“Yeah, it is. Do you think Gram made the right choice, you know, doing this?” I don’t know if Aunt Rose even fully understands what “this” is. I realize I’ve never noticed Aunt Rose’s eyes. They’re milky gray and kind of pretty.
“I had my friends Alice, Maude, and Bitsy. My plumbing didn’t work, you know. The girls were my family.”
I’m not sure where this is going.
“Karl and I played bridge every Saturday with the girls and the husbands. Then all of a sudden, we got old. We started dropping like flies, only we weren’t flies. We were friends. And now I’m the only one left. And that’s hard, to sit with the memories.” She pauses. “I could never have children, you know. My plumbing didn’t work.”
I take her hand. “Can you teach me how to play bridge, Aunt Rose?”
She smiles. “Yes, dear. I would love to.”
Uncle Billy swoops in, grabs Aunt Rose’s face, and leans in for a big kiss. As gruff as Uncle Billy can be, with his reading glasses and his newspaper and his snobby attitude, he’s always had a soft spot for Aunt Rose.
“Can you stop stealing my damn sister?” Gram’s wearing her safari clothes. “Somebody text Bob. He’s looking all over the ship for her.”
Mom and Dad show up holding hands. Now that they’re about to be empty nesters, maybe they should take up cruising as a hobby.
We line up behind Eddie and pile into the dinghy boats bound for Jamaica.
“Okay, Astrid, enough with the cryptic clues.” Dad clings to the dinghy pole. “Are we going to Jamaica to see Rasta Bob’s homeland?”
“I’m actually not Rasta,” Bob chimes in. “I’m Catholic.”
“Rasta is a religion?” Janie says.
Gram ignores the conversation. “Aaron, after my diagnosis, I came to Jamaica for a week with Bobby when you all thought I was in the Hamptons with Denny.” The dinghy hits a wave, and we all leap off our seats. “Whoa,” Gram says, holding on to Bob. “I spent time with Bob’s big, wonderful family on the other side of the island. So no, we’re not going for Bob. We’re going for ganja.”
“Weed?” Jeb perks up.
“Yes, Jebby, weed. It’s for the sick people. They’re going to stock the ship with cannabis oil, which is the only thing keeping some of these people going, and the rest of us get a day in Jamaica. Francesca’s local contacts are putting together a big Wishwell dinner on the beach.”
“Well, there’s a win-win,” Wes says.
“Mother, isn’t going on a marijuana run with the kids just a little inappropriate?” Mom says.
“Yes, it’s better to get wasted on gin and make an ass out of yourself in front of the kids.” Jeb inserts dagger.
“Jebby, don’t talk to your mother that way,” Gram snaps. “She’s been handed down the damn O’Neill drinking gene—it’s the Irish curse.”
“I thought the Irish curse was a small penis,” Wes says.
“Oh, boy, can we stop? Please. This family is over-the-top.” Dad’s still holding the dinghy pole.
Mom looks down, totally unable to defend herself. Jeb glares at her. He’s such an asshole lately.
“Karl and I smoked marijuana,” Aunt Rose announces.
“Trish, I’m not planning to smoke with the children, although I’m sure you’ve all tried it.” Gram looks at me.
“No, never.” Janie elbows Jeb.
“I’ve never smoked anything,” I say. I don’t add that it’s because of the movie I watched in seventh grade where they showed a guy trying to smoke a cigarette through the hole in his throat. I think I had a contact high once, in a tent, when Lizzie and Remy blew it in my face.
“That’s not a surprise. Trish, did you know our Maddie is a virgin?” Gram announces.
“Really, honey? That’s terrific,” Dad says. “I’m so proud of you.”
“The prom queen is a virgin?” Jeb snorts. “You can’t make this shit up.”
“Shut up, Jeb. You don’t even know me. I was homecoming queen. Not that you cared. Lizzie was prom queen, idiot. And at least I could have sex if I wanted to. What’s your excuse, freak?” I hate that I’m letting Jeb get to me.
“We’re all glad you made it through high school without putting out, Mads.” Uncle Billy puts up his hand to high-five.
“Oh my God, you’re all so annoying. I’m going to have sex with someone today just to shut everyone up.”
“Me too,” Janie says.
“Me too,” Aunt Rose says.
We finally escape the dinghy hellhole and find ourselves in a beachside cove. The other Wishwell people are already there. I want to run up and hug Paige and show her I’m prepared to completely avoid reality, but she’s wrestling with a raging Grace tantrum.
A tall, lanky man with missing teeth greets us. He calls himself Tits. It’s clear how he got his name: He’s a skinny man with moobs. He’s at least a C cup.
I notice Skinny Dave and his mom didn’t come, and I feel kind of bad. Wes texted them last night to see if they were looking forward to Jamaica. They didn’t text back.
A grinning woman in a pale yellow dress walks out of a building that says JAMAICA MAMA on a faded Coca-Cola sign. Tits introduces her as his wife, Mama. She hugs everybody. Mama’s massive, flabby arms engulf Gram. She turns to me and squishes me in a hearty embrace. Her armpit smells like dead food, but I instantly love this gorgeous woman.
“Welcome to Jamaica, everyone,” Mama bellows. “This is your home today. You go sit on the beach. Get comfortable. There’s a shady special spot for you wheelchair folk. We’ll cook you a feast on the beach later. Now, if you’re going on the secret cave tour, go over to the bus with Tits.”
“What’s the secret cave tour?” Dad yells.
“Jamaica is full of tourist caves, but we’re going to a secret cave where the runaway slaves hid out back in slave days,” Tits says. “They say it’s a mystical spot, with healing properties.”
“Cool,” Dad says. “Let’s do it.”
The sun is torturing me. This is why people don’t venture to the Caribbean in the summer. I look up the stretch of road. The whitewashed buildings with pink and blue and yellow shutters stand in various states of disrepair. A group of old men sits at a picnic table drinking Red Stripe beer. They wave to a hand sticking out of a car puttering up the one road in town. There are a couple of bars, a town hall, and a fruit stand. I decide to take the secret cave tour.
Paige’s parents push an overloaded stroller to the beach line with Wheelchair Lady, also known as Holly, and her nurses and most of Vito’s family. Paige and Lane join the rest of us in the secret cave line.
My family occupies the back half of the rickety bus. The duct-taped seats smell like pee. I settle in next to Dad and behind Gram, who is swapping New York stories with Gloria. It takes Tits; Holly’s husband, Marshall; and three other guys to help Burt carry Mark onto the bus and dump him in the front seat, but he’s determined to come.
Tits lurches down a bumpy dirt road along the beach, then into a thick forest, where the road gets even bumpier. Dad and I clutch the seat in front of us, while Janie flips through a Vogue, completely unfazed.
“My goodness, people are living in those shacks,” the minister says to Dad, who nods as he cranes his neck to get a better glimpse of the tiny houses lining the roadside. “One of our sumptuous Wishwell feasts could pay for food for a year out here. The inequality of wealth is staggering,” the minister continues.
Gram turns around. “We’re supporting these people with marijuana tourism, Minister. Think about it. The Wishwell is boosting the local economy. Buy some pot if you want to help these people.”
“Astrid, the minister is entitled to share his concerns without being encouraged to buy pot.” Dad gives Gram a dirty look. I wonder if that’s what my scrunch face looks like.
After an hour, we enter a clearing and the bus stops because there is no more road. We get out and stand on the edge of a steep cliff overlooking a lush valley.
“Hey, Janie,
remember when we used to play land of gnomes and fairies?” I say.
“Of course.”
“I think we’re there.”
Mark basically has no use of his arms or legs. He can move his head, but his body is soft and floppy.
“No worries,” Tits says after they drag Mark off the bus. “He can ride in here.” Tits points to a donkey that is waiting impatiently for the guys to load Mark into his cart.
“Oh, this is classic,” Burt says.
“Get pictures, bro,” Mark says, laughing hysterically, as Burt and Marshall lower his limp body into the donkey cart.
We walk in a pack through a patch of lush forest. I feel creatures staring at me from hidden places. The minister holds on to Gloria, but she still can’t keep up, so Uncle Billy lifts her onto his back. We reach another clearing, shrouded in mist. I hear Jeb say, “Oh, shit, the mother lode.” It’s a field of marijuana as tall as I am. The reddish-brown soil sticks to my sandals as we pass the giant plants. Now I know why they call it weed.
We arrive at a cluster of green tin shacks, and a white woman with a blond rat’s nest of furry sausage dreads walks over. She’s braless, and her saggy boobs flop around as she pulls Cokes out of an outdoor cooler. She’s Tits Number Two.
“Hey, everybody, welcome to the caves.” Tits Number Two is American. “Grab a Coke or water if you want, and Tits will take you in.” She points to the cart. “The cart won’t fit in the cave. Do you mind riding in a wheelbarrow?”
Mark laughs. “Hell, no. Bring it.”
Gram hobbles along, holding on to Bob and me. Wes and Uncle Billy half carry Aunt Rose until we get to a rock formation jutting out in the middle of the forest. Tits leads us to a narrow opening about eight feet high and covered with hanging moss.
“This is neat!” Mom shouts. She’s the first one in. I can’t believe my mother is waltzing into a cave in kitten heels.
We squeeze through the crack into a dark cavern.
“Generations of ancient peoples made this their home,” Tits says, “and then groups of escaped slaves built thriving communities in these caves.”
“It’s an actual underground railroad,” Janie says.
“Yeah, except there’s no railroad, genius,” Jeb shoots back.
We weave through the rocks, and Jeb and Burt point out every formation that can possibly pass as penis-shaped. Lane wraps his leg around one of them for a picture as Burt wheels Mark over for a wheelbarrow photo bomb.
We shuffle single file to the entrance of another creepy fissure in the wall.
“We need to be quiet when we go into the bat city,” Tits says softly. “It’s home to millions of bats. Shh. No loud noises or fast movements. It’s very nice to see them asleep, but they will panic if they’re disturbed. Sometimes they even drop their babies.”
The group pushes through the fissure before I can turn around and run out the entrance. I can’t stand bats. My stomach starts cramping, and I’m trapped.
I wade through a thick layer of bat droppings in my flip-flops while Tits Number Two shines a light toward the ceiling. Paige grabs my head and nearly drags me to the ground. Janie is trying to bury her head in my armpit while Wes clutches my arm from the other side. Do they think I’ll protect them when this bat colony attacks us?
“Holy bat cave, Robin,” Burt whispers really loudly.
“Shh,” we all hiss.
“Asshole,” Paige says.
“Look up,” Tits whispers way too loudly. “Tonight they’ll wake and eat the bugs. If you look closely, you can see some of the babies sleeping on their mommies.”
I want to hit Tits for the way he says “mommies.” Dad and Jeb are staring up with their mouths open.
“Incredible,” Dad says.
I keep my mouth shut tightly and look up for a second. It’s revolting and amazing at the same time. These things are heavy breathing as they fidget in their sleep. There are so many it looks like a dense, fungus-covered stalagmite or stalactite, whichever one grows downward.
I finally exhale when we exit toward the sound of running water into a massive cavern with light streaming through. The cavern is damp and misty, and when my eyes adjust to the light, I’m looking down at a pool of water under a baby waterfall. It feels like we are inside the earth’s nostril, with the moss-covered walls and dribbles of water. Somehow standing inside a nostril feels strangely calming.
“Let’s get a group picture,” Burt says. Burt is really into taking pictures.
We assemble in front of the waterfall and behind Mark’s wheelbarrow. Wes pulls Tits in next to Gram while Tits Number Two positions Burt’s bee.
“Say penis cave,” Burt yells.
“Penis cave!” We all humor him.
We walk out the mouth of the cave and into a clearing and slowly make our way down a path and back to the green shack.
“That was one of the coolest things I’ve ever done,” Paige says. “It was such an adrenaline rush.”
Uncle Billy and Wes carry Aunt Rose and Gloria on their backs. We pass a makeshift sign nailed to a tree that says HERB IS THE UNIFICATION OF MANKIND—BOB MARLEY.
I’m thinking the true unification of mankind is actually fear, or death, or penis jokes, or all of the above.
We survive the ride back to town, probably because Dad sits in front and nags Tits to slow down. As our mutant tribe disperses, Janie and I decide to explore.
We wander until we find a tin-roofed restaurant in front of a shady cove. Ceiling fans whir above a circular bar, and reggae music welcomes us like an old friend.
We order delicious meat-stuffed fried patties and dipping sauce from the scrawny, gold-toothed bartender. Within minutes, Janie is drunk on rum and rambling about Captain Do Me. The bartender tells her there are too many fish in the sea to fret over one. We pull our bar stools over to a growing group of locals, men and women of various ages. I feel like I’m back at the lake club, talking about random things with half-drunk people.
“What do you think Brit is doing right now?” Janie says.
“Probably calling the cops on some party she didn’t get invited to,” I say. “God, remember when we were kids and she was more normal? What happened to her?”
“Gram says Brit will get better when she has something for herself and can stop wallowing in jealousy.”
“We never did anything to make her jealous.”
“She’s miserable with herself, and we’re not. That’s all it takes with Brit.” Janie motions to the bartender for another drink.
Somebody comes in through the side entrance. The room erupts in greetings. I assume it’s another regular, since they seem to greet everyone with this kind of enthusiasm. Then I spot him from the corner of my eye.
“Holy shit. Oh my God.” I duck between the bar stools and pretend I lost an earring.
“Are you even wearing earrings? What earring?” Janie is making it worse.
“I have to go to the bathroom.” I dart around the bar to the utterly disgusting unisex bathroom and close the door. I need to breathe, but I can’t because I’m inside a shit tank. Why is Mystery Guy here? I look horrible. And after trudging through a foot of bat excrement, I smell like dirt and donkey.
I squint to look at myself in the credit-card-sized distorted mirror. I have a vision of Mom telling me I should always carry a lip color and a compact because you never know when you’ll need to look presentable. I should have listened to her.
Somebody pounds on the door.
“Maddie, what the hell? Are you having an irritable bowel syndrome attack?” Sloppy Janie yells at the top of her lungs.
I open the door a crack and yank her in. “Shut up. Get in here.” She squeezes in and pushes me against the moldy wall.
“What is your problem?” She blows her hot rum breath in my face.
“You know the guy who just walked in?”
“Yeah. His name is Enzo. I just met him.” Janie pushes me out of the way and squats to pee.
“Okay, well, he
’s mine.”
“Fine, maniac. You can have dibs on random Jamaican bar guy.”
“Listen, he’s on the Wishwell.”
“No he’s not.” She washes her hands in the grubby sink and wipes them on my shirt.
“Yes he is. I saw him a few times. You need to pretend you’re not wasted and help me here.”
“Maddie, you have a blotchy rash all over your chest. Get ahold of yourself. It’s just a guy. Remember the thing we always say, ‘They’re just boys’?”
“I know. I have to get out of this shithole bathroom. I need air. Do you think I could fit through the window?”
“You’re acting like a loser girl. Come on.”
Janie flings open the door and yanks me out into the open.
I stand up straight and walk back to my seat as nonchalantly as I can. I take a sip of my warm ginger beer. You should have done something with your hair, the Mom voice says.
“Enzo, come meet my cousin Maddie.”
All of a sudden he’s standing in front of me.
“It’s you.” He smiles.
“Hi.” I smile back.
He tilts his head slightly to the right. His eyes are gray-green, with freakishly long lashes. He’s even more beautiful close up.
“So why weren’t you on the cave tour?” Janie says.
“Did Tits take you to see the bats? I haven’t done that in a long time,” he says.
“You’ve done the Wishwell before?” I say. After being blindsided by Paige, I can’t assume he’s not a patient. Maybe the first trip didn’t take.
“It’s a long, not very exciting story. Drinks?” He squeezes in next to me and flags down the bartender. He’s so close that his arm brushes against mine, and I can smell him, clean and soapy and slightly spicy. It’s intoxicating.
“Are you British?” Janie asks, studying his face as if his expression will give her the answer.
“Guess the accent is hard to hide. I grew up in England, well, half grew up in England.”
“I knew it. I’m really good with accents. What kind of name is Enzo, anyway?” She’s carrying the entire conversation.
“It’s Italian, short for Vincenzo. How about Maddie? Is that a nickname?” He’s looking at me again. Not Janie. Me.
The Loose Ends List Page 7
