“For what?”
“For bringing my son back.”
I shove a heap of dirty clothes into the suitcase and pull out the electric-blue flamenco dress. I hold it to my nose, searching for Enzo’s scent, but all I smell is the perfume Janie lent me that night.
The Jules Verne book and Aunt Rose’s bejeweled bookmark go into the carry-on bag. And one by one, I take out the treasures from my velvet drawstring pouch: the worry doll, Paige’s Delta Gamma pin, the key to Jeb’s apartment, the sea star bracelet, the sapphire, and the Grandpa Martin marble. I add the tiny glass soccer ball. I never got around to giving it to Enzo. I hope I can someday.
I eat the last of the jelly beans and hold the framed picture of Gram and me when I was three in my lap. I look out at the sea and try to remember what the world sounds like without waves.
I need to go home. I need to unpack.
TWENTY-NINE
I’VE GOT ALL the E’s in the van. We’re cruising with the windows down, primped and ready for Last Bash. We get out, link arms, and head toward the music. It’s unusually cool for August. It’s sweatshirt weather.
Of course, we’re not wearing sweatshirts. We’re wearing obscenely short dresses. Those are blow-job dresses. I can hear Gram now.
“Maddie, you’re back. You’re so skinny. You look a-mazing,” somebody says. Two people tell me their grandmas died this summer, too. And three people act as if their Disney Cruise experiences somehow mean we have something in common. I play along, pretending my “family cruise” was just like theirs. And I find myself wanting to share things, as if any of them will care that the minister died or that Gracie is saying lots of words or that Janie broke up with Ty or that I miss my smoothies and frozen yogurts almost as much as I miss sitting in the Grotto.
It’s good to be home, with the chill in the air, the doting acquaintances, the familiar sand under my toes. Yet it reminds me of when I was seven and insisted on wearing my size 4T pants to school. I could barely squeeze into them, but I wanted to wear them anyway. It all feels smaller, or I feel bigger, like I’m squeezing into something that will never quite fit again.
On Tessa Rose O’Neill Parker’s baptism day, we walk through Central Park. We show Bob Johns the spot where Karl allegedly proposed to Aunt Rose. Bob sits on the bench with Tessa, who looks like she could be his own granddaughter.
Aunt Rose would adore Tessa. Gram would call her delicious and divine. She would let Tessa suck on the sapphire and play with her pearls and slobber on her knobby hands. She would say, “Look at this child. Is there anything more precious on earth?” She would tell Wes to stop dressing the poor thing like a doll and put her in a cotton romper. And Wes would say, “Mind your business, Assy.” And Gram would say, “Shove it up your ass, Wessy, and hand over that baby.”
I leave Gram’s apartment, Mom and Dad’s apartment now, and get on the downtown bus. I don’t know what I’ll be interrupting in Cairo, but I take a chance.
Me: I actually witnessed a chipmunk couple shagging.
Him: See, I said you would just know.
Me: Right you were, old chap.
Him: Celia Hobbes is boarding the Wishwell.
Me: Performer?
Him: Patient.
Me: Gram must need music.
Me: On a brighter note, Burt has a girlfriend.
Him: Yeah. I heard that from Wes.
Me: You won’t believe this one. Jeb has convinced Camilla to move to Brooklyn.
Him: Yes. Wes texted me.
Me: Of course he did.
A few minutes later, my bee buzzes again.
Him: Miss you.
Me: Miss you more.
I look up and see a pretty older woman staring at my bee. I don’t know if she’s staring because it’s a strange yellow device or because I was just laughing out loud. She smiles through the crowd, digs around in her bag, and pulls out her own bee. I smile back. She waves as she gets off at the next stop. It almost feels like this woman and I are the only people in the world who share a secret. But I know better.
We, the Wishwellians, are everywhere.
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
(LOOSE ENDS)
I had a snow globe moment in a room overlooking the sea when I read the first pages of this book to my husband, Michael Firestone. Thank you, Michael, for being eternally wonderful. You are my muse.
I had a second snow globe moment in a restaurant overlooking Central Park when I had lunch with two extraordinary women: my agent, Sara Crowe, and my editor, Lisa Yoskowitz. Thank you, Sara, for helping me find the heart of this story. Thank you, Lisa, for making that heart beat with your remarkable precision, dedication, humor, and wisdom.
Many more thank-yous go out to Jon Appleton, Kristin Dulaney, Maggie Edkins, Sasha Illingworth, Annie McDonnell, Kheryn Callender, and the rest of the Little, Brown and Hodder teams for transforming the beating story heart into an actual book.
The following people have kept me happy, grounded, and sane, and have inspired the stories inside me. I am deeply grateful for you all.
1. My parents, Faye and Fred Eichholzer and Ray and Kay Lenarcic, and my in-laws, Paulette and Jerry Firestone. Mom, you’ve encouraged me to write since I scared myself with my own Halloween story. You even got a seahorse tattoo to celebrate this book. Dad, you’ve taught me, through your own tireless work, that writing can be a powerful vehicle for change. Kay and Fred, everyone should have a second set of parents as stellar and loving as you. And to Paulette and Jerry Firestone, thank you for being anything but “chopped liver.”
2. My sister. Jennifer Snyder, you are the strongest, bravest person I know, and my life is exponentially richer thanks to you and Tim and Devin and Lindsay and Andrew.
3. Four Unrelated Women. Abigail Esty, Nancy Krick, Laura Radmore, and Ellen Posner—you may not know this, but long ago, the four of you gave me the encouragement I needed to write bigger, better books. Thank you all.
4. My friends. You guys are my E’s (and my Rachels), my secret keepers, and my cheerleaders, and without you I would be a one-woman conga line.
5. My writing partners. Thank you Jennifer O’Dea, Juliana Mills, Cindy Rodriguez, Christy Yaros, Eleni DeGraw, and Denise Alfeld for totally “getting it.”
6. My girls. Emily and Lauren Firestone, I can’t wait for more amazing family adventures. I love you both so much.
7. My grandmothers. I lost my beloved grandmother, Vivian Lenarcic, while editing this book. She was my grandma and my dear friend and I miss her every day. Both my grandmothers were strong, resilient women who plowed through adversity and grief and still found grace and meaning in simple things. They taught me to take the pain and grow beauty. There’s nothing more healing or more powerful than that.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
/>
Acknowledgments
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Carrie Firestone
Cover flowers © Eisfrei/Shutterstock.com
Cover background pattern © stuckmotion/Shutterstock.com
Cover design by Maggie Edkins
Cover © 2016 Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Little, Brown and Company
Hachette Book Group
1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10104
lb-teens.com
Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
First ebook edition: June 2016
ISBN 978-0-316-382816
E3-20160429-JV-PC
The Loose Ends List Page 26