You creeped out?” Wes says.

  “A little. I don’t even know what to say to these people.”

  “The key to small talk”—Wes sips his bourbon—“is to find something in common with the person. It can be anything. Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.” Wes takes my hand and pulls me toward the bar. “Shirley Temple, Mads?”

  “No. Just get me a Coke.”

  Wes turns toward a huge pasty guy with a pockmarked face wearing a Batman T-shirt under a blazer. He’s holding a straw to the mouth of a smiling guy in a wheelchair.

  “Hi, I’m Wes. This is my niece Maddie,” Wes says to the big guy.

  “Oh, dude, for a minute there, I thought you were a couple. I was, like, jailbait alert!” The guy laughs like a buffoon.

  “Nope. I’m with him.” Wes points to Uncle Billy, who is talking to Janie and the Harry Potter glasses guy.

  “Oh, you two are gay? I mean, that’s cool. We have a gay cousin. Or technically a lesbian cousin, because she’s a girl.”

  Wes glances at me, clearly also aware this person is a buffoon. He looks down at the guy in the wheelchair, who is actually good-looking and in no way resembles the oaf. “So then are you two related?” Wes asks.

  “Yeah, this is my brother, Mark. I’m Burt. We’re from California.”

  “Where in California?”

  “LA,” the guy in the wheelchair says.

  “No way. I lived in LA for almost ten years.” And there’s the thing in common. Wes is a genius at this. Meanwhile, all I can think about is the fact that this guy is here to die and his brother is here to watch.

  I try to make my way to the bathroom, but Gram chases me down and introduces me to Vito from Queens. He’s dying of lung cancer. He says he never smoked a day in his life, but the warehouse where he worked for forty years was contaminated with chemicals.

  It’s my biggest nightmare—a dinner party where people introduce themselves by telling you how they’re dying. I would do anything to be at the lake club right now, where my friends are probably building a campfire and choosing make-out gum flavors. I’m sure Lizzie and Kyle are fighting and Remy is wearing her hoodie and Abby is telling her she looks like a man. It’s probably really buggy, and I’m sure the boys are whining that they can’t find alcohol. I’d be bored already, but I don’t care. I want to be there right now. This is fucking depressing.

  My family sits together at a table in the dining room. I slide in next to Janie, who also has scrunch face.

  “I just met a woman who can’t move at all. Like, she can’t even talk. Her husband talks for her. She has ALS. I mean, look at her. She can’t be older than thirty-five,” Janie says. I glance quickly at the woman. She’s the one with Harry Potter glasses guy. She’s propped up at her table in a wheelchair.

  “This is awful, Janie.”

  She nods.

  I move salad around on the plate and watch my family inhale steak with truffle butter.

  Eddie stands up with a microphone.

  “Hello, passengers and crew,” Eddie says, pushing up his praying mantis glasses. “We are honored to have you on board the Wishwell. As many of you know, our founder, Dr. Francesca Ivanhoe, lost her husband and her father to long, debilitating diseases. Since then, she’s made it her lifelong mission to ease the pain and suffering of good people across the globe, teaming up with others at the Wishwell Research Facilities to launch our ship.”

  A blond, very tan guy, probably just out of college, walks in through the side entrance. I elbow Janie. “Three o’clock,” I whisper. He’s dressed in a white suit, more seventies chic than forties, but somehow he pulls it off.

  “And I’m happy to announce by this time next year, we’ll have two more ships on the water.”

  People clap and cheer.

  Janie whips her head around. “Oh my God. He’s mine,” she says.

  I quickly scan the room for Elevator Guy, but he’s not here.

  “Francesca is a truly beautiful woman, inside and out. You would never know from her gentle demeanor that she is a revolutionary, a world changer, and we are so lucky to have her. It is my great pleasure to introduce Francesca Ivanhoe.”

  The clapping and cheering erupts again. A striking woman walks to the front of the room wearing a ruby-colored mermaid dress and killer heels. She tosses her long black hair and smiles. Her presence makes the room feel lighter.

  “Oh, you amazing people, I love you all so much. Welcome to this ship that is close to my heart for many reasons,” she says with a thick Italian accent. “Something ugly brought us together. But something amazing will connect our souls forever.”

  I don’t know whether to crawl under the table or join in the cheers. I lean over to Janie. “She’s a death cheerleader.”

  “Shh. I like her. She’s fun.”

  “As you begin your journey, I ask that you open yourselves up to those around you. Search inward, search outward, challenge the depths of your being, and of course, do it with a spring in your step or, Holly and Mark, your wheels. Now let’s party.”

  The wall separating the dining room and the ballroom slides open to reveal the deep glow of the room at sunset. We make our way toward the ballroom. Janie keeps her eye on Mr. Three O’Clock, who is talking to Eddie. Janie’s going to get him. She’ll toss her blond hair, wrinkle her little nose, and stick out her huge edible boobs, and he’ll need help sopping up the bodily fluids. Don’t be embarrassed when it happens, Three O’Clock. It’s a perfectly normal reaction when falling under the spell of Janie O’Neill Peters.

  “I’m so excited. I never thought I’d be hooking up on this trip. We need to give him a good nickname.” Janie catches Three O’Clock’s eye and holds his gaze for a full three seconds, then looks away. He keeps looking.

  “How about Captain Do Me?” I say.

  “Captain Do Me is perfect. Come on, I need to dance.”

  Janie walks toward Gram. She’s holding hands with Bob Johns, who is carrying a trumpet case like a purse. I love the way Bob looks at Gram. She’s his princess.

  “Might I request a prayer?” the bald purple lipstick lady’s husband calls out. Somebody starts a chant: “Prayer, prayer!”

  “Oh, God, this is annoying,” Janie whines.

  “Come on, you heathens, a little praying is good for us,” Gram says.

  We assemble in two layers of circles. I know there are seven patients, and with all the families, and some of the crew, there are at least forty, maybe fifty of us.

  Jeb’s standing awkwardly next to Wheelchair Lady.

  “That’s so sad,” I whisper to Bob Johns. “The lady in the wheelchair.”

  “Wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy,” Bob says.

  “Please take your neighbor’s hand. Don’t worry, I’m a retired minister. I know what I’m doing.” The tiny man is as bald as his wife and only slightly taller. Jeb crouches down and holds one of Wheelchair Lady’s hands. I look around at the little old people and the two wheelchairs and the pained faces. For some reason I have the urge to laugh my ass off. I hold my breath.

  “Lord, thank you for giving us the gift of life and for allowing the Wishwell patients the chance to enter your kingdom in peace and comfort. Thank you for giving your humble servants the opportunity to join our loved ones as we sanctify and celebrate the gift of life. May every last breath we share be joyful. Amen.”

 
“Amen,” they all say. I feel my face turning scarlet as the circles start disbanding, and I cover my mouth with my hands to muffle my laughter.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Uncle Billy is on the other side of me.

  “I don’t know.” Tears stream down my face. I can’t stop laughing.

  “How is this funny?” Uncle Billy is not amused.

  “Just go.” I shoo him away and dab my eyes with a cocktail napkin, pretending the prayer made me emotional.

  I gain my composure as the band starts. This is our kind of music. Gram forced us all to endure dance lessons, so I’ve been dancing since I was three. I won’t have a knucklehead with two left feet at one of my affairs, she always said. Janie and I are probably the only teenagers who can dance the Lindy.

  Wes and Uncle Billy grab Janie and me and pull us out to the dance floor. Wes throws his back against mine and flips me over his head, giving the crowd a great Spanx shot. The people line the dance floor and watch as Uncle Billy pulls Janie through his legs then throws her into a cartwheel. We jitterbug to the moon and back. All those days practicing routines with my uncles on Gram’s lawn in Bermuda were worth this moment. I think I see Wheelchair Lady dancing with her eyes.

  The song fades to “In a Sentimental Mood,” and Uncle Billy ditches me for Wes. Couples flood the dance floor, and I go in search of water. “That’s my Maddie girl. You were brilliant, honey,” Gram says when I pass her slow dancing cheek to cheek with Aunt Rose.

  The ceiling retracts above us, revealing a sky full of clustered constellations. I sit on a bar stool and catch my breath. The blond pixie haircut lady we saw with the baby walks over. “Did they hire you guys to get the dancing started?” she asks. “It worked.” She orders a chardonnay. She has amber eyes, the kind that are marbled with specks of gold, and is probably ten years older than me, and decades younger than most of the passengers.

  “Ha! No. My grandmother trained us all to dance.”

  “You’re so good. I just plant my feet on the ground, wiggle my ass, and hope for the best.” She sips her wine and waves to her parents on the dance floor.

  I don’t want to ask her which of her parents is dying, so I decide to try the Wes approach and find something in common.

  “Where are you guys from?” I ask.

  “Chicago. My parents live in Florida now, but they’ve been back and forth a lot.”

  “One of my friends is going to Northwestern in the fall,” I say.

  “College,” she practically shouts. “Oh, I loved college. Where are you going?”

  “NYU.”

  “No way! I got my master’s in education at NYU. I loved every minute of it.”

  “Oh! Where did you live?”

  “In student housing near Union Square. I don’t even know how I passed my classes. I went out every night. Beware. That’s a bit of a problem in New York.” She reaches over the bar and takes a handful of maraschino cherries. “Want one?”

  “Sure.” I suck the cherry off the stem.

  “Oh, I’m so jealous of you. I mean, I have the husband and the baby and everything, but sometimes I think I’m a twenty-year-old stuck inside a thirty-two-year-old body.”

  “My cousin and I are as close to twenty as you’re going to get on this ship,” I say. “You can hang out with us and pretend you’re still in college.”

  She smiles and arranges the cherry stems in a circle.

  “Okay, you can be my little sister. I was a Delta Gamma in undergrad.”

  “I’ll totally be your little sister.” I’m guessing she was in the pretty girl sorority.

  Pixie Hair’s husband walks up behind her and kisses her neck. “I’m hoping this is my husband, but at this point anything goes.” She turns and hugs him, then looks back at me. “What’s your name?”

  “Maddie.”

  “Lane, this is Maddie. She’s going to NYU in the fall. Small world, right? Maddie, this is Lane, and I’m Paige.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lane and Paige.”

  They go out for a dance and leave me trying to tie the cherry stem with my tongue. Lane hugs her close to him, and they sway slowly, foreheads touching. I hope I find somebody to dance that close to someday.

  I turn toward the bar and notice a man and woman sitting in the dimly lit corner of the room. The man’s so skinny it looks like he came from a prison camp. The woman is old and obese, like the people who hang out all day at the Chinese buffet. They sit silently, staring at the dancers, pathetic and unkempt, not even wearing forties clothes. They don’t react to Bob Johns’s trumpet solo. They don’t tap their feet or snap their fingers. I don’t know why I can’t stop looking at them. Skinny Guy catches me staring, and I wave. He waves back with two fingers. Which one is the patient? I’m not even going to guess.

  I hear Mom’s cackling laugh before I see her stumble through the middle of the dance floor, practically plowing down Paige’s parents. Gram makes her disapproving face and waves her hand at Dad, her signal for get Trish out of here before she causes a scene. I’ve seen that signal at Wes and Uncle Billy’s wedding, Jeb’s graduation trip to Montreal, and lots of other places. Dad puts his arm around Mom and pulls her through the ballroom door.

  “Why are you naked?” Janie is doing nude yoga on our balcony.

  “Come try it. Nobody can see us. It’s open sea. It’s liberating.”

  “I’ll pass,” I say. I climb onto the bed and watch my cousin’s perfect little body mold into downward dog position in the glow of the moon.

  I’m actually kind of proud of myself for making it through the first night. Dying people are slightly more normal than I expected.

  “What was up with Aunt Trish tonight? She’s not usually that bad,” Janie yells over the wave sounds.

  “I don’t know. Open bar mixed with a new diet? She’s never liked parties anyway. She’ll probably be mortified in the morning.”

  Janie finally comes in from naked stretching and gets into bed.

  “I used to think dying was the worst thing that could happen to someone,” I say, getting under the covers, “but the misery some of these people have to deal with… death might be better.”

  “Duh, Maddie. Everyone knows that.”

  “We need to take better care of ourselves.”

  “You’re such an old lady.”

  I go to sleep with a dull ache in my back. It’s probably from flipping around on the dance floor, but I can’t help wondering where my pancreas is.

  SEVEN

  GRAM GATHERED US all in the café for breakfast this morning. She told us we’re not sleeping this trip away and she wants us doing some activities. Janie and I made searching for Captain Do Me an activity. We recruited Aunt Rose to make it look less suspicious. She couldn’t really keep up, so we made her wear Mom’s tennis shoes, and when she was still too slow, we pushed her around the ship in a wheelchair from the infirmary. We took a break from searching to sit with Mark the wheelchair guy and his brother, Burt, in the café and found out that Mark has a really bad kind of multiple sclerosis.

  “Is it strange that I’m also slightly attracted to a forty-year-old in a wheelchair?” Janie says.

  “Yes,” Aunt Rose shouts.

  “He’s really hot,” Janie says. “It’s hard to believe those two are brothers. The hot guy got the disease genes, and the ugly guy got the healthy genes.”

  “Hot guy used to be a world-class surfer. His brother told me he has erectile dysfunction and has to wear a diaper,” I say.

  “Why would he tell you that?” Janie asks.

  “Payback for being the not-hot brother?” I can see Janie is trying to process that thought. “I don’t know, he acted like it was funny. He’s a buffoon.”

  Vito’s family doesn’t seem to know that baby oil isn’t sunscreen. They’re all splayed out on deck chairs frying their leathery bodies while Janie and I hide in the corner, reading Vogue in our bikinis. The pool area has a little hot tub oasis with waterfalls. We’ve named it �
��the Grotto.” The bald lady with the purple lipstick and Gram are in there right now, drinking champagne and sexually harassing the poor waiter.

  Wes cannonballs into the pool, and Vito’s daughters shriek at him.

  “What? Don’t sit by the pool, then,” he snaps. Uncle Billy and Wes have been fighting since we got to Bermuda. They’re barely talking to each other, and they’re both cranky.

  “Hi, Maddie,” Paige says, wheeling the baby in her stroller.

  She plops down next to us in her skirted mom bathing suit and giant sun hat.

  “Paige! Hi. This is my cousin Janie.”

  “Who is this? Can I pick her up?” Janie reaches for the baby. “Oh, my gosh, she’s so cute. Can I take her in the pool?”

  “Her name is Grace. And by all means, go for it.” We watch Janie ease into the pool and dip baby Grace’s toes. She screeches with joy.

  “I was hoping I would see you up here, little sister,” Paige says.

  I turn on my side and prop my head on the fluffy towel. “Shouldn’t there be some sort of an initiation if I’m pledging your sorority?”

  “We can just skip to talking about boys and eating frozen yogurt,” she says. “I have to say, I could not stop thinking about college last night.”

  Janie bounces Grace in the water. Every time Wes goes under and pops up, she laughs hysterically. All babies love Wes.

  “Look at her, she loves it,” Paige says.

  I tell Paige about the E’s and the boyfriend sagas and Ethan and the “accident.” She tells me she had a stoner boyfriend with the opposite problem. I didn’t even know that was a thing.

  Jeb runs past us and flips into the choppy pool. Burt comes from the other side of the pool and yanks down his shorts.

  “Full moon tonight,” he yells.

  “Full hairy moon,” Paige jokes.

  “Fro yo?” She gets up and pulls her maxidress over her suit.

  “Totally. Swirl with sprinkles, please.”

  Paige makes her way across the deck to the frozen yogurt bar. I turn over on my stomach and see someone walking in the shadows toward the stairwell.

  It’s the guy from the elevator.