Jeremy Fink And The Meaning Of Life Part 20

There aren't any drawers in the living room, but I look behind the drapes and under the coffee table and behind the bookshelves. I reach under Mongo, and my hand lands on something squishy. I grab hold of it, and pull out an orange bunny Peep from a long ago Easter. Even I wouldn't eat it now. The scary thing is, it still looks perfectly fine. Dusty, but fine. I think Dr. Grady was wrong. At the end of the world will be bacteria, c.o.c.kroaches, and Peeps.

I feel weird looking through Mom's room. I step inside, but then I hurry back out. I can't do it. I'll take her word that they just aren't here.

I slip a note through the wall and ask Lizzy to check in her apartment. After all, Mom had said that's where the box was kept for a while. She writes back that she'll check. Twenty minutes later I pull out a note and find two keys wrapped up in it.

These were both in a little tray on my dad's dresser. What do you think?

I turn the keys over in my hand. They're a bit smaller than the ones I think we need, but it's worth a try. I bring them over to my desk and sit down in the chair. I slide the box toward me, but I can see without even trying that they're definitely too small. I try them anyway, then wrap them back up and send them through. No note is necessary.

At noon I meet Lizzy on the sidewalk. The hula hoop is zooming around her waist, and she's wearing her old fake-gra.s.s skirt. It's much shorter now than when she was eight. She's gotten very good in the last week. Her props are on a towel next to her. I pick up the football and toss it to her. She catches it neatly this time.

"The crowd roars," she says, holding it above her head as she twists her hips.

Walking toward us with a grocery bag swinging from each hand is Rick. I haven't seen him since the whole invisible thing. Lizzy doesn't notice him, since she's facing the wrong way, and I don't want her to get distracted. Lizzy tosses the ball back to me, and I catch it. Maybe he'll walk by quietly, and she won't even notice. No such luck.

"What on earth are you doing?" Rick asks, stifling a laugh.

"What does it look like?" Lizzy says.

"It looks like you're playing with a hula hoop. And you're wearing some kind of gra.s.s skirt."

"So what if I am?" Lizzy says, sticking out her chin. "Hula is a national sport in Hawaii."

"Last I checked, this is America," Rick says.

"Hawaii is in America!" I point out.

"You know what I mean," he says, but turns away from Lizzy and heads up the stairs. Before he disappears inside, he calls out, "Good luck at the tractor pull!"

"For the last time," Lizzy yells, "we are NOT doing the tractor pull!" Her hula hoop falls to the ground and wobbles for a few seconds before coming to a rest.

"When we win first place," she says, hands on her hips, "he won't be laughing anymore."

"And we won't let him have any of our Snickers," I reply, lifting up her hoop and handing it to her. "Now let's see you peel that banana again."

We practice the routine pretty much nonstop for the next two days, until Lizzy claims she now has a permanent red mark around her waist. By the time James calls on Thursday morning to say he's coming for us, we have the routine down cold.

"James!" Lizzy says as we slide into the cool backseat. "We missed you!"

"The limo hasn't been the same without you two," he replies, pulling away from the curb.

"Is Mr. Oswald okay?" I ask.

"He likes to say he has 'old bones.' Sometimes it's hard for him to get around much. But he's better. He's looking forward to seeing you both."

Hearing that makes me feel good. Lizzy smiles, too. Neither of us has said it, but I, at least, have started thinking of Mr. Oswald sort of like a grandfather.

"So what are we returning today?" Lizzy asks.

James shrugs. "I get my a.s.signment when you do." And with that, he puts up the window divider.

I lean back and enjoy the scenery. Usually all the people on busy streets like Fifth Avenue freak me out a little, but today it doesn't bother me. After all that stuff about everyone being connected, I feel warmer toward my fellow man. I munch contentedly on a sandwich.

"Jeremy?" Lizzy says, startling me. "I did something I never told you about."

I let the sandwich fall to my lap. My mind races with all the things Lizzy might have done. Opened the box somehow? Stole something really big? Kissed a boy? Rick! I bet she kissed Rick! When, after the seance? Or the tractor pull comment?

"It had to do with Mabel Billingsly," she says. "The woman with the Winnie-the-Pooh book?"

I breathe a sigh of relief. "What about her?"

"You know how Mr. Oswald said I should pay more attention to what people say and how it makes me feel?"

I nod, unable to imagine where this story is going, but grateful that it won't end with her kissing Rick. Not that I'd care if she kissed someone, just not him.

"So that night I looked up Mrs. Billingsly's phone number, and I called her."

"You did?"

She nods. "And I asked her what she thought the meaning of life was."

"No way."

"Way."

"What did she say?"

"That's the weird part," Lizzy says, taking a sip of soda and placing the can back in the cup holder. "She said the meaning of life is friendship. But the thing is, she lost her best friend sixty years ago by selling that book, but all this time, that's what was most important to her."

"Wow."

"Yeah. So I got to thinking, what if we tried to track down her old friend-the one with the funny name-and maybe we can get them back together?"

"Bitsy," I say. "Her name was Bitsy Solomon."

"Right! Bitsy! So what do you think?"

"She died a few years ago," I say quietly.

"Oh," Lizzy says, frowning. Then, "How do you know that?"

I told her what I learned on the Internet, and about Bitsy naming her foundation after the necklaces they both wore.

"Wow," Lizzy says. "Do you think Mrs. Billingsly knows?"

"Probably."

Neither of us says anything for a minute, and then Lizzy says, "You know what all this means, right?"

I shake my head.

"It means if you p.i.s.s me off, and we don't stay friends, that sixty years from now you'll regret p.i.s.sing me off."

I pop open a can of 7-Up. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better," she says, and turns to the window. She stares out for the rest of the ride.

Mr. Oswald opens the door for us. For the first time he's in regular pants, a b.u.t.ton-down shirt, and a white brimmed hat. Even though he looks a little frailer than the last time we saw him, he looks much better in these clothes than in his usual suit. More natural or something. Lizzy surprises all of us by running up and giving him a hug.

He laughs. "What's that for?"

Lizzy doesn't answer and doesn't let go.

"Honestly," he says, "I'm not dying! Just needed to rest the old bones for a few days."

I pry Lizzy away, and Mr. Oswald straightens his shirt. As we file inside, I can see nearly the whole house is boxed up now. His office shelves are still full though. I wonder what we'll be delivering today. The old globe? A baseball glove?

"Notebooks?" he asks.

We fish out our notebooks and hand them over. He takes them and sits in his big leather chair. To my surprise, he flips open the front cover of each one, scribbles something, and slides them back to us. I open mine to see that he has written his name and the date.

"You're not going to read them?" I ask.

He shakes his head and folds his hands together. "Your observations of life are your own. You don't need me or anyone telling you how to do it anymore."

"We don't?" Lizzy says. "What if the community service people want to collect them?"

"They probably won't," Mr. Oswald says. "But that's why I signed them, just in case."

"Mr. Oswald?" I ask as I slip my notebook in my backpack.

"Yes, Jeremy?"

"Did my mom tell you we're going away to New Jersey on Sat.u.r.day? I hope that's okay. I'm sorry we'll be missing work."

He smiles, but it's a sad smile. "This is our last day together."

"Huh?" Lizzy and I say together.

"My move is happening sooner than I expected. I'll need to wrap up a lot of loose ends before I go."

My stomach clenches. I know I should be glad that we have our freedom again, but all I feel is a sense of loss.

"No more limo rides?" Lizzy says.

"I'm afraid not," Mr. Oswald replies. "But to show my appreciation at how well you both did, I'd like you both to choose something from my shelves. Anything you like."

Lizzy is already halfway out of her seat.

I start to get up, too, but then hesitate. "But don't these still need to be returned to the people who p.a.w.ned them when they were kids?"

Mr. Oswald shakes his head. "The telescope was the last one. The rest of these objects have found their way to me over the years in the traditional manner. Go on, take a look."

Lizzy makes a beeline for the creepy blue-eyed doll. I guess that's what happens when your dad gives you trucks instead of dolls to play with as a baby. Mr. Muldoun swears he tried to get her to play with a Barbie, but she threw it out the window.

I scan the shelves, but I can't pick out anything that I really need. The old record player is kinda cool, and there's a huge dictionary on a stand, which is very tempting.

"Having trouble?" Mr. Oswald asks, stepping up behind me.

"I just can't choose."

"How about that suitcase?" he suggests, pointing to a hardback suitcase on the bottom shelf. "You could use it for your trip."

I hadn't really noticed it before. I bend down to take a look. It's one of those old-fashioned suitcases, covered with stickers from exotic ports around the world. At first I think it's just manufactured to look that way, but upon closer inspection, I see they are all real. The stickers have dates on them from the twenties up to the fifties. It's actually very, very cool. I could put books or comics in there. Or anything, really. "Thanks!" I tell him. "It's great." I close my hand around the handle and figure I would easily lift it off the shelf. Instead, I almost fall forward when I try to lift it.

"Oh, right!" Mr. Oswald says. "I'm sorry about that. I forgot that's where I stored the flotsam and jetsam people left in all the old furniture I've bought over the years."

Lizzy asks, "What the heck is flotsam and jetsam?"

"Little things like safety pins, pencils, b.u.t.tons, keys. Things that have a way of getting stuck in the backs of drawers. I have a hard time throwing anything out." Lizzy and I exchange an excited look while Mr. Oswald chuckles and says, "But of course one look at my home would tell you that much. I'll have James empty the suitcase for you, and then you'll be-"

"No!" Lizzy and I yell at the same time.

Mr. Oswald steps back a foot.

I hurry to explain. "If it's okay, can I take it with the flotsam and jetsam inside?"

"Of course, but why?"

I open my mouth to explain, but glance at Lizzy first. She nods, so I say, "You remember that box I showed you? The one with all the keyholes?"

"Of course. An interesting box. Unusual."

"Well, we kinda have only one more week to find the keys to open it."

"And you think they might be in there?" He casts the suitcase a doubtful look.

"We've already tried half the keys in this city," Lizzy says. "So it's worth a shot."

"By all means, take them then. As a collector, I always admire a good quest. I bet your father did, too, Jeremy, from what you've told me about him." He pats me on the shoulder. "I admire such dedication. Looking for one stamp his whole life. Regular people might think doing such a thing would be frustrating, but it's not. There's joy in the search itself. It's exciting."

I nod. "That's how he felt about it. Remember, Lizzy?"

She smiles. "That's why he wanted us to start our own collections."

Mr. Oswald presses the intercom and calls for James to come in and to bring a cart with wheels. While we wait, he says, "Don't get me wrong, finding what you're looking for is wonderful, too. The harder something is to acquire, the more satisfying it is when you finally find it."

James arrives, and Mr. Oswald asks him to bring the suitcase out to the car. James loads it on the cart. "Want me to take the doll, too?" he asks Lizzy, trying to hide a smile.