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  I sit on the edge of a chair and wait.

  Norman paces back and forth a few times, and then he lowers himself into the chair across from mine. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call the police. No, wait. First I want to know what the hell you were doing on my roof. What’s the big idea?”

  “Magic,” I blurt.

  Mary almost drops a teacup. “Magic? Some sort of witchcraft on our roof?” She puts a hand over her heart. “That awful red...!”

  “No! Not like that. It’s red paint. And it was an accident! I didn’t mean for it to go all over the place. I had a faulty can and it just sort of spewed.” They’re staring at me like I’m talking another language, friggin’ Sumerian or something.

  I look down at the table. I start again, from the beginning. I tell them about Indi and me playing hide-and-seek. I tell them about loving the feeling of being up on a roof. I tell them about wanting to keep that feeling alive and about the symbol for Uranus. The whole time I talk, they stay quiet. I keep wondering why I’m telling them, but since I started, I keep going. Right up until tonight.

  When I’m done, Mary sets a cup of tea in front of each of us and sits down. I sneak a glance at her, and I swear she’s almost smiling. Maybe she didn’t really hear what I said?

  Norman slurps his tea for a minute. Drums his fingers on the table. Finally he says, “Do your parents know about this?”

  “No,” I say.

  “Well, maybe we don’t need to involve the police. But your parents have to know. That’s a foolish thing, climbing around on roofs in the dark. You and your friend are lucky you haven’t been hurt.”

  “Listen, Mr., um, Norman. I don’t want my mom to find out. And I sure don’t want to get Indi in trouble.”

  “That may be,” he says. “But I wouldn’t feel right about not telling your folks.”

  “You can’t tell my dad,” I say.

  “Why not?”

  “Cuz he’s dead.”

  Mary clicks her tongue and Norman shakes his head. “I’m sorry about that,” he says.

  He goes quiet again. I take a sip of tea and Mary gets up. She comes back with a plate of cookies. This is too weird. I’m sitting here at one in the morning on a school night, having tea and cookies with this old couple.

  Then Mary says, “I used to love sitting on a roof.”

  Norman gives her a sharp look, and she takes a cookie and munches. She pushes the plate toward me.

  “Mary,” Norman says.

  “Yes, dear?” Mary says.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake! Listen here, if we don’t call the police and we don’t tell his mother, what the heck are we supposed to do? Shoot him?”

  Mary glares at Norman. “Honestly!” she huffs. “You know I can’t stand it when you talk like an old redneck. Shame on you. You used to like sitting on the roof too!”

  “Well that didn’t mean I went sneaking around like a thief, lobbing paint on other folks’ houses! Sam here needs to learn a lesson.” He looks to me for support. “Don’t you, Sam?”

  Jeez. I don’t think these two ever had kids. They don’t have a clue. On the other hand, Norman looks pretty mad again. I nod.

  “You see that?” Norman thumps his fist on the table. “Even Sam has the sense to know he’s an idiot.”

  The sense to know I’m an idiot? That’s hilarious. Man, I wish Indi was here.

  “Fine, then. Have it your way. Shoot him.” Mary crosses her arms and looks away, like she’s done with this.

  “Mary,” Norman says.

  “Yes, dear?” Mary says.

  “You’re a difficult woman.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  I’m starting to get nervous. What if they’re really whackos and Norman does pull out a gun? I point my feet toward the door. Norman holds his head in his hands the way Mom does when she’s thinking. But who knows what he’s thinking about?

  Mary looks at me. “You enjoy painting do you, Sam?”

  “Um. Yeah. Sure,” I say.

  She grins. “Then it’s all settled. Our shed needs painting something terrible. You can start tomorrow. Mind you now, I don’t want red. I want white and gray to match the house.”

  Norman’s head comes up, and then his arms spread wide. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks.

  “You would have, dear,” Mary assures him. “You would have. Now, Sam, you’d best run along. Norman will have everything ready for you after school tomorrow. Isn’t that right, Norman?”

  Norman nods. I go while the going is good.

  chapter eleven

  All day I feel like that turtle trying to drag its butt up onto the rock. By the time school is out, I’m way too tired to paint a shed. After I got home last night, I barely slept. These questions kept repeating in my brain: Why were Norman and Mary so nice to me? Did they forgive me? How? I’m just some kid they don’t even know who messed with them.

  I don’t think it’s that easy, forgiving someone. I think if I go to Norman and Mary’s, I’ll find out they’re still mad. I really don’t want to go there. It’s not like I told them I would. They just assumed I’d go along with their plan.

  And another thing: Why am I stuck with all these old people lately? What’s up with that? Enough already.

  So I go home. I need to relax. But I look out the window and see Indi walking down the street. I want to go hang with her, tell her all this stuff. Only she hasn’t forgiven me, has she? I don’t get it. I make myself a snack, turn on the TV, flip through the channels, and there’s no way I feel relaxed. I keep looking at that cradle Mom left in the living room. I keep pulling the watch out of my pocket and looking at it. I feel like crap.

  It’s no use. I have to go paint the shed. I have to find out how they forgave me. If they even did.

  When I get there, the first thing I look at is the roof, and it’s not good. Norman is up there. He’s wobbling around like a kid doing his first roll on a skateboard. Mary is standing in the driveway yelling at him.

  “You’re an old fool, Norman. Get down from there!”

  He says something back and she says, “What’s that, dear?”

  He yells something about Pete.

  Man.

  I shuffle up the driveway and stand beside Mary. “Um. Hey. What’s up?”

  Mary doesn’t miss a beat. “Norman is up. See if you can make him come down, won’t you, Sam?”

  What can I do? I yell, “Norman?”

  He startles and this is bad because the wobble gets worse for a second. Then he straightens up and turns, very slowly, to glare at me. “You missed a spot!”

  He’s right. I can still see that last splotch of red, down near the edge of the roof. “So let me get it,” I say.

  He shakes his head. “Too late. I’m already here.”

  “Oh, my Lord,” Mary murmurs. “He is so stubborn.”

  I see what’s going to happen now. He’s going to fall. That crazy old man is going to slip and crash and roll off the edge of that roof. He’s not going to bounce and clatter like the paint can. He’s going to bust all over the pavement like a watermelon...And it’s my fault. My fault.

  “Please!” I scream. “Stop!”

  Norman says, “For Pete’s sake! You two are a royal pain in the arse, you know that? A man can’t go up on his own roof for five minutes without all this jabber? Fine. I’m coming down.”

  “Thank goodness,” Mary breathes.

  “But not until I cover up this spot!” And Norman sinks to his knees, shimmies down the slope, raises my can of gray paint and takes aim. Sprays. Breaks out in a huge grin. “There! You see? I did it.”

  He did. He got the spot. The ruby red is gone. I raise my fist in the air. “Yeah, Norman! All right.”

  He’s not going to fall. He wobbles across the roof and dangles his feet over the edge to find the rungs of a ladder. I sprint over to hold it for him. When he reaches the ground, he’s still grinning. And wobbling. Only the wobble is more like a swagger, like he just scored
a major touchdown.

  “How about that?” he says.

  “Cool,” I tell him.

  “Darn right. Cool.”

  “I think we need a cup of tea,” Mary says.

  “Mary?” says Norman.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I don’t need a cup of tea. I need a...” He stops.

  “Yes, dear?” Mary frowns.

  “A cold one, dammit. How about it, Sam? Join me in a soda pop?”

  I really thought he was going to say something else. “For sure,” I answer. “A pop would be good.”

  So we have a pop. Nobody mentions the shed until I bring it up. “Um. So, did you get the paint?”

  “Eh?” says Norman.

  “For the shed,” I say.

  “Well, now,” says Mary. “Norman and I had some words about that. I want the shed painted gray with white trim and he wants white with gray trim. We just don’t know. What do you think, Sam?”

  I look at them. There is no right answer. I shrug. Then I blurt, “What I really want to know is why you forgave me.”

  They stare at me like I just spoke friggin’ Sumerian again. Finally, Norman says, “Well, you were sorry, weren’t you?”

  I nod.

  “Okay. That’s what we thought. And we’re too old to stay mad. Not enough time for that,” says Norman.

  “Huh?”

  Mary pats my shoulder. “What he means, dear, is life is too short to waste it holding a grudge. If we stayed angry, why, we’d feel just dreadful. Anger is an awfully heavy thing to carry around. It wears you out something terrible.”

  “Not only that,” Norman says with a wink—an actual wink. “This whole deal gave me a chance to impress my woman here.”

  Mary giggles.

  I can’t help it. I say, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Nope,” says Norman.

  “Well,” I say, “okay. Thanks. A lot.”

  “You’re welcome,” they say, together.

  “Tell you what,” I hesitate, and then go ahead. “I’ll be happy to paint your shed when you decide about the color.”

  “We knew we could count on you,” Mary says.

  “Could be decided when hell freezes over,” Norman says.

  Mary clucks her tongue. “Such bad language, Norman, with the boy’s cabbage ears listening.”

  They are so weird. Nice. But weird.

  “There is one thing though,” Norman says.

  I feel my shoulders hunch. “Yeah?”

  “We’d feel a whole lot better if we knew you weren’t going on roofs in the dark anymore. If we thought you were going to keep doing that, we’d have to speak to your mother.”

  I don’t have an answer for him, but I feel something slipping away from me, something I’ve had since I was eleven years old. I don’t want to let it go.

  chapter twelve

  When I get home, Mom has dinner ready. We’re halfway through the meal when she gives me one of her mother looks. “Are you feeling all right, Sam?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She frowns. “You don’t look fine.”

  She tries to put her hand on my forehead, but I shift away. “I’m okay. Just a bit tired.”

  “Just tired? I wonder. Is something bothering you?”

  I shrug. “Nope.”

  Her gaze narrows. “Is everything all right at school?”

  “Yup. All fine.”

  “What about with you and Indi? She hasn’t called lately.”

  Man, mothers sure can be nosy. “Mom, everything’s okay. Indi’s just busy right now.” I shove in a mouthful of food so she can’t expect me to say more. No way can I tell her Indi’s mad at me because her questions wouldn’t stop and I can’t explain. I’d be grounded for life if she knew what happened.

  “What about Grandpa Max?” she asks. “Have you heard from him again?”

  I don’t want to tell her about Grandpa Max either. Not yet. Part of me wants to show her the watch, but then she’d want to talk about that too. Give me advice. The whole deal with him—I want to work it out on my own. I’ll show her the watch as soon as I’ve got things figured out. But she knows I got another letter out of the cradle. I have to tell her something.

  “Yeah, Grandpa Max said he forgot to return the cradle. He stored it when we lived in some small place. It’s supposed to go to the oldest Connor grandchild.”

  This is the perfect thing to tell Mom. Her face lights up. “That’s right! I’m so glad he remembered to give it to you. It’s wonderful to have a family heirloom like that, isn’t it?”

  “For sure.” I yawn. “Man, I’m really tired. Think I’ll go do some homework and then go to bed early.”

  She nods and I make my escape.

  I head for my room but can’t even think about homework, never mind do it. I think about Indi instead. Maybe I finally know why she’s so mad. It’s got to do with me taking something away from her and being too stupid to know I was doing it. I work it around and around in my head but can’t make it simple. Not simple enough to put into words. I keep trying. I practice mumbling the words. Indi, I’m sorry I didn’t see ... I’m sorry I didn’t get how you felt about ...

  I can’t picture myself saying this stuff out loud. But maybe I could send her an email? It takes a while to get something that sounds okay:

  Hey, Indi. How’s it going? Listen, I know why you’re mad at me. It’s because I wrecked our kid magic. I knew you didn’t like me tagging the roofs. It’s like I was leaving garbage on a mountain. But I didn’t care about what you thought. And when it got ugly, you couldn’t stand it anymore, right? So I’m really sorry. I think I know how you feel. The magic is gone for me too. That sucks. I wish some things didn’t have to change. Like us being best friends?

  Sam

  Five minutes later, the phone rings. “Sam?”

  I feel a rush of relief. “Hey, Indi.”

  “I read your letter,” she says. “It’s good.”

  “Thanks.” I take a deep breath. “I really screwed up, huh?”

  There’s a pause. Then, “Yeah, you did. You’re human. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I was really upset too because the roof magic is history. Only I think it would have happened sooner or later. It’s not all your fault. Some things just stop fitting.”

  “Yeah. I guess.” A prickle runs over my scalp. I don’t want to be one of the things that doesn’t fit.

  “Like my dolls and my stuffies. I gave most of them away the other day, and my mom was practically crying.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. I think she’d keep me a baby forever if she could. You know my friend, Sarah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We were talking about this stuff and we can’t wait to finish school. It’s going to be great. Her cousin graduated last year, right?”

  “Right,” I say.

  “Now she’s gone backpacking in Europe. How cool is that?”

  And off she goes, talking a streak. Just like always. I don’t tell her to stop. I just soak it up. After a while she asks, “So what’s been going on with you, Sam?”

  “A bit. I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?” It’ll take an hour to tell Indi everything, and I’m too tired to talk anymore.

  “Okay. Want to hang out after school?”

  “Yeah,” I say, “that would be good.”

  “But, Sam?”

  “What?”

  “Letting stuff go...like the roofing,” she says, “it is sad.”

  It is. But when we hang out after school and I tell her everything, I feel okay. Like everything’s all right. Indi loves my gold watch. She hugs me when I tell her there’s no way I’ll sell it. She can’t wait to meet Norman and Mary. And she totally takes over planning the trip to Space and Time.

  “Can I go with you? I’m going with you. Let’s go on Saturday. No, wait. Why not tomorrow, after school? Oh, I can’t. My cousins are coming over. But maybe Friday?”

 
“I don’t know. I’m not in any hurry.”

  “But don’t you want to get the watch fixed? Maybe this Eli guy can give you your grandpa’s phone number or something. Don’t you want to see him?”

  Do I want to see him? I still don’t know. I need to think about it. I guess I do, but maybe that means I have to forget that he ran out on me. I look at Indi and say, “Yeah, I want to get the watch fixed. But there’s no rush. We’ll go in a while.”

  She narrows her eyes and studies me. I put on a smile and shrug.

  “Okay,” she says. “Whatever. Let me know when you’re ready.”

  It takes a few weeks before I’m ready. I think about it every day. Part of me is itching to see Grandpa Max. But the other part still resents how he ditched me.

  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.