Rebel's Tag (7 page)

I wasn't important enough for him to bother sticking around.

He's a stranger. Is he a stranger?

Terrible feelings come out of the past. Feelings about dark holes and awful losses. There are murky memories of my mom crying at night. Hating the cards we made at school on Father's Day. Quitting soccer because there was no dad, no
man
, to slap my back and say, “Good game!”

I feel ripped off. I don't want to take a chance on him.

And then I re-read his letters. There's that question in the very first one. Am I willing to forgive him? I think about how Indi forgave me. Norman and Mary too. They said there wasn't enough time to hold a grudge. I think about Mom saying she'd rather do better. I think about how losing people he loved made Grandpa Max want to hide. And I get it. He's human. He didn't know where he fit anymore. Maybe, after all this time, he fits with me again?

How can I
not
forgive him? And when I get to that thought, it just happens. And I find out that forgiveness feels like being on a roof. Like freedom.

Space and Time is such a narrow slot among all the shops on Robson Street that we walk past it twice before we find the door. The store is barely wider than the doorway, but once we're inside, it stops being small. The room stretches back, long and narrow. And it soars up, way up, into blackness. There must be a ceiling somewhere, but all I can see is space. Models of every planet in the solar system hang above our heads. Indi and I stand still and crane our necks.

“There's Uranus,” I say.

A chuckle emerges from the clutter on our left. “Careful,” a voice chides us. “The correct way to say it is YOOR-ah-nus.”

“What?”

“You heard me. So, you like the cosmic trickster?”

“The what?” I say.

“Astrologers say Uranus causes all sorts of trouble when it orbits through certain transits.”

“Um. Yeah.” I look for the owner of the voice and find a grinning young guy wearing
a weird pair of glasses. He almost blends in with all the clocks and gizmos. “Are you Eli Jones?” I ask.

“That's me. And you are?”

“Sam Connor. My grandfather...”

Eli cuts me off. “You're Max's grandson.” He isn't smiling anymore.

“Yeah,” I say. “I've got his pocket watch. He said you could fix it.”

“Well, yes. I can.” Eli hesitates. “I guess I can understand why you'd want that now.”

I don't know why, but I suddenly feel cold. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, considering. You know.”

The chill increases. “No, I don't know. What are you talking about?”

Eli looks away. He pulls the glasses off. He steps out from behind the counter and raises his arm, like he's going to hug me. I shrink back, and he lets the arm drop. “Look,” he says, “I was really hoping you'd find out some other way. Like maybe someone would tell your mom. I don't know why Max asked me to do it. I'm not really good with words. But Max asked me to tell
you. If it happened to play out like this. I couldn't say no.”

And I know what he's going to say.

My voice seems to come from somewhere outside of me, but I have to speak. “He's dead, isn't he?”

Eli nods.

Indi shuffles up close and puts her arm around me.

“When?” I croak.

“Day before yesterday.” Eli clears his throat. “He had cancer. He just couldn't hold out any longer.”

I want to hit something. Hit it really, really hard. My hand forms a fist and I pull away from Indi.

“Whoa, there. Easy!” Eli steps toward me again. “I'm sorry, Sam. I wish things had gone differently for you guys.” He lifts his hands, palms up. “I'm really sorry.”

“Why didn't Henry say anything?” I yell. “He knew Grandpa was dying, didn't he? You knew. Why didn't you tell me? You're supposed to be his friends, aren't you?”

“Yeah. We are. And believe me, we argued with him about it. But he made us promise not to tell. He hoped you'd see him because you wanted to, not because you felt sorry for him.”

I pull the watch out of my pocket and drop it on Eli's counter. “That's not good enough. It's not right.”

Eli nods. “Maybe so. You think we should have broken our word to him and told you?”

I stare at him.

Eli shakes his head. “He knew you were mad at him when he didn't hear from you. He said he understood that. But now...Well, I hate to come down on you at a time like this, but who are you most angry with now? Him, for taking too long to get over the past? Or yourself, for doing the same thing?”

“Nobody told me there was a time limit!”

“There's always a time limit, Sam. Always.”

I can't think of anything to say. We stand in silence, and then I hear them. The ticking of clocks. Lots of clocks. Marking off the seconds, the minutes, the hours. Clocking life. I find myself staring into the face of a tall, wooden clock—a grandfather clock. And the anger drains out of me as fast as it took hold.

I feel that breath again, on the back of my neck, but I don't turn this time. I know he's not there. Not in the way I want him to be. “Come on, Indi,” I say. “Let's go.”

“What about the watch?” Eli asks.

“Keep it,” I say.

“Sam, wait. He wanted you to have it. I'm going to repair it. And I have one more letter for you.” Eli dives behind the counter and pulls out a familiar-looking envelope. He holds it toward me. “Please. Take it.”

I can't take it. But Indi reaches out and Eli hands it to her. “I'll give it to him later,” she murmurs.

“Good. And one more thing. Just so you know. He didn't want a funeral, but he'll be buried on Monday, next to your grandma and your dad.”

I start walking. I burst outside and march down the street, my feet pounding the pavement double time.

“Sam!” Indi calls.

I walk faster, harder, my arms pumping at my side.

“Wait up, will you? Sam, please stop.”

I don't want to stop. What does she want from me? There's nothing to say. I just want to be alone right now. I need to be alone. Buried next to my Dad? I see
that deep, black hole in the ground. My father's grave. Grandpa walking away. I start running. I'm not looking back.

Not looking back.

Not looking.

Not.

Grandpa Max, when he left Dad's grave, and left me...He never looked back.

I stop.

Indi is crying when she catches up to me. “I'm sorry, Sam! I'm so sorry.”

I just shake my head.

“It's my fault,” she sobs.

“What? What are you talking about?” I ask.

“I should have made you come down here sooner. But I let you wait, even though I had this bad feeling...I'm sorry!”

I can't say anything for a minute. My thoughts are spinning. Her fault? “That's
crazy, Indi! It's not your fault. I wasn't ready.”

She hiccups. “But I should have talked you into coming.”

I take hold of her arm and give it a little shake. “Indi, I don't know who to blame, but it's not you.”

She sniffles. “But the way you took off from me...”

“It wasn't you,” I say.

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath. “I know that. But it's not your fault either, Sam.”

I take a big breath too. “Does it matter whose fault it is? It doesn't change anything. Maybe this is just the way it had to be. Like destiny.”

“Wow.” She looks at me like she's never seen me before. Slowly, she adds, “You're way ahead of me, Sam Connor.”

“Yeah?” I know what she means. But I don't want to talk anymore, so I come up with a feeble joke. “That's because I run faster.”

“Sam. You know...never mind. Let's go home.”

And for once in her life, Indi stays quiet. When we get off the bus she gives me a hug; then she puts Grandpa Max's letter in my pocket. “We'll talk later, okay?”

I nod. “Thanks, Indi.”

“Hey, anytime.”

Her words echo as I go inside and up to my room. Anytime. Anytime.

There's always a time limit.

I think about Norman and Mary saying there's not enough time to stay angry.

There's always a time limit.

I think about Henry Chan saying, “It's about time you showed up.”

All those clocks ticking away the time.

I open the letter. The writing looks different.

Dear Samuel,

A kind nurse is writing this for me. Hope you don't mind. The medicine I'm taking makes me clumsy. The next thing I have to tell you is how sorry I am we never got to meet again. The cancer is moving fast now. I thought I had more
time. Someone my age ought to know better.

All I can say now is I hope you get to be wiser than I ever was. When you were a wee boy, you were so much like me. Stubborn. Sensitive. Curious. A bit of a rebel. I loved you for it. Seems like some qualities really are bred in the bone. Known by the heart of the tree? But like anything, those things have a good and bad side. The thing to do is build on your good traits. Do you think being stubborn is a bad thing? It sure can be, and I proved it. But the flip side of that is it also gives you the strength to endure. You see?

I was slow in figuring that out. Being sensitive and stubborn, I held a grudge against life itself. It wasn't a wise thing to do. I let you down, and myself too. I missed out on knowing you. The things I really wish I'd given you are love and time. My time. The cradle and the watch are poor substitutes, but it gives me some comfort that you have them.

I don't know if any of this makes sense.
I'm sorry. Nurse says I'm doing fine, and I want to say one more thing. If you ever get a chance, please look at the planet Uranus.

The Nurse is looking at me like I'm crazy. I never did get to see Uranus because it takes so long to make its orbit—eighty-four years. To tell you the truth, I don't know why I'm curious about that planet. Eli Jones says all free spirits like Uranus and it puts its mark on some of us. I'd say the Uranus rebel mark means the need to find your own path, to not accept the ordinary. I wasn't a free spirit, but I wish I had been. I was finally heading that way. Maybe now, when I move on?

Well, dear boy, I'll say farewell. Please know that you come from a cradle of love. Make time for all that's important. Look up to the vast unknown, and dream.

Love

Grandpa Max

There aren't many of us gathered at the grave. My mom, Indi, Joe the cook, Henry Chan and Eli Jones. There is no minister. We stand in awkward silence, waiting.

Waiting for what? It's wrong to lay a body in the ground and not say anything. I feel this. I think all of us do. Everyone shifts from one foot to the other. We keep our eyes down. A couple of guys in work clothes stand behind us. Finally they come
forward and begin shoveling dirt. It goes over the coffin, covers it, starts filling the hole. We keep waiting.