Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  “Are you going to eat all that yourself?” Grandma asks. “That will be one big dental bill!”

  “I’ll space it out,” I promise her. “Over the course of a whole day.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I’m trying, I’m trying.”

  I turn to Lizzy. “Thanks for everything. It’s great.” There’s something really comforting about knowing exactly what to expect. It’s happened so infrequently this summer. I nibble happily on my sandwich. The boy with the kite is eyeing my candy stash, but I pretend not to notice.

  “There’s one more small thing,” she says, reaching into her bag. She pulls out a small red box. It isn’t wrapped, so I easily recognize it. It’s the box from the wallet I helped her pick out last Christmas for her dad. Is he re-gifting it to me? I really wouldn’t mind. It was a nice one, and I could use it. I take the box and open it, expecting to see the thin brown wallet. Instead, on a layer of white cotton, rests a single silver key. I lift it out of the box. At first I don’t get it. Is this symbolic of our quest this summer?

  Then it hits me. My eyelids stretch so far open they actually hurt. I jerk my head up. “Is this… is this the… is—”

  “Yup,” she says, bouncing again. “It’s the fourth key.”

  Mom and Grandma are beaming at me. I have the feeling they knew this was coming. A mixture of disbelief, joy, relief, and anger flood through me. “But how did you, where did you, how—”

  “It was in the suitcase. I found it about an hour after we found the second key. You were in the bathroom, so I slipped it in my pocket.”

  To think that Lizzy kept this from me for a week is almost as hard to believe as the key’s appearance itself. why would you do that? All this time I’ve been thinking it was hopeless. But you knew. You knew!”

  A look of uncertainty flits across her face. “The harder something is to acquire,” she says uneasily, “the more satisfying it is when you finally find it. Sound familiar?”

  I nod. “Mr. Oswald said that. The last time we saw him.”

  “Was he right?” she asks, nervously taking a sip of lemonade. “I just wanted to give you a present you’d never forget. Do you hate me now?”

  I look down at the key. It catches the sunlight and shimmers. I grip it tightly in my hand. What would it have been like if I’d known a week ago that this key existed? “Just don’t do it again.”

  She draws an X over her heart with her finger. “I won’t. I promise. My stealing itch is gone. I think it was all leading up to this.”

  “Good. By the way, you have egg salad in your teeth.”

  She immediately runs her tongue over them until I give her the all-clear.

  Mom starts gathering up the garbage. “Your Grandma and I could use a walk. Why don’t you and Lizzy take one of the rowboats and go out to the big rock.” She points into the center of the lake. From here, it looks like one big rock, but up close it’s really a cluster of rocks. Dad took me out there once.

  “Sounds good,” I say, finishing off my sandwich and downing my cup of lemonade. The outline of the key is now engraved in my palm from holding it so tight. I wish I had brought the box with me. Now that I have all the keys, I can feel it calling to me.

  Lizzy checks her teeth one last time in the side of the metal Thermos, and stands up. “Should we bring this with us?” She reaches into her bag and pulls out my box, followed by the other three keys.

  “You promised no more surprises!” I say, grabbing happily for the box and clutching it to my chest.

  “That was the last one, I swear!”

  Lizzy chooses the less rickety of the two rowboats tied to the dock, which isn’t saying much.

  “Odds on us drowning?” she asks.

  “Hmmm, I’d say fifty-fifty. But there’s no water in the bottom of the boat, so at least there isn’t a leak.”

  I steady it while Lizzy climbs in, and then I unhook the rope from the pole and climb in after her. She has left me the seat with the oars attached next to them. I push one of the tips of the oars into the water, and the boat easily moves away from the shore. We don’t talk until we get closer to the rocks. All I keep seeing in my head is the box. Big and looming ahead of me.

  “Um, how are we supposed to dock this thing?” Lizzy asks.

  “I think my dad just tied the rope around one of the smaller rocks, and it stayed. You’ll have to reach out and try to grab onto one of the rocks. Then I’ll throw you the rope.”

  “This should be interesting,” Lizzy mutters.

  I pull up as close as I can. The boat bangs into the side of the rocks. Lizzy grabs for the nearest one and manages to hold on long enough for me to toss the rope. “You’ll have to climb out now, and hold onto the rope so the boat doesn’t drift away. Then I’ll get out and tie it.”

  Lizzy mumbles something about being sucked under by the current and dashed against the rocks, but manages to get out just fine. A minute later, I’ve tied up the boat and have joined her on the largest rock. I place the bag on the towel between us and pull out my box. My legs outstretched, I rest the box on my thighs. I never thought I’d arrive at this moment. Lizzy has her eyes closed and is tilting her head up to the sun.

  I look out over the water and think about everything that led me here. What a bizarre journey it’s been. If it weren’t for this box, I never would have taken the subway or the bus. We wouldn’t have gotten caught breaking into an office and been assigned to work for Mr. Oswald. I never would have ridden in a limo and met people like James and Mrs. Billingsly and Mr. Rudolph and Dr. Grady and Mr. Oswald himself. I’d be a totally different person. No matter what’s in this box, I am already grateful to my father for leaving it to me.

  Lizzy startles me by yelling “What are you waiting for?” into my ear.

  I rub my ear and move the box onto the towel. “One more minute.”

  She groans and busies herself smoothing on sunblock. Her dad makes her use SPF 40, since she’s a redhead.

  A thought has crept into my head that I feel guilty for even thinking. But I can’t help it. What if I’m disappointed by what’s in there? “Maybe we shouldn’t open it,” I say to Lizzy. “Maybe we weren’t supposed to find the keys after all. Let’s just toss the box in the water.”

  She looks like she’s going to have a heart attack. Her cheeks turn purple. “Are you SERIOUS?” she shouts.

  “Nah. Let’s open it!”

  She pushes me with all her might, but I had braced myself and manage to stay upright on the rock.

  I hand her the two keys for the locks on her side of the box, and she slides them in. Then I put my two in. Neither of us makes a move to turn them. I can tell Lizzy is waiting for my command.

  “Okay, turn!”

  We hear four simultaneous clicks, and something slides inside. I take a deep breath and lift open the top. It’s amazing how easily it swings right up after all the pushing and pulling and jamming of blunt instruments.

  On the top is an envelope with my name on it. The rest of the stuff in the box is covered with wrapping paper.

  “Hey, I recognize that wrapping paper!” Lizzy says. “That’s from your eighth birthday party! I remember because I stole some after you opened your gifts, and it’s in my stolen stuff collection!”

  Seeing the wrapping paper reminds me again of how long ago Dad put this together. He didn’t get to see my ninth birthday party. I don’t even remember having one.

  I turn the envelope over. It’s open, so all I have to do is slide out the letter. Trying, and failing, to keep my hands from trembling, I open it. Dad’s handwriting is not the neatest. He always used to joke that he should have been a doctor, because doctors are known to have the worst handwriting. I can tell he worked hard to make it legible. I do my best to read it out loud, but every few lines my throat closes, and I have to pause for a few seconds.

  Dear Jeremy,

  As I write this, you have just had your eighth birthday party. We took you to the Bronx Zoo, and there was a bear cub who