I throw my arms around her. "I love it!"

"I tested it out on the roof. The view is a bit fuzzy because of all the lights, but it worked better than I expected. I'm sorry we couldn't have brought it out here. You can see the stars much more clearly this far away from the city."

"You can bring it next year," Grandma says. "Turn the picture over."

I flip the picture over in my hand. Stuck to the back is a Post-it note with the words, The Sky and Telescope Foundation, membership good for one year.

"That's my contribution," Grandma says. "You can go to their building anytime you like to do research, or to talk to other like-minded folk. It's in Midtown, though, so you'll have to take a subway or bus to get there."

"Is that going to be okay?" Mom asks. "I could make arrangements to take you, if you'd rather."

I pause for a second and then say, "No, that's okay. I can do it now. It's all about the Metrocard."

"Are you ready for my gift now?" Lizzy asks, bouncing up and down on her knees in antic.i.p.ation.

I nod, taking another quick bite of my sandwich. Lizzy reaches into her beach bag and pulls out a box wrapped in last week's Sunday Comics. I rip it open to discover a smaller lumpy package, four of my favorite comics, and the new Betty and Veronica double issue. Lizzy laughs. "I got you that one just to prove to you that people would buy it even without seeing the flyer."

"That's not exactly proving my point. You did see the flier!"

"Ah, a tiny detail. Open the rest."

I open the smaller package to find the usual a.s.sortment: Twizzlers, Skittles, Fun Dip, Bottle Caps, Runts, and two Peppermint Patties.

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

"I'll s.p.a.ce 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 cl.u.s.ter 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 a.s.signed 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 had just lost its mother at only two days old. Do you remember? The zookeepers put the bear cub in with a tiger who had just delivered a litter of her own a few days earlier. The tiger welcomed the cub as one of her own. You stood there for the longest time, tears silently running down your cheeks, watching this tiger nurse her new infant. I asked you what was the matter. You said, "I didn't know anything could be so beautiful." Your mother and I looked at each other and were awed by you. I don't know if you remember this event now, five years is a long time in a child's (excuse me, TEENAGER's) life. But it made me feel confident that you'd be ready to receive this box one day. I hope you won't be disappointed.

I want to tell you some things I have learned in the twenty-five years since that fortune-teller in Atlantic City gave me such a dire prediction. Of course I hope I am there beside you on your 13th birthday to tell you all this myself. If I'm not, I hope you can feel that I am always with you. Sorry at how corny that sounds. You'll understand when you have kids one day.

When we got back to Brooklyn from Atlantic City the day of my thirteenth birthday, your grandma made a special dinner for Arthur and me. Arthur had just lost a ball game, and neither of us was feeling very much like celebrating. I asked my father-your grandfather-if someone could really predict another person's future. He said the future changes every day. He said we, not someone else, have the power to create our own lives. Then he told me an old folktale that I asked him to write down afterward. Now I'm going to pa.s.s it on to you.

An old man is teaching his grandson about life. "A fight is going on inside me," he said to the boy. "It is a terrible fight, and it is between two wolves. One wolf is evil. He is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other wolf is good. He is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compa.s.sion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside you-and inside every other person, too."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?"

The old man replied simply, "The one you feed."

Even as children, we have the power to create our own lives. We choose which wolf to feed, and this creates who we become, how we see the world, what we do with the brief amount of time allotted to us. From my 13th birthday forward, I basically grew up with a deadline over my head. I thought, what if this woman was right? If I only had 4O years, how many more times would I eat chocolate cake? (Turned out to be a LOT.) How many more times would I see a sunrise over a beach? Four or five? How many more times will I listen to jazz? Ten times? A hundred? How many more times will I hug my son good night?

I made sure to pay attention to everything I was doing. To be fully in the moment. Because that's all life is, really, a string of moments that you knot together and carry with you. Hopefully most of those moments are wonderful, but of course they won't all be. The trick is to recognize an important one when it happens. Even if you share the moment with someone else, it is still yours. Your string is different from anyone else's. It is something no one can ever take away from you. It will protect you and guide you, because it IS you. What you hold here, in your hand, in this box, this is my string.

Until recently, I thought it was death that gave meaning to life-that having an endpoint is what spurred us on to embrace life while we had it. But I was wrong. It isn't death that gives meaning to life. Life gives meaning to life. The answer to the meaning of life is hidden right there inside the question.

What matters is holding tight to that string, and not letting anyone tell us our goals aren't big enough or our interests are silly. But the voices of others aren't the only ones we need to worry about. We tend to be our own worst critics. Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote: "Most of the shadows in this life are caused by our standing in our own sunshine." I found that quote on a sc.r.a.p of paper stuck to the back of that mongo grandfather clock. (I wonder if your mother finally got rid of that thing as she always threatened!) Wisdom is found in the least expected places. Always keep your eyes open. Don't block your own sunshine. Be filled with wonder.

I know it wasn't easy for you to open this box. (Don't ask me how I know-parents know everything.) Life is all about the journey. I hope this was one you'll never forget. I love you, Jeremy. I am so proud of you. I hope Lizzy is with you. No doubt she is turning into a beautiful young woman. And I'm sure she's as feisty as ever! Please tell her there's something in here for her, too. Take care of each other. Hug your mom and grandma for me. Have a blast putting your own strings together.

Love, Dad When I finish reading, I don't lift my eyes off the page. I run my finger over the ink like I used to do with the writing on the outside of the box. Strange how these squiggles and dots turn into letters and words that can change your life. I look over at Lizzy. Tears are streaming down her face. I heard her give a sharp intake of air when I got to the part in the letter that mentioned her. "Are you okay?" I ask.

She nods through her tears. "Are... you?"

I lay the letter in my lap. "I think so."

She wipes her eyes and nose on her sleeve. Through sniffles, she asks, "Should we see what's inside the wrapping paper?"

I rest my hand on it. It's very bulky. "What do you think it is? How could Dad's string of moments be in here?"

"Your dad moves in mysterious ways," Lizzy says.

I reach into the box and feel the outline of the oddly shaped package. It's kind of b.u.mpy. I lift it out of the box and am surprised at how heavy it is. I had thought most of the weight had come from the box itself, but the empty box is very light. I slowly tear into the wrapping paper until I've created enough of a gap to rip it wide open.

"No way!" Lizzy says, then throws back her head and laughs.

Inside the wrapping paper is probably the last thing I would have guessed.

It's not an old book, or a savings bond, or a treasure map. Nope. Staring up at me is a pile of rocks.

Chapter 20: The String.

Seriously. It's a pile of rocks. I pick one up, then the other. They range in size from a Mento all the way up to a Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter Cup. Some are white, some brown, some smooth, some rough. About twenty of them. A sheet of notebook paper is stuck in the middle. I unfold it. It's Dad's handwriting again.

Rock #1 From the Boardwalk, Atlantic City, 13 Rock #2 From outside the house of the girl I gave my first kiss to, 13 Rock #3 From the first flea market my parents took me to in Queens, 14 Rock #4 From outside the Tri-State Twin Dance, where I met your mom, 15 Rock #5 From outside Fink's Comics the day my father let me watch it alone, 16 Rock #6 From the courtyard at my high school graduation, 17 Rock #7 From Oregon, the first time I saw the Pacific Ocean, 19 Rock #8 From the cemetery at my father's funeral, 23 I skim ahead a few until I see my name. Rock #10 From outside the hospital where Jeremy Fink is born, 30. A lot of the rest of them have to do with me-a rock from the park the first day I walked, and one from this very lake the first time he took me here "fishing." The last one on the list is from a hotel fountain where he and Mom went for their last anniversary.

These are his moments. This is his string. I hand the list to Lizzy.

While she's looking at it, I sift through the rocks. I wonder if he remembered which ones were which. He didn't label them in any way that I can tell. I catch sight of something blue underneath the rocks and push them aside to get at it. "Um, Lizzy, I think this is for you."

I push the pile toward her, and she looks at it quizzically. Then she quickly reaches her hand in and ever-so-carefully pulls out a playing card. At first all we can see is the blue design on the back of the card. Then she flips it over and gasps. It's the jack of diamonds, one of the last two cards missing from her collection. I peer closer. Written across the middle, clearly in my dad's scrawl, are the words Expect the unexpected.

"But how... how did he...," she stammers, staring down at it.

I'm as freaked out as she is. At the time of the accident, Lizzy had just barely started her collection. Trying to keep my voice from shaking, I reply, "Like you said, my dad moves in mysterious ways." I can't believe I was afraid even for a second that the contents of the box would be disappointing. They are exactly right. They are perfect.

"But you were there," she cries. "I didn't even find the eight of hearts until a few weeks ago!"

"I know."

"So how did he-"

"I don't know."

"But-"

I lift the pile of rocks back into the box. "Maybe some things aren't meant to be known. Maybe they're just meant to be accepted."

"It's like magic," she says, her eyes shining. "Not the kind of magic where you pull a quarter out of a kid's ear, but real magic."

I nod, unable to think of any other explanation. Not letting the card out of her hand, Lizzy helps me pack everything back into our bags. I steady the boat so she can climb in, and then I undo the rope and follow. The whole ride back to the beach, Lizzy goes on about how she can't believe it with the card, and how it was really nice of my dad to include her. She's so happy, she's glowing. I'm half-listening and half-thinking about everything, and then it hits me like a ton of bricks. I know how the card got there. I know why Dad knew the box would be hard to open. I'm so shocked by the images pouring through my brain that as soon as the boat grounds on the beach, I scramble out.

Only the boat is nowhere near the beach. This slowly dawns on me when I find myself standing shoulder deep in the lake. Lizzy is leaning over the side of the boat frantically trying to get my attention.