Mr. Hampton looked sideways at Arthur. “So what would you choose as the thing you’re least proud of, Saint Arthur?”
“Throwing the brick at you,” Arthur answered, without even pausing to think. He felt guilty he hadn’t apologized yet. He’d started to say something a couple of times when they’d been working in the garage together, but then he’d chickened out.
“I told you that you saved the project,” Mr. Hampton said.
“I still feel bad.”
“Well, then go and put your soda bottle on the tree. That way all the guilt you’re still carrying around inside you will flow out and be gone for good.”
Arthur said he’d probably cause a flood.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Hampton replied with a wry smile. “Well, go on.” He waved one arm. “And here.” He dumped the rest of his soda on the ground beside his chair. “Take mine. Lord knows I’ve done some things I’m not proud of this past year.”
Although it seemed silly, Arthur took the bottles over to the shrub and stuck them on the ends of two half-dead branches. They looked ridiculous—two empty Nesbitt’s bottles wobbling on the ends of a straggly bush.
But he had to admit it kind of helped. He pictured all the anger, frustration, sadness, guilt, and everything else he couldn’t deal with pouring out and hissing as it hit the ground, the way rain does on hot pavement.
“So how long do you keep the bottles on the tree?” he asked Hampton when he got back to his chair.
He laughed. “Till they run out.”
Well, that was never gonna happen, Arthur decided.
He pointed at the third, unopened soda and asked Hampton, “You want the last one?”
“No, I’ve had plenty. You can have it, young man.” Mr. Hampton tugged his sweater tighter around his shoulders, as if he was getting chilled. The square of sunlight had moved away from their spot. “And after you’re done with it, you can leave it on the tree for the Throne of the Third Heaven,” he added.
Arthur looked at Mr. Hampton in surprise. “Why?”
The old man sighed and squinted upward. “For all the regrets I have about it. See, I wasted too much time in life before doing what I was meant to do. That’s the mistake I made. I didn’t start soon enough.” He pointed a shaky finger at Arthur. “Take it from me: Don’t wait for a better time. I waited too long, and now the people aren’t going to get to see everything I want them to see.”
Arthur had no idea what Mr. Hampton was talking about. “Who won’t get to see everything?”
“The people who are coming.”
Arthur looked around the empty alleyway. “What people?”
“You’ll see,” Mr. Hampton insisted mysteriously, closing his eyes again.
There was a long silence. Arthur wasn’t sure if Hampton had fallen asleep or what, but he kept quiet. The guy seemed like he needed to rest.
Mr. Hampton’s eyes opened again. “If something happens to me, I want you to promise me something.”
“All right,” Arthur said uneasily. “What is it?”
“I want you to promise me that you’ll be the next Director of Special Projects for the State of Eternity.”
Arthur thought he was kidding. “I don’t think you’d really want me to direct any project for you,” he said with a half-joking laugh. “I’m not very good at the state of anything, let alone eternity.”
“No, this is very serious. It is not a joke, young man.” Mr. Hampton leaned forward, his dark eyes gazing hard at Arthur. “I want you to promise me that if something happens to me, you will be the next Director of Special Projects for the State of Eternity and save my creation”—he pointed at the garage—“for the people who are coming.”
“All right.” Arthur shrugged. “Sure.”
“No, I want you to say you promise me.”
“Okay, I promise,” Arthur agreed, just so Hampton would calm down and stop talking about crazy stuff like invisible people coming down the alley and states of eternity.
“I’m counting on you, Saint Arthur,” Hampton told him. He squinted up at the sky. “Now I think we’d best get busy working before it gets too late.”
After putting the last bottle on the tree, they went into the garage. Arthur helped Hampton move his office chair across the gravel because he said he wasn’t feeling up to it. “A little tired, is all,” he said.
They spent the rest of the afternoon cutting out cardboard stars to decorate the base of a new table Mr. Hampton was putting together.
Although Arthur didn’t know it, those were the last stars he’d make with him.
Three days later, James Hampton was dead.
FORTY-ONE
Officer Billie came to Arthur’s house on Tuesday afternoon to tell him what had happened—that Mr. Hampton had been taken to the hospital on Monday night and despite everything they did, the doctors weren’t able to save him. He had died early that morning.
The whole time Officer Billie was talking, Arthur kept thinking about what Mr. Hampton had said on Saturday. If something happens to me…
He’d never imagined those words would come true so soon. Not in a million years. Maybe Mr. Hampton had seemed more tired than usual on Saturday and had said some odd things, but they’d made a bunch of stars and Mr. Hampton had started to design a new table for his masterpiece. It wasn’t possible that he was dead.
When Arthur didn’t say anything, Officer Billie patted his shoulder awkwardly and said if he needed to talk about his feelings, he could call anytime. “I realize this is tough news to hear.”
Even though he was afraid to ask, Arthur knew he had to find out about the garage and Mr. Hampton’s project.
“He kind of put me in charge of some things in his garage,” he managed to say in an almost-steady voice before the officer left. “What do you think is going to happen with everything?”
Of course, Officer Billie didn’t have any idea what he was talking about. “Don’t worry about your probation,” she said, patting his shoulder again. “We can decide all of that later. I’ll be back in touch in a week or so. Call me if you need anything.” And then she was gone.
—
Arthur waited until the next day at lunch to tell Squeak what had happened.
“I’m awfully sorry,” Squeak kept repeating about every five minutes as his glasses steamed up with tears. “I liked Mr. Hampton a lot too.”
“I know. Thanks,” Arthur would answer each time, and then try to change the subject to a homework question or something stupid like that.
—
Arthur’s family wouldn’t leave him alone after they heard the news. Officer Billie had called Arthur’s mom at work on Tuesday to tell her. She came home early—a rare occurrence.
“I can’t believe all of this happened so suddenly. You just saw Mr. Hampton on Saturday, didn’t you?” Arthur’s mom said, giving him a hug when she got home.
Which didn’t help much.
On Friday, Roger invited him to a Washington Senators baseball game to take his mind off things. When Arthur turned him down, he suggested bowling, then a movie.
“I really don’t want to do anything, no matter what it is,” Arthur finally told Roger. “Thanks.”
Barbara left a bunch of rainbow drawings on his bed and insisted on giving him the silver bead from Mr. Hampton to keep. “So you can remember your friend,” she said.
Which was really sweet of her, Arthur thought, even if seeing the silver temperature knob from the toaster almost made him bust up and start crying.
FORTY-TWO
On Saturday, Arthur went to see Groovy Jim. He didn’t really want to go, but he wasn’t sure if Groovy Jim had heard about Mr. Hampton, and he wanted to check what was happening with the garage.
So she wouldn’t worry, he told his mom he was going to the library to look up something for a school project.
“What’s the project?” she asked.
Arthur scrambled to come up with something. “Parts of the cell.”
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His mom didn’t look as if she believed him, but she let him go.
—
“Hey, kiddo, you’re here early,” Groovy Jim said cheerfully when Arthur walked in. He was eating a bowl of popcorn, even though it was only ten o’clock in the morning. “What’s up?”
Right then, Arthur knew the guy hadn’t heard.
Arthur tugged at the front of his hair nervously. Now that he was standing there, he didn’t want to be the one to tell Groovy Jim the news. He wasn’t even sure how to start. He hated using words like died or passed away.
“It’s about Mr. Hampton,” he said slowly.
Groovy Jim looked at Arthur, his face suddenly serious. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to him?” When Arthur didn’t answer right away, he said, “Jeez oh pete. He’s gone, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Arthur mumbled.
Standing up, Groovy Jim slowly walked to the front window of his shop. He stood there for a few minutes, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes.
“When did it happen?” he asked finally.
“Tuesday morning,” Arthur answered.
“Man, I can’t believe it,” he said, staring out the window. “I just can’t believe it. I hadn’t seen Hampton around this week, but I didn’t think anything was wrong. That crazy old man was such a good guy. A real good guy.”
Arthur had no idea why he chose this moment to admit what he’d done to Mr. Hampton, but the confession came pouring out before he could stop it.
“You know, I was the kid who hit him last fall,” he blurted out. “That’s why I was working for him.”
Groovy Jim’s reaction took him by surprise. The guy turned around and gave a sly smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I knew who you were the minute you walked into my shop back in December. I was in court the day you were sentenced. I drove Hampton to the courthouse. Told him I’d be there to support him.”
Arthur stared at Groovy Jim in disbelief. He’d been in court the day he was sentenced? He knew the whole story?
“Why didn’t you ever tell me that?”
Groovy Jim shrugged. “You didn’t say anything to me, did you? So I guess we all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Arthur had to admit this was true.
There was a lot he’d kept from Groovy Jim.
Groovy Jim went back to his chair behind the counter and sat down, still looking shaken up by the news. Finally, he said, “Well, thanks for coming here to tell me about Hampton, kiddo. I know it wasn’t an easy thing to do.”
Arthur reached into his pocket for the piece of paper he had brought along. “I have something else to ask you.” He glanced in the direction of the garage. “I promised Mr. Hampton I wouldn’t let anything happen to his artwork. So I was wondering if you could let me know if someone comes to move it or something?” he said, holding out the folded paper. “I wrote my number down for you here.”
Groovy Jim looked surprised. “Nobody knows what’s happening with his stuff?”
Arthur shook his head. “No.”
He’d tried asking Officer Billie about it, he told Groovy Jim. The day before, he’d called to tell her again how Mr. Hampton had left some “very important projects” in his garage and was worried about what would happen to them. But she’d insisted there wasn’t much she could do. “Unless Mr. Hampton wrote his wishes down, these things are complicated,” she’d said.
“So are there any plans for a funeral or memorial for him?” Groovy Jim asked.
Arthur said he’d heard that there were some relatives in South Carolina, where Mr. Hampton was from, and he might be buried there—but that was all he knew.
Groovy Jim sighed. “Too bad he didn’t have family here.”
“Yeah,” Arthur agreed.
There was another long silence.
“So you’ll let me know if anything happens, right?” he repeated.
Groovy Jim nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on things. The project meant a lot to Hampton. I know you worked hard on it too.”
But Arthur watched nervously as Groovy Jim shoved the folded piece of paper under his cash register drawer. Would he remember where he’d put the number? Would he watch the garage like he said? Would he call?
Arthur knew he couldn’t be there twenty-four hours a day. He couldn’t stand guard over the artwork. Trust didn’t come easily to him, but he had to trust Groovy Jim would do what he said.
—
A few days later, Groovy Jim kept his promise.
“Someone called for you,” Arthur’s sister announced when he came in from shooting baskets outside. She was mixing a pitcher of Tang in the kitchen. Although he’d only been outside for a short time, she’d already managed to spill powder and ice cubes everywhere.
“Who was it?” Arthur asked, getting annoyed by the mess.
His sister looked upward. “I think he said his name was Gloomy Jim.”
It took a minute for Arthur to register what his sister was saying. “You mean Groovy Jim?”
She shrugged. “I guess.”
Arthur’s heart began to pound. “What did he say?”
“He said you need to come to the garage right away because something is happening.” Barbara put her hands on her hips, squinting suspiciously at Arthur. “Who’s Gloomy Jim and what garage is he talking about?”
“I’ll tell you later,” he said.
After making his sister promise she’d stay inside while he was gone, he took off running, desperately hoping he wasn’t too late.
FORTY-THREE
Everything had been moved.
Arthur’s heart nearly stopped when he reached the gravel alley and saw what was happening.
Mr. Hampton had always said, Don’t. Move. Anything. Everything in his creation had its place. Everything had been perfectly balanced.
But Arthur could see that the big corrugated metal door at the front of the garage—the door that had never been open—was pushed up. Cardboard boxes of unused foil and glass bottles and mirrors sat on the gravel outside, waiting to be hauled away. The fragile pieces of Mr. Hampton’s masterpiece had been moved to the sides of the garage.
“STOP!” Arthur tore down the alleyway, his arms flailing wildly in the air, as Groovy Jim and another man stepped outside.
“What are you doing?” Arthur’s voice was a shriek. He could feel the veins pounding in his forehead. His face felt like it was on fire. “Can’t you see that is someone’s work of art?” he shouted, pointing at the masterpiece. “That’s heaven! Everything in there is supposed to be heaven!”
Groovy Jim stepped closer to Arthur. “Okay, kiddo, you’ve got to calm down,” he said as he squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “I know you’re upset about the stuff being moved. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. I only got here a few minutes ago myself. Just calm down a little and I know we can work this out.”
“I don’t want to calm down.” Arthur yanked his shoulder out of Groovy Jim’s grip. “You were supposed to watch the garage!” he shouted.
“All right, well, let’s just talk things over with this guy. I’m sure we can figure something out.” Groovy Jim turned toward the other man and introduced Arthur to him. “Arthur, this is Tony. He’s the landlord who owns the garage.”
It took a minute for those words to sink in. The guy in front of him owned the garage.
“Hey, kid.” The landlord looked at Arthur uneasily—as if he was afraid he might completely flip out. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I had no clue what the things in the garage were. I just came here to clean up the place and get it ready for renting out. I didn’t know it was some guy’s stuff.”
“It’s the Throne of the Third Heaven,” Arthur shot back. “Not ‘some guy’s stuff.’ ”
The landlord looked like a gangster. Greased-back dark hair. A thick gold chain around his neck. Fake smile. Arthur didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“Arthur worked on the project with the man who died,” Groovy Jim explained. “He was kind of second in charge
of creating the masterpiece with him.”
The landlord looked at the two of them like they were lunatics. “The thing is made out of junk, right?” he said, glancing back at the pieces in the garage as if he wasn’t quite sure they were talking about the same thing.
“First off, it’s not junk,” Arthur said, his voice rising. “It started on an island in World War II. With things from an island. It started with Death and War.” His voice grew louder and shakier, and he could tell he was on the verge of losing it.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, he stared at the gravel under his feet. He had to get a grip. He was the Director of Special Projects for the State of Eternity. Mr. Hampton was counting on him. He couldn’t fall apart.
“Look,” the landlord said impatiently. “I don’t know what the hell the old guy was building here. You say it’s supposed to be some masterpiece. I have no idea what’s art and what’s not. It looks like junk to me, but I’m no judge. You pay the rent and I don’t care what you do. You can build whatever crazy stuff you want.”
“The Throne of the Third Heaven,” Arthur said again. “Not stuff.”
“How much?” Groovy Jim asked.
The landlord crossed his thick arms. “Hampton paid fifty a month. But April and May weren’t paid up, so I’ll need a hundred for back rent. After that, it’s fifty a month.”
Arthur’s heart sank. One hundred dollars. And then fifty a month after that? Where would he get that kind of cash?
Groovy Jim asked, “If I give you fifty right now, could you give us a week or two to figure out what we want to do next? Given the circumstances and all.”
The Seventh Most Important Thing Page 14
