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.
My wish is simple. The sea will decide if it’s meant to come true.
Five. Leave our mark.
There’s a nook in the underbelly of the ship, not far from Aunt Rose, between a broom closet and a boiler room. Enzo used to go there with his sister to escape the sadness surrounding them. We find a spot and scratch our words into a painted metal beam. Maddie and Enzo beneath the sea, bound by this ship eternally. Enzo came up with that himself.
Six. Be eternal.
We summon the family and Francesca to the telescope to stargaze and tell stories about our lives before the Wishwell. We laugh more than I have ever laughed with my family and discover a meteor shower impressive enough to make Dad say, “Holy fucking shit.” Then we surprise them. We show them a star-naming website on our bees and choose the bright and spectacular Wishwellian as our very own. We are officially eternal.
Seven. Do something extraordinary.
This one’s my secret. It’s happening tonight, and I’m getting nervous.
The ship slows to a stop somewhere off Hawaii.
“Do I need to wear anything special?” Enzo asks.
“Shorts and a T-shirt. Maybe a sweatshirt.”
“I figured you’d want me in Armani.”
“Not this time.”
We wait in the lobby armed with a stuffed backpack and a jug of water. Paul the dinghy guy motions us out the side door, where the dinghy is revved and waiting.
“Maddie? What is this?” Enzo says.
“We’re going for a ride.”
“It’s four o’clock in the morning. It’s pitch-black out there.”
“Relax. Paul is a master dinghy driver. And your buddy Eddie gave his blessing. He’s the Wishwell dream master, right?”
It’s freezing in the musty dinghy as we tumble along the choppy sea. “You’ll have to get out here,” Paul says. “This is as close as I can get.”
I panic. I can’t believe this was my idea. I didn’t realize we would be jumping into chest-deep, murky cold water in the dark.
Enzo sees the fear on my face. “It’s okay, Maddie. We don’t have to do this. Let’s just go back.”
I take a yoga breath. “No. We’re doing something extraordinary. Help me get the surfboard.”
“What surfboard?”
Paul slides open the life jacket storage closet and reveals my surprise—a surfboard and a wetsuit. Somehow we manage to lower the surfboard into the water and paddle together to the shore without being eaten.
Paul takes off. We’re alone on a beach, wet and cold, but invigorated. I pull soggy towels out of my bag and we sit on the sand.
“You know, we’d be less cold if we took these wet clothes off,” I say.
“That is true,” he says. He pulls my T-shirt over my head.
We merge with the sand and the tide and the briny breeze as light creeps up on the horizon. It casts an eerie halo over our ship.
“Come on, you’re going to Egypt. Get out there and surf,” I say. He grabs the board and paddles into the strong but steady breakers. He flies in and paddles out, flies in and paddles out.
We stand knee-deep in the water, bodies swaying, foreheads touching. I play with his damp hair and tell him he’s an amazing surfer and Mark would be proud. The waves swell stronger, the sting of the water chills us to the bone. And still we dance.
We watch the sunrise enfold the Wishwell.
I say it first this time. “I love you, Enzo.”
He tilts his head and looks at me. “I love you, too, Maddie.”
I don’t go with him to pack or eat or field the swarm of mosquitoes gathered to see him off. I kiss him. It’s gentle and warm and just right.
“He’s just a boy,” I whisper. “He’s just a boy.”
It doesn’t work anymore. I’m floating. I’m falling. I’m falling apart.
TWENTY-EIGHT
AFTER BUB THE dog was killed by the bus, Gram took me to Bermuda. Titi fed me crepes, and Gram buried me up to my head in pink sand. The sadness was still there, but Bermuda and crepes and sand made it more bearable.
Enzo was my Bermuda and my crepes and my pink sand.
And now he’s gone.
I crawl to the bed and scream into the pillow and cry until my face swells and my nostrils swell and I can’t breathe.
I’m a pumpkin rotting from the inside out.
They swarm. My bee buzzes over and over again. They bang on the door, but it’s bolted and I can’t get up. I can’t humor them.
Nobody is ever getting in again.
Eddie breaks down the door. Mom rushes in.
“Oh, Maddie, look at you. You need to eat. Please. I know this is so hard, but you need to eat. Oh, honey, you’ve had your period all over the bed. Let me help you.”
“Mommy, I’m weak. I can’t.”
Mom comes back with Janie and Camilla. Together they lift me and put me in the shower. I sit under the warm spray and shiver like the first time with Enzo. Mom puts a straw to my lips, and I drink for her.
They dress me and change my sheets; Janie props me on pillows and combs my hair. She’s gentle and loving, and it makes me cry a torrent of silent tears. The nursemaids surround me. I smile a little, sip more ginger ale, take Esperanza and hold her to my cheek as if a stupid cloth doll could make me better.
But I trick them into leaving.
They won’t put the door back up.
“Maddie, it’s Dad. Come on, talk to me. I need you to eat some soup. It’s chicken noodle. Please take a bite.” He’s sitting on the edge of my bed with a silver tray and a basket of rolls. They sent a little flower in a vase and a pot of tea. I hate it.
“One bite, Maddie. Please.” I bite. I eat the whole roll smeared with an inch of butter. Or maybe it’s a centimeter. How would I know? I’m a stupid American.
“Good girl.” He kisses my forehead and leaves me alone.
I wake to the sound of someone shouting, “No, no, no, no.” It’s dark except for a dim light in the hallway. It was me. I was dreaming of Gram dancing the tango with Grandpa Martin. She wore a flower in her hair and a red dress, and Gloria was there in the background like a photo bomb. Their faces changed, and they were covered with tubes coming out of all their orifices.
Janie holds me tight and strokes my hair. “What is it, Maddie? Tell me.”
“Just a nightmare,” I say.
Enzo left behind his fucked-up dream.
I wake in the morning to Uncle Billy reading a Scientific American and sipping espresso. “Hi, Sunshine. Trish says you need to change your feminine hygiene. Will you eat a doughnut for your handsome unc
le?”
“Stop, Uncle Billy.” I shuffle to the bathroom. A fungus has invaded my teeth so I brush and floss. I eat half a doughnut to get rid of him, but he doesn’t leave. He recruits others.
Paige texts me another inspiring quote. I love her, but it’s not working.
Wes climbs into bed and turns on the TV. “We’re watching The Breakfast Club. You can watch or not, but we’re staying.” I roll over. I can’t help saying the lines in my head. It’s distracting, and it’s the longest movie in the history of movies. When it’s over, Uncle Billy shoves the rest of the doughnut in my face. “Finish it, and we’ll leave you alone.”
I finish in one bite.
I lie here, my body shaped like a C. The only tolerable moments are when I first wake up. I forget, just for a second, that this is happening. Then I remember, and it’s maddening every single time.
“Maddie, can I just examine you? I want to make sure you’re not dehydrated.” That’s all I need, perfect Ty playing doctor while Janie stands behind him gloating. He pokes me and tells me I need to drink or he’s taking me to the infirmary. I chug half a bottle of Gatorade and wrestle with my stomach to keep it down.
“Sips, Maddie. Tiny sips.” He’s nice, but I can’t take him seriously because he’s a pickle.
“Okay, Maddie. It’s time to stop the ‘woe is me’ and get up.” Wes steps through the doorless doorway, yanks off the covers, and pulls open the blinds.
“What the hell? You’re blinding me.”
“Billy and I are making a party for the staff and crew. We need all hands on deck.”
“I’m not going.”
“Look, I get it. You’re depressed. I once refused to leave my closet for the entire month of August because of somebody named Sasha. People tried to force me to feel better. But the only things that worked were time and distraction. Distract yourself. Stay busy. Count marshmallows, study frogs, whatever it takes. Time heals all wounds. It just does.”
“But this isn’t somebody named Sasha. It’s Gram. She’s gone, Wes. She’s never coming back.”
“I do not believe she’s gone,” he says, staring right into my eyes. “I felt her last night when Billy and I were sitting on the balcony. You’re going to think I’m nuts, but I felt her sitting there between us. I am telling you, Assy is still with us.”
“I know,” I say.
We sit awhile.
“Wes?”
“Yes, Maddie girl?”
“Was Sasha a guy or a girl?”
“Sasha was a guy in love with a girl, and I was a teenager with a lot of issues.”
“I see that.”
“But look at me now, about to be a daddy. The world is bizarre, Mads. In a good way.”
Bob texts me: Hi, Maddie. Wes says you’re feeling better. Can you meet me in Gloria’s wing? I’d love some help coaxing out the minister.
Bob gives me a pity smile outside Gloria’s cabin and gently pushes the slightly ajar door.
“Hey, wait,” I call out. “I don’t want to give him a heart attack.”
“He’s still in the car. We’re thinking maybe a fresh face will talk him into getting out.”
The room looks sterile and untouched. I walk through to the balcony where they’ve somehow managed to fasten an antique car to the beams. The minister’s head is sticking up behind the steering wheel. He’s a sad, scraggly-bearded statue of a husband pining away for his wife of sixty-two years.
“Hi, Minister. It’s me, Maddie.”
I can’t read his expression. I’m not sure if it’s surprise or indifference.
“Wes and Uncle Billy are throwing a party for the staff and crew tonight. They’re making me go. You should go, too. Gloria would want you there.”
The minister looks me in the eye and nods slightly. There’s an unspoken recognition, as if we are mutually bound by unrelenting grief. He turns his gaze back to the water, and I leave feeling just a tiny bit better for some reason.
“Well?” Bob says.
“He looked at me and nodded,” I say.
“Okay. That’s something.”
I’m in the elevator when I get Enzo’s text. It’s only fitting since this is where I first saw him.
1. I found a place in Cairo that serves something that almost tastes like macaroni and cheese balls. I plan to go there a lot. 2. I dreamt of Astrid last night. She was eating watermelon and spitting the seeds at Mark. He was catching them with his hands and flicking them back at her. 3. You are the only woman I have ever loved.
I agree to wear a yellow lei for the hokey luau theme. Gram would have preferred me in blue.
The doctors and nurses sip their drinks and chat with the crew. Janie tells me she and Ty have made a commitment. They’re going to try to make it work. I’m giving the union a full month, or until the first big fraternity party at Janie’s school. But who knows? Strange things happen every day.
I eat a little, but there’s a perpetual hairball of anguish stuck in my esophagus. A slouched figure shuffles in from the other side of the deck. It’s the minister. He shaved and put on a white dress shirt. I wonder if Gloria ironed it for him before she died. The Ornaments fuss over him and bring him food.
Eddie gets up and thanks Wes and Billy for their generosity. He reminds us to stay in touch and that our bees are our lifeline to the other Wishwellians. Wherever we go, we’re never alone.
“Every trip, the crew chooses a bee screensaver for the guests to take home. I think you’ll like this one. Francesca, go ahead and do the honors.”
Francesca does something on her laptop and raises her hand. The crew starts a countdown. Five, four, three, two, one. Our bees buzz. A video screensaver pops up of our conga line from the night on the equator, with the quote streaming along the bottom. And Still We Dance.
I smile my best smile because I need air, and I don’t want them chasing after me. People are cheering and laughing at the video. They’re jumping up on cue as the music starts. It’s as if nothing has changed. It’s as if everyone is still with us. But they’re not with us. They’re on Wishwell Island. They’ve gone home because their loved ones are gone. They’re shoved in a drawer on the ship. They’re in Egypt. They’re suspended beneath the waves.
Nobody notices me slip out. I don’t know where to go. I can’t go to bed. I can’t play Whac-A-Mole or sit in the café. Everything reminds me of them.
There are too many stairs, too many memories. When I get to the Gathering Wall, I feel for the light. I have to know what she wrote. I have to know how she really felt right before she left us.
The first words I see are tiny words scribbled against the groove of the wall.
I gave all my money to a street family in Morocco.—Pete
I’ve never felt more at peace.—JSY
There’s a drawing of a little girl peeking through a window. And a drawing of an owl on a branch made of Christmas holly.
I want to die to a rock-and-roll song.—AY Me too. Me too.
I’ve never paid attention to the way the sky changes a thousand times a day.—R
There’s a flock of angels drawn with purple wings. I get lost in the wall and forget why I’m here. I begin to wonder if I’ll know when I see it. Then I see it, and I know.
It’s a snow globe scrawled in a low place, like she did it from the wheelchair. It’s not nearly as pretty as Jeb’s. She drew a circle and a base and inside she wrote one simple sentence:
What a way to go!
I laugh. She didn’t have any deep regrets or twisted secrets or musings. This was Astrid’s Last Hurrah, just as she had said. It’s okay.
It’s all okay.
I slip back into the world of the living as the party is winding down.
“There you are, honey. We were afraid you went back to bed,” Mom says.
I realize I haven’t seen Mom drunk since our first night on the Wishwell. I don’t know if this Mom will stick, but I like her, and I hope she does.
Dad extends his hand, and we dance t
o Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet to Come.” Jeb and Mom dance, too. He dips her, and she laughs.
“Dad, I have to tell you something. But I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
“Uh… Maddie. Dads don’t need to know certain things. We like to pretend our little girls are virgins forever.”
I shove him away. “Dad, that is mortifying. That’s not it. Come on.”
“Oh, okay. So what is it, then? I’m bracing myself.”
“I got a tattoo when I was in Rome with Gram. She talked me into it.”
“Oh, boy. You and your brother and these tattoos. Where is it?”
“On my tush. It’s a little starfish.”
“I guess it’s not as bad if it’s hidden. Do you know people aren’t allowed to be buried in traditional Jewish cemeteries if they defile their bodies with tattoos?”
“Dad, after this trip, why would anyone want to go into the ground?”
“Good point,” he says. “I read an article that said the formaldehyde from dead bodies is poisoning the earth.”
“Gross. Don’t tell me that stuff.”
“I like it, Maddie.”
“Like what?”
“The starfish. You know I have a soft spot for stars.”
“Aw. Thanks, Dad. Me too.”
I’m already in bed when Francesca walks in. Now that I have no door, people think they can come in whenever they want.
She sits on the edge of my bed and tells me she’s sorry for Gram, for Enzo, and that our bees will always connect us.
“Your bee even sends birthday alerts.”
“That’s how Tits and Mama remembered my birthday,” I say.
She laughs. “Those two never forget a birthday. And they say marijuana makes people forgetful. Anyway, every day you’ll feel a little stronger, and one day you’ll feel like you again.” She gets up to go. “Thank you, Maddie.”
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