Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life Read online

  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, shifting 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 shore, 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 Saturday 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 pass 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 Saturday. 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 sunglasses. 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 passed 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 pawned 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 b