The Loose Ends List

by Carrie Firestone

  “So, what about the cabin?”

  “Oh, the minister loves old cars and proposed to Gloria in a 1930s Ford. So they have a refurbished 1930s Ford bolted to their balcony. Every day, they sit in the front seat, holding hands and watching the sea.”

  “Wow. Francesca Ivanhoe hooks people up, huh, Gram?”

  “Don’t you mean your boyfriend’s mother?” Gram raises her eyebrows.

  “He’s not my boyfriend. You’d better not say anything embarrassing like you did with Ty.”

  “Oh, stop. You girls are too easily embarrassed. If Enzo’s anything like his mother, we’ll get along just fine. I adore Francesca. That woman is an incredible force. She understands what I’ve been trying to say to you kids. She took all that pain in her life and grew something beautiful.” She waves her hand. “Come here.”

  I wipe my hands on a towel and sit on the edge of Gram’s chair.

  “That’s what you should always do, Mads. Take the pain and grow beauty.” She sits up and faces me. “You know I’ve always loved volcanoes. I love how they spew searing, deadly lava that goes on to nurture the most beautiful landscapes on earth. It’s from searing pain that the deepest beauty can sprout.”

  I know she’s right. I just don’t see much beauty coming from the things I’ve seen on this ship.

  “You’re a wise old lady, Astrid North O’Neill.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.

  “Who’s calling me old, you little shit? Anyway, back to Gloria and the minister, bald as billiard balls and sailing along in their little car. That’s great love.”

  “Do you wish you’d had sixty-two years with Bob?”

  “Hell, no. Then I wouldn’t have my precious babies.” She points her finger at me. “Martin was an angel, and he’s still my angel. But when I’m next to Bobby, my heart flutters.” She holds her hand on her heart. “It’s electric.”

  “Gram, you’re blushing.”

  “Am I? Great love does that, honey.”

  I can’t stop thinking about Enzo. I take Paige for a birthday manicure, and she makes me tell her every detail of my night. “If Ethan kissed like a jackhammer dipped in beer, then Enzo kisses like the moon dipped in music,” I tell her.

  “What a beautiful kissing metaphor,” she says. “I need to kiss Lane more.”

  Paige tells me her first kiss was with a kid a foot shorter than her who gave her a hickey on her face. I almost blow the whole surprise party by telling her how I want to invite Enzo but he doesn’t socialize much with guests. I’m so glad I catch myself before the destructive blurt. Lane would be pissed.

  On the way to the party, Janie and I run into Skinny Dave walking out of the infirmary. His hair is greasy, and he smells like stale urine. He stops and says hello, and that he won’t be able to make the party because he’s not feeling well.

  “Feel better,” I say.

  I stop for a split second and look him in the eye, remembering how I covered him in towels and helped him get comfortable last night. It was a bizarrely intimate moment between three strangers, and he has no clue it even happened.

  “Thanks, Maddie,” he says as the elevator opens.

  Janie adjusts her pink bathrobe. “He stunk,” she says.

  “Stop. He’s sick.”

  “With what?” I don’t want to get into it, so I change the subject.

  “Did I mention how good Enzo smells?”

  “Okay, enough with the Enzo talk. It’s wearing on me already.”

  The ballroom ceiling is open, and there’s a bonfire in a fire pit in the middle of the room. This would never happen on a normal cruise ship. The comfy sofas and chairs from the café are set up around the fire, and there’s a box of long sticks on a table stacked with marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars. Mom’s gabbing with Vito’s daughter Roberta on one of the sofas. This trip is turning both my parents into social butterflies. Jeb appears to be flirting with Camilla, who is very cute, but she’s missing the obligatory eyebrow rings, tattoos, and cat-eye glasses of Jeb’s usual type.

  Dad looks like a balding toddler in his fuzzy slippers. Embarrassing father aside, it’s funny to see all these people in sleepwear. The room vibrates with laughter and excitement. Wes and Uncle Billy escort Aunt Rose in her floral nightgown to a chair next to Gram and Bob. Paige’s parents come in with baby Grace. Wes reaches up to take her, and she goes right to him.

  Our bees buzz at the same time. Shh. We’re on our way! Eddie fiddles around with the karaoke machine, and the two screens on either side of our giant circle light up with the lyrics to “Brown-Eyed Girl.”

  The music starts and we all sing. Mark is behind me, belting it out. He has a really good voice. I guess multiple sclerosis doesn’t affect that. When the doors open, we’re on the sha-la-la part. Paige stands in yellow pajamas with her face frozen in an expression of total disbelief. Lane whispers something in her ear. She blows kisses at everyone and starts to twirl around the room.

  I wonder if she would have done that before she was dying.

  We serenade her as she spins around the room with Lane. Her mom and dad jump up and circle around Paige. Wes bounces baby Grace on his knee. She laughs with her two bottom teeth sticking out. Lane swoops down to pick her up, and he and Paige dance close with Grace between them. Sha la la la la la la la la la la dee dah.

  The song ends, and Paige sits between Janie and me. The campfire karaoke continues with Vito belting out a Frank Sinatra song, despite the tubes hanging out of his nose.

  The whole crowd sings Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” as a tribute to Tits and Mama, brandishing our marshmallow sticks at the chorus. We’re a loop of pajama-clad karaoke fools, hell-bent on making this Paige’s very best birthday.

  “I didn’t realize we had a group of professional singers on the Wishwell,” Eddie says into the mike. He takes Paige by the hand and pulls her up.

  “Paige, we understand you are a great fan of all things chocolate.” Paige nods enthusiastically. “Well, I hope you haven’t had too many s’mores, because the crew has prepared a special birthday surprise.”

  The panel slides open. Behind it, the entire crew—nurses, doctors, everyone—is smiling in their pajamas. They’ve formed a semicircle around an enormous chocolate cake topped with sparklers in the shape of a thirty-three. As we sing “Happy Birthday,” tears stream down Paige’s face.

  Janie pulls me into the crowd of people ogling the chocolate buffet, and I don’t even know where to begin. There’s a chocolate fountain, a donut tree, chocolate animal sculptures, and shot glasses of mousse. I’m thinking I might need to cut back on the endless calorie consumption now that I have the potential to be naked with a very hot guy in the very near future.

  Tonight, I eat for Paige. Tomorrow, I run for Enzo.

  Janie flicks me a few times. Do Me is coming toward us. I pretend I don’t see him and make a beeline for the strawberries. I set my heaping plate next to my brother’s and look for a tall glass of milk. I run into Vito near the bar.

  “Vito, it’s like a chocolate Christmas, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a dream. Now if only I had a lady to share all this good stuff.”

  “What about your wife?” I look over at Vito’s wife by the chocolate fountain.

  “Marie? God forbid. She’s my ex-wife. The woman is a nut.”

  “So why is she here, then?” I blurt out.

  “Good question.” He laughs. “We’re a family. She’s the mother of my children, and nana to my grandchildren. She needs to be here for them, you know, when I depart.”

  “Wow. And I thought she was your wife all this time.”

  Vito laughs. “We fight like husband and wife. Between you and me, I still love her. I know it’s sick. I guess I can’t live with her, can’t live without her. She is a nice-looking lady, isn’t she?” We look over at Marie, with her inflated hips and ten inches of teased black hair.

  “Yes, Vito. She is,” I say. He stares at his ex-wife a few seconds, then pulls his oxyg
en tank to the coffee bar.

  The chocolate hit the spot for the first twenty mouthfuls. Now I’m nauseated. Janie and Captain Do Me have gone missing. The rest of us are in sugar comas, lying on pillows and sofas around the smoldering bonfire. The stars form a blur of light as I squint my eyes the way I used to on Gram’s lap in front of the Christmas tree. Paige is lying on a blanket between Lane and me. She leans over and kisses Lane on the tip of his nose and rests her head next to Grace, who is asleep on his chest.

  “Happy Birthday, P,” I whisper as I get up.

  “Thank you, little sister,” she whispers back. “It’s been a really good day.”

  I’ve been waiting all night to see Enzo. My stomach immediately reacts with nervous excitement when I get to his cabin. I take a deep breath and knock.

  “Donut?” I hand him a chocolate-glazed in a napkin.

  “Hey.” He looks groggy, like he’s been asleep for hours. He’s wearing a worn red T-shirt and plaid boxers. “Are you tired? Do you want to hang out tomorrow?”

  “No, no way. Come in.” The TV is on, and two empty Red Stripe beer bottles wobble a little when the ship hits a bump. He shuts the door, and within five seconds, we’re kissing. I pull away. I’m obviously not going to admit that the massive quantities of chocolate are not digesting quietly. I need a little digestion space.

  “Can we talk for a while? I don’t know why, I just feel like talking.”

  “Let’s talk, then.” His hair is adorably messy. He takes my hand and pulls me out to the balcony, and we stretch out on matching lounge chairs.

  I tell him about Paige’s party and how cute it was that Lane’s theme was “Paige’s favorite things.”

  “So tell me your favorite things,” Enzo says, pulling a beer out of a bucket on the table between our chairs.

  “You mean the real things or the things I’ll invent to impress you?”

  “Real things only. You’ve already impressed me.” He pries the cap off his beer with a bottle opener.

  “Let’s see.… I love fashion, it’s kind of my hobby. And my family has an astronomy fetish.”

  “That explains my constellation lessons last night. Very handy talent, I might add.”

  “You go next. What are your favorite things?”

  He unwraps the donut, takes a big bite, and chases it with beer. “Hmm. Okay. Football. I’ve been kicking a ball around since I could walk.” His voice gets animated. “My friends and I played the Jamaican kids on the beach when we were there. They killed us. Anyway, your turn.” He holds the donut up to my mouth and, despite my already-distended stomach, I bite.

  “I love to dance. My grandmother taught us all the old dances. I’ll dance pretty much anywhere.”

  He laughs. “I’m a pretty good dancer, if I do say so myself. My sister makes fun of me. But for my next thing, I’m going to go with Egypt. The country. The artifacts. It’s all fascinating.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “Yes. It was amazing. I couldn’t get over the pyramids, how massive they were; and the mummies, real people preserved all those centuries, sharing themselves with us. I’m going there for a study abroad program this year. That’s why I’ve been trying to get all the surfing out of my system.”

  “You’re spending a whole year in Egypt? That’s brave of you.”

  “Yes, we’ll see. I’m kind of scared of dust storms.” He licks the last of the donut off his fingers. “And I’ll miss surfing. That’s been one good thing about this whole Wishwell life.”

  “This is random,” I say, “but I love starfish. I can’t believe nature managed to create a living thing shaped like a star. And even when they die, they stay perfectly intact.”

  He looks at me funny. I’m wondering if the starfish thing is making him think I’m a huge loser. But he brushes the hair away from my face and looks at me with those eyes.

  I lean toward him, and we kiss. It tastes like chocolate donut. He pulls me over to his chair and then on top of him. I press into him, and my body wants me to press harder. He’s intense and gentle all at the same time. He pulls at my shirt, and I stop his hand.

  “Not yet. Not yet.” I have to say it twice to believe it myself.

  “Okay. Sorry.” I get up and sit on the edge of the chair. “I am obviously incredibly attracted to you,” he says apologetically.

  “Me too. It’s just—I better go. To be continued?”

  “Will you come back tomorrow?” he says as he turns on his side and lays his hand on my back.

  “Yes. Assuming I can get away from the planned events. At this point, my annoying family knows you’re here, and they’re bugging me to bring you around.”

  “I know. I’ve already had a dozen texts from your grandmother inviting me to dinner. I’d forgotten how much the Wishwell intensifies family closeness.”

  “Have you done this? I mean, before?”

  “Kissed a patient’s family member?” He shakes his head. “No. This is a first. But I’ve hung out with a lot of families. When I saw you at the bar, I didn’t think, ‘This is a stunning girl, but I should leave her alone due to her fragile family situation.’ I thought, ‘Hot girl, go find on ship.’”

  “So you talk to yourself in caveman language?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. How about tomorrow caveman and hot girl have proper date?”

  I laugh. “I know just the place to take you. But you need to come to dinner after. For my relentless grandmother.”

  “Deal. And you need to kiss me one more time. ‘Hot girl, kiss now,’ says the caveman.”

  I do as he says.

  It’s two in the morning, and Janie’s not here. I’m sure she’s topless and slobbering all over Dr. Do Me in some starlit deck corner. I shower and snuggle under my cozy comforter, tired and happy. I’m drifting, drifting, thinking about Enzo, and then a text comes in. The bee’s going crazy. OMG. Do Me is in the bathroom. We’ve been fooling around for hours. His penis is minuscule. I don’t want to have sex with this pickle thing. HELP! What do I do?

  Come back to the room, stupid. Tell him you’re not that kind of girl and you need to leave.

  Okay.

  I guess college doesn’t teach people how to get out of a pickle.

  TEN

  “OKAY, I HAVE one thing on the con list and seven on the pro.” We’ve been lying in bed talking about Do Me, now nicknamed Pickle, for two hours.

  I read the list. “The pros are: doctor, really cute, funny, nice, caring, smart, and likes our family.”

  “I know,” Janie says, “those are all good qualities. I get it.”

  “The con is the pickle. Janie, think. Is it a breakfast sausage link?”

  “No, not really.”

  “A crayon?”

  “No, Maddie. It’s exactly the size and shape of one of those gherkin pickles. It’s awful.”

  “He’s a doctor, right? Maybe he’ll find creative ways to use it.”

  “I don’t care if he’s a gynecologist with a PhD in sex ed. There’s nothing to work with. God, why do I care? Why? Why? Why?” Janie buries her head in a pillow.

  My bee vibrates. Maddie, come to our cabin. I need to tell you something important.—Wes.

  Now what? I’m curious, and a little tired of analyzing Pickle. I leave Janie drowning in a vast sea of whys and walk over to Uncle Billy and Wes’s cabin. Wes opens the door. He looks stressed as he leads me out to their balcony.

  “Mads, I’m just going to tell you straight up: Dave died last night.”

  “Oh my God,” I say. “Wait, who is Dave?”

  “The alcoholic guy from our table.”

  The familiar lump rises from my chest to my throat. Skinny Dave is dead.

  “What? How did he die? I just saw him yesterday. What happened?” I grab the railing. Wes must see the shock on my face.

  “Aww. Come here, Mads.” He hugs me, and I press my face against his chest.

  “He was ready. He wanted to go, you know, the way he came to
go.”

  “Oh.” I picture the pathetic figure slumped over the lounge chair. “But he didn’t live out any of his last wishes. He didn’t do anything.”

  “I know. He couldn’t. He was too far gone. He wrote us a note.”

  “Why?” Wes doesn’t answer. He pulls a note out of his pocket and hands it to me. It’s written on a yellow piece of paper in neat handwriting.

  Dear Maddie and Wes,

  I want you both to know how much it meant to me that you treated me like a man. Most of my life, I’ve been the drunk good-for-nothing to everyone around me. You talked to me like a normal person, and Mom and I appreciate it more than you will ever know. I thought this would be good for us, but I feel like garbage. I’m ready now.

  Be good.

  Dave

  I sit on the deck chair, stunned. Wes tells me he spoke to Dave’s mom. She said Dave had tried rehab and AA dozens of times, and it just didn’t work for him. He suffered so long he just couldn’t pull himself out of the abyss, not even for this trip. She told Wes she held his hand as the doctor gave him medicine to go to sleep. He was tucked in with his favorite blanket and hugging his childhood zebra. She kissed him, and he drifted off. She swore she had never seen him so peaceful.

  Dave’s mom said she had felt Dave’s soul leave his body a long time ago. She wants to be alone with her grief, and she’s going to fly back home when we get to Rio.

  I think about last night, when I stopped to talk to him. I had no idea he was about to die, but I’m glad I stopped, even if it was only for a minute. Wes reminds me that Dave loved Thai food, so I order us vegetable pad Thais. We sit on the balcony as morning makes the subtle shift to afternoon. Wes touches his pad Thai lime to mine, and we toast to Dave.

  “Do you think Mom will ever get as bad as Dave?” I say.

  “Dear God, I hope not,” Wes says.

  We sit on that for a while.

  “Wes, deep question. Do you think Uncle Billy is your great love?”

  “You sound like Assy.” He throws his lime overboard. “She’s been harping on the great love thing. It’s easy to have a forbidden romance, leave the guy for sixty years, reconnect during the high-adrenaline act of dying, and then call it a great love. Billy and I are in the thick of things. He’s pissing me off royally right now. He’s such a prick.”