Gram blows her nose. “I need a macaroon,” she says, struggling to get up from her chair.
“The canvases on those walls are going home with us,” Dad says. “I’ll be damned if I leave the artwork on the Titanic.”
Bob brings in a case of macaroons and rips it open. They stuff their faces. I can’t even think about eating.
“It’s going to go like this, kids.” Gram talks with her mouth full. “I’m going to have a bath and a champagne. Then we’ll text you, and you can sit with me if you want. If you don’t, that’s okay. And that’s it.”
“Wait, Gram. Don’t you want to spend time with each of us? To say good-bye?” I’m panicking.
“Maddie, that’s what this trip was all about. We’ve had our time, honey. I’m feeling too rotten now. We need to rip off the Band-Aid. I used to tell your parents to drop you at preschool and run.” She waves her half-eaten macaroon toward Mom and Dad. “But no, you two had to stick around and hang all over the kids and drag them into your anxious frenzy. The one day you had the strength to drop Maddie and run out without looking back was the day she didn’t cry.”
“We’re still going to cry,” Janie says.
“Yes, I imagine. You are a bunch of criers. How did I end up with all the crybabies? Ruth’s kids were troupers.”
“We just love you,” Wes says.
“Okay, I’m pulling off the Band-Aid. Billy, help me up. I might vomit the macaroons. Wow. That was a binge.” She leaves, and I get a text. Wear the blue dress.
“She wants us all in blue,” Mom says, looking at my bee. “She ‘doesn’t want to die surrounded by mismatched ragamuffins.’ That’s more unsettling than the prospect of no longer living.”
Mom talks Janie and me into spending the afternoon at the spa getting manicures, pedicures, facials, blowouts, and makeup. She wants us to be our most beautiful selves for Gram.
We get the text just before sunset.
It’s time, my babies.
Mom lets out a shaky breath and puts her arms around us. “Come, girls, let’s go see our old gal off.”
Gram is tucked into her bed on her favorite pillow. She’s wearing a blue satin robe with one sleeve rolled up, and she’s holding a tiny drawstring bag with her marble-shaped husband inside; the IV port is already nestled into her wrinkled stick arm. Wisps of white hair frame her face. She’s barely there, a ghost of a woman. She doesn’t look like the Gram I’ve always known. But her eyes are every bit as blue.
She smiles up at all of us hunched over her like children studying an injured mouse. “Come sit.” She pats the bed. The nurses and doctor busy themselves with the business of death.
Mom climbs up next to Gram. I want to fight her for the good spot, but it’s only right for the daughter to sit next to her mother. We look like idiots, dressed in shades of Bermuda morning blue. But she wanted it this way, and today is her day. The last light of afternoon bathes the room, the purples of the sunset filter in through the open balcony door, and the filmy white curtains move to the swish of the waves.
Gram has her family and her fresh orchids and a lit candle from her favorite store on Madison Avenue.
“Come on, Aaron, you crawl up here, too.” Dad slides awkwardly between Jeb and me. Out of nowhere, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong’s “Dream a Little Dream of Me” comes on.
“I want to go before the song ends, Doctor.” She must feel a collective stiffening, because she says, “It’s okay. I’ve said and done and lived everything. And what’s left, I’ve left for you. I love you all. Thank you for making this life so very rich.”
The doctor injects a clear liquid. Mom strokes Gram’s hair and Uncle Billy holds her hand. Bob sits on the other side and smiles at her, tears streaming down his face.
“Sleep now, Mommy,” Mom says softly.
Her eyes close, and then she’s gone. Just like that.
We sit a long time. We don’t want to disrupt her departing soul. We get up, one by one, and kiss her cheek. She’s still warm. Mom and Uncle Billy stay alone with Gram. They help the nurses wrap her in her sheets from home, and tie her body with white ribbons made of sugarcane so the dolphins don’t get stuck. We wait, stiff and sad, in Mom and Dad’s cabin until they come back. Uncle Billy tells us he carried her all the way to the stern of the ship and set her on a soft belt that gently pushed her through an opening into the sea.
Now I’m the fully hollow pumpkin. The one all scraped out and left to rot.
Dad guides me down to the ballroom, where the last of the Wishwellians have formed a perfect horseshoe surrounded by a thousand candles. We walk from person to person like we’re doing a morbid folk dance, hugging Vito’s family and Burt and Francesca and Eddie and Camilla and Enzo.
I can’t do this. It’s too hard.
It gets blurry when they show photos of Gram on the big screen. There are lots of them from when she was young and in the thick of the jazz years. They play Otis Redding’s “Remember Me.”
Why are they trying to make it worse?
I can’t eat. I’m so tired and thirsty. People around me talk and joke about Gram as she’s floating, floating in the ocean. It’s dark and cold, and I’m so afraid she’s not quite dead. I’m so afraid sharks are ripping my gram apart and we’re here in this grotesque display of disrespect. Enzo keeps a hand firmly on my leg and squeezes every few minutes, pumping life to my heart.
Roberta and Ty step up to read:
Dear Astrid,
You taught us that age is an illusion steeped in bullshit. You showed us that even the smallest adventures count, even the briefest human interactions matter, and there are no limits to the joy this life offers. You are not just an unlikely revolutionary and a remarkable woman, you are everybody’s gram, and we will miss you terribly. We love you.
The Wishwellians
“I’m going to bed,” I say. I lean on Enzo and stumble to the cabin. I’m halfway to sleep, my head pressed against the picture of Gram holding me on her lap, when I hear thumping. I imagine it’s Gram slamming up against the ship.
“No, no, no, no.”
Enzo is having the serpent dream.
We hide again in the vortex. It feels selfish, indulgent, but being with Enzo is the only thing that makes a dent in the pain.
My family pesters me to see if I’m okay. I put a sign on the door. I’M OKAY! Okay is a ridiculous word.
We’re in the middle of the Pacific and won’t reach Hawaii for another week.
Gram died two days ago already. I’ve had two milk shakes and a bag of chips, but I’ve had sex eleven times. When I went to get the chips, Wes and Burt were on the balcony with a case of wine and a picked-apart chicken.
“What do you mean you’ve never seen Sixteen Candles? It’s a classic,” I say. Enzo hasn’t seen any classic American movies. I get a burst of energy and text Jeb and Janie. Movie marathon? We meet in the theater, and Eddie sets up Sixteen Candles and tubs of popcorn. The theater fills with people who actually saw eighties movies in the eighties.
After movie number three, Francesca texts us: We need Astrid’s family in the library.
We file in and sit in front of a movie screen. The anxiety overtakes me. I know what this is. It’s her “group” project.
“Hello, lovelies. I’ve called you all here because Astrid made a video. Before I play it, I want to let you in on a little secret. You should be very proud of Astrid. She came to me during her trip with Ruth and badgered me about financials to the point where I thought she might be working for the IRS. It turned out she was deeply moved by our mission, and asked me to identify people she could sponsor. She asked that I choose people who had reached out to me and who deserved to be here, but couldn’t afford it otherwise.”
“Astrid paid for all the patients?” Dad says.
“And the families. All of it.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“Please don’t mention this to the others. Astrid wanted them to think it was an anonymous Good Samarit
an. But I thought you should know Astrid is a Wishwell angel.”
Gram is an angel. I picture her winged raisin body floating around in a thong bikini.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” Wes says. “Not in the least.”
I’m not surprised either. I’m just grateful.
Francesca dims the lights and starts the video. I have no idea what to expect.
Gram’s face pops up. She’s wearing the green cardigan that hangs past her fingertips. She’s looking past the camera, squinting her eyes. “Is it on?” she says. “Is this taping?” A voice from behind the camera says, “Yes, go ahead.”
Gram shifts in her seat, clears her throat, and begins. Not one person in the room is breathing right now.
If you’re watching this, I’m dead. I hope you are surviving without me. I was the glue that held this family together. That’s not up for debate. But stick together, and you’ll be just fine. Oh, and please be nice to one another. That includes Mary and Brit. Don’t argue. Just be nice.
So let’s see, a wise young lady—thank you, Maddie—gave me the idea to do a Loose Ends list. It didn’t make sense to start a bucket list when I was dying. But tying up loose ends, that’s what I needed to do. So I came up with some good ones, and I checked them off one by one. I have to say, I had my reservations. But you all behaved marvelously. I’m proud of you. I’m going to share the list now.
She unfolds a piece of paper and starts reading.
One. Smoke marijuana. It didn’t do anything for me. I prefer a good glass of champagne and a macaroon.
Two. Visit Rio. I loved it. Especially the beach scene.
Three. Find Sneffels and prove Mother wrong. We sure did that.
Four. Take Rose back to Bled, where it all began. What a thrill to find that tree!
Five. Spend one more unforgettable night with Celia. We’ve still got it, Bobby.
Six. Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. At least one of my grandkids better carry on the bloodline.
Seven. Lay my dear Martin to rest. I apologize one more time for not telling you all in advance about the ashes.
Eight. Make peace with Aaron. I’m sorry for being difficult, Aaron Levine. You’re a good man, a great husband, and a fabulous father, and I love you.
Nine. Watch the old movies. Bobby, you and I fell in love in the jazz clubs and movie houses. I’m in love all over again. Better and deeper than ever, baby. That’s a private joke.
Ten. Forgive someone unforgivable. That was Heinz. I knew he was a Nazi all along, and I chose to forgive him. I hope you all will work on forgiving people sooner than I did. And forgive yourselves. Life is too short.
So I’ve done what I set out to do. We crammed a lot in, didn’t we? I hope you all do big things. Make them count. When it’s all over, you’ll be sad, but not nearly as sad as if you screw around and sit on your behinds.
By the way, there’s plenty of money to go around, so there better not be any squabbling. Wes and Aaron, the North Foundation is yours if you want it. You’ll be able to help plenty of poor kids in Rio and all the caged animals of Taipei if you are so inclined. And Billy, I’m so glad you’re taking on the Taiwan scholarship program. Your father would be so proud of you. I’m giving Titi and Joe Rose’s Charleston house, and Billy and Wes get Bermuda. Take Tessa Rose to play in the pink sands. Trish, you get the apartment. I hope you’ll get out of the insufferable suburbs and do what you were meant to do. Mary, you get a big wad to squander as you wish. No regrets, darling.
She sets the paper on the floor next to her and stares into the camera.
Maddie and Jeb, Brit and Janie, money isn’t free. You don’t get a cent until you finish college. Do you hear me? And remember: Sex is not love, drugs don’t make you happy, and the only real music is jazz music.
Don’t waste too much time grieving. You’ve got a lot of living to do. And as much as you love me, I love you more.
She blows a kiss. The screen goes black.
We’re still not breathing.
“How about a smoothie with your old buddy?” Bob says, putting his arm around me as we walk toward the elevator.
I have a feeling Gram set this up.
We order smoothies and find a corner on the pool deck, somewhere between the Grotto and the Skinny Dave chair.
“I’m sad, Bob. I just can’t stop being sad.” The tears come again.
“Be patient, kiddo. It’ll come.” He turns and faces me. “You know when you fall and get a big old bruise on your leg? That bruise isn’t going anywhere for a while. But it takes longer to heal if you’re pressing on it all the time.”
I motion for him to wait while I grab napkins from the bar and blow my nose.
“Be gentle with yourself. Listen to good music. Eat good food. Nourish your body and your spirit, and you’ll be all right.” He gives me a big Bob Johns grin.
“How do you smile all the time? You’ve lost practically everybody. How are you not miserable?” I shouldn’t have said that. Stupid Astrid-blurt gene.
“I haven’t lost everybody. Sure, I’ve lost my parents and two sisters and my wife and Astrid. But I have children and grandchildren, and look who I gained by losing Astrid: you.” He lays his hand on my arm. “That’s how life works. The pain of losing doesn’t get less with each person I lose. But I have the wisdom of knowing the pain isn’t forever. That fades. The memories stay. And the love isn’t going anywhere.”
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.
“Ca
n 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.
The Loose Ends List Page 24