Jeremy Fink And The Meaning Of Life Part 25

"What just happened?" she cries out. "One second you're sitting there, and the next you turn white as a ghost and keel over the side. It was the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. Well, next to this playing card. Are you all right?"

I nod, which is all I can make myself do at this moment. My head is still busy removing layer after layer of events like those little nesting dolls where every time you take one doll apart, a smaller one is inside.

Mom and Grandma have run to the edge of the water and are waving their arms. I can hear their voices, but can't make out what they're saying. "Do you want me to help you back in?" Lizzy asks. "Take my hand."

I shake my head. "I'll walk," I tell her. "It's not too far. You'll be okay rowing?"

"I can manage," she says, s.h.i.+fting to the middle seat. "Are you sure you're okay? Not ten minutes ago your dad tells us to look out for each other, and the next thing I know, you've fallen overboard. How does that look?"

I want to tell her what I figured out, but I just can't do it. I want to keep the mystery of her card alive for her a little longer. I start walking toward the sh.o.r.e, and Lizzy rows slowly beside me. Every few steps I trip a little and have to swim. I can't believe I fell overboard. At least my bag is still safe in the boat. If Dad's letter and his list had gotten wet, I would never have forgiven myself.

"Explanation?" Mom says as I drag myself, dripping, up onto the beach.

"Can't say that I have one."

"Well, you seem to be in one piece. Did you open the box?"

I nod. "Dad said to give you this." I move closer and give her a really big hug. Even though I'm wet and have no doubt absorbed the smell of the lake, she keeps on hugging me until Lizzy clears her throat and says, "Ahem, can we please all look at my playing card?"

I move on to give Grandma her hug. I always knew how hard it was for me to lose a father, and for my mother to lose a husband, but I hadn't given much thought to how hard it must have been for her to lose a child. I hug her extra tight. I do plan on sharing with them what was in the box, but not yet. I need to sort some things out first. A lot of things.

As our train pulls back into Penn Station on Sat.u.r.day morning, I turn to Mom and ask, "I have to go do something for a few hours, is that okay?"

"Now?" she says. "Don't you want to get settled at home first? Feed the fish?"

I shake my head. "I'm sure Mr. Muldoun didn't let them die. Or replace one without telling me."

She reddens. That's an old joke between us because Hamster died one day while I was at school, and Mom bought another fish that looked like Hamster and tried to pa.s.s it off as the real one. She didn't count on my uncanny powers of observation.

One of the conductors helps us bring our suitcases onto the platform. "How are you planning on getting where you're going?" Mom asks.

I've already figured this out. "Bus. I have exact change."

"By yourself?" Lizzy asks, tilting her head at me suspiciously.

I nod.

"You're not going to tell us where you're going?" Mom asks.

"If it's okay, I'd really rather not."

She opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it again. With an odd look that I can't quite decipher, she simply says, "Be home in time for dinner."

"I'll help you put all this stuff in a cab first," I tell them, picking up the handles of both my suitcase and my mom's. The whole time we walk through the station, Lizzy throws me sideways glances. I know she's dying to ask.

I help the driver pile all the bags in the cab, keeping only my backpack. When they're gone, I take a deep breath and walk to the corner. The bus that I need should take me within two blocks. I jingle the quarters in my pocket while I wait. This time when the bus pulls up, I know exactly what to do. I drop my quarters in the slot and take the first available seat. I glance around me. No Garlicman this time. It's a whole different crowd on a Sat.u.r.day. No briefcases.

As the bus approaches my stop, I reach up to press the tape, but someone beats me to it. I follow a few people out the door, and they all turn in the opposite direction of where I'm going. A woman walks by carrying a poodle. They are wearing matching sungla.s.ses. Lizzy would have liked to see that.

There is only one person who knew what cards Lizzy needed. And there's only one way to have put that card into the box. Without hesitating, I march up to the door and ring the bell.

When the door opens, I ask, "How long have you had the keys?"

Mr. Oswald smiles. "Come in, Jeremy. I've been expecting you."

He leads me through the now empty house and out to the patio. He takes an envelope out of his pocket and rests it in front of him on the table. It has my name printed on it. He doesn't make a move to slide it over to me.

"I've had the keys since your father pa.s.sed away," he says.

"But how is that possible? My dad left them with my mom, who gave them to Harold Folgard, and he was the one who lost them."

Mr. Oswald shakes his head. "There is no Harold Folgard. Your mother sent the keys and the box to me."

Now this I had not expected! "What do you mean there's no Harold Folgard? Of course there is! Lizzy and I were in his office. That's how we wound up working for you!"

"You and Lizzy were in an empty office with a nameplate taped to the door."

"But the security guard... the policeman..."

"It's amazing how people will play along for a good cause. Your mailman even had a part in making sure the box arrived when your mother wasn't home so you'd take it. Even Larry the Locksmith played his part. Good ol' Larry. He's been chomping at the bit waiting for you to turn thirteen. I think he held off retiring till the day came. This whole thing has been the hardest on your mother, I think."

I stare at him in amazement. "I don't understand. You did all this for me? Why would you do that? You don't even know me. I mean, you didn't even know me before all this."

"I didn't do it," Mr. Oswald explains. "Your father did. He set this all up. He left the details up to me. The jobs you did for me-returning those p.a.w.ned items-they were all legit, of course."

"But what if I hadn't written in my notebook that Lizzy found that last playing card and mentioned which two were left? How would you have known? What would Dad have left Lizzy in the box?"

"If you hadn't told me, I would have brought the conversation around to your collections. Your dad signed all fifty-two cards of the deck in the hopes that Lizzy hadn't finished the collection yet. And if she had, he asked me to find out what she would want, and to include that instead."

"When did you put it in there?"

"When James suggested you leave your bag in the car one day. I used my keys and slid the card between two edges of the wrapping paper."

I know I'm firing questions at him, but I can't help it. "How long have you known my father? Why didn't he ever mention you?"

"I met your father the same day I met you. Seven years ago."

"But I just met you a few weeks ago!"

He shakes his head. "I looked a little younger then, wore a straw hat and overalls. I'm sure you were too young to remember. Your father approached me at the 26th Street Flea Market. He admired the boxes I was selling. You weren't there with him for too long. He asked your mom to walk away with you so he could buy you a gift."

So that's why the first time I saw him on the steps I had that weird idea that he should be wearing a straw hat and overalls!

"Your father and I found we had a lot in common. He began putting this plan together almost as soon as he bought the box. He never told you about me so that when we did meet, you wouldn't suspect anything."

I shake my head in disbelief. "But why would Dad do this? Why wouldn't he just leave me the keys and the box?"

"Don't you know why?" he asks, leaning forward.

I shake my head.

"He did it to give you an adventure. To introduce you to people and experiences you'd never have otherwise. To get you to start thinking about life before hearing what he had to say on the subject. To work for it a little. Okay, a lot!"

I hear what Mr. Oswald is saying, but I have all these "buts" running through my head. "But how did he know we'd go to Larry's Locks or to Harold Folgard's office?"

He smiles. "Your dad took a lot of leaps of faith. He hoped that you and Lizzy would still be friends and that her determination coupled with your natural curiosity would lead you both forward. We had to make certain adjustments based on your actions. If some of the major events hadn't fallen into place, your mother was ready to nudge things in certain directions."

Who knew Mom was such a good actress?

"I hope you can forgive everyone for their role in this."

"I'm just in shock that so many people would do so much for me. And for Lizzy, too. She was in this as much as I was."

"Trust me, everyone involved got something out of 'Operation: Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life.' "

I laugh. "That's what you called it?"

He laughs, and nods.

But then something else hits me, and I stop laughing. "If my dad planned this whole elaborate thing, he really must have believed he wouldn't be here."

Mr. Oswald sighs deeply. "I think he did. And he wanted to make your thirteenth birthday unforgettable."

"It was definitely unforgettable. This whole summer has been."

"Good," Mr. Oswald says, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair and getting to his feet. "Now that my job is done, I'm supposed to catch the next plane down to Florida."

I jump up. "You're really going? That wasn't just part of the story?"

He smiles. "I'm really going. In fact, you just caught me."

I frown. "But what if you hadn't been here? How would I have known all this?"

He picks up the envelope with my name on it and hands it to me. "It's all in here. Along with a little parting gift from me to you."

That familiar knot forms in my throat again. "I don't know how to thank you for everything you did."

He puts his hand on my shoulder, and we walk inside and toward the door. "Send me a postcard now and then, will you? Lizzy, too. I wrote my address in there."

"Sure."

I step out onto the front steps, expecting him to follow. He doesn't though. He stays inside, one hand on the door. "And Jeremy?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"You're thanking me? What for?"

"For letting me see the world through your eyes for a few weeks. You have great things ahead of you."

I know I'm too old for such things now, but I step back inside and give Mr. Oswald a hug. Then I turn and run down the stairs before I get even mus.h.i.+er. When I hear Mr. Oswald close the door, I turn back. Next to his porch are some small shrubs with white rocks surrounding them. I pick up a rock and shove it deep in my pocket. Rock #1: From the day I realized that love is stronger than death and that people you barely know can amaze you, 13.

As I walk to the bus stop, something Mom said right after the box first arrived floats back to me. She said things can only happen the way they happen. It seemed so obvious at the time that I didn't pay much attention to it. But somehow now, after all the twists and turns it took to get me from that day hanging out at my uncle's store until right now, it suddenly makes sense. A sort of peace that I don't think I've felt before washes over me. Also a feeling of control over my life. Each choice I made, or Lizzy made, was based on who we were or what we wanted. That's all I ever have to keep doing, and not be so worried about choosing right or wrong, because there really isn't a right or wrong, there's only what IS. And if I don't like the outcome, I just make another choice.

Anyway, why not start now? The subway would get me home much faster than the bus. There's a station a block away from here; I remember seeing it as the bus drove by. I start to get a little nervous as I get closer, but I keep walking. A few minutes later, I'm checking the subway map on the wall just like we did that first time. I'll have to change trains in the middle, so really this is like two subway rides. I use up the rest of my quarters on a MetroCard, and swipe it through like a pro. No need to rely on superst.i.tious Yankees fans today.

As I wait for the train, I decide that when I tell Lizzy the story, I'll leave out the part about Mr. Oswald putting her card in the box. I don't want to take that bit of magic away from her.

When I'm seated and the train starts to move again, I open Mr. Oswald's envelope. I pull out the letter and see at a glance that it's full of the information he just told me. A small yellow envelope is attached to the bottom with a paper clip. Inside the small envelope is a thin piece of cardboard. Stuck in the center, covered in a protective layer of plastic, is a stamp. My heart starts pounding in my ears. It's my dad's stamp! The one he'd been looking for his whole life! I turn the cardboard over. There's a note.

Jeremy, I came across this last year. I'd always kept an eye out for it in your dad's memory. I'd like you to have it. I've already asked your mother for permission to give it to you. It should cover the cost of college and maybe even graduate school if invested wisely. Congratulations! You're a philatelist now!

Your friend, Mr. O My eyes burn with tears. I will never have another day like this one.

At that moment, the subway pulls into the station where I'm supposed to switch. I tuck the fragile stamp back in the small envelope and put everything carefully in my backpack. That stamp, that tiny piece of printed paper, is my future. How amazing is that?

When I get out onto the platform, someone is playing a radio. The voice sounds familiar, but I don't think I've heard the song before. A few people clear away, and I realize it's not a radio, it's that guitar player who looks like he should be playing football instead. He sure gets around!

I move closer so I can hear better. When he's done with his song, I drop a dollar in his open guitar case.

"Thanks, kid," he says as he bends over his guitar to tighten a string.

"Um, can I ask you a question?"

He looks up at me. "Sure. What's on your mind?"

"How come you play down here, in the subways? I mean, you're really good."

He smiles. "This is where the best sound is, dude. The acoustics in this place are unreal. It's all about the sound. You know, like that guy from the Grateful Dead said, music is what life sounds like. You know, the music of the spheres and all that."

I shake my head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

A few people have gathered around and are listening.

He explains. "The universe resonates to certain musical vibrations. All the stars and planets revolve in harmony with it. You know, like one big cosmic dance. When I play, I'm a part of that. When you listen, you're a part of it, too." He finishes tightening the string and gives it a tw.a.n.g to test it out. "Any requests?"

One guy yells out, " 'Free Bird'!" A lady yells, " 'Bridge Over Troubled Water'!" I won't get to hear what he decides to play though, because my train is here.

My train is here. I like the sound of that. My train is here, and it's going to take me home. I'm feeling so brave, maybe I'll surprise Mom tonight and have cauliflower or asparagus or-cringe-beets at dinner.

Nah. Like Dad said, life is short. I'll keep eating dessert first.

I reach into my backpack and pull out the packet of Fun Dip that Lizzy gave me for my birthday. As I dip the sugar stick into the packet of blue sugar, a little girl sitting next to me pulls on my T-s.h.i.+rt sleeve. She looks about five, and is wearing a yellow dress.

"Can I have some?"

I glance over at her mother, but all her attention is focused on the screaming toddler in her lap. I hold out the sugar packet, and the little girl studies it for a second. Then she licks her finger, sticks it in, and swishes it around. A few weeks ago, I would have thought that was gross, her being a stranger and me not knowing where her hands have been and all. But now I know we're all part of one big cosmic family, so it doesn't bother me.