PART 45 — MY FATHER’S WATCH
The wooden jewelry box contained Dad’s watch.
I had not noticed it at first because it lay beneath a folded square of cloth.
The strap was cracked.
The hands had stopped at twenty minutes past four.
When I showed it to Evan, he turned it over.
“We could see whether it can be repaired.”
I took it to a watchmaker downtown.
The man behind the counter studied it beneath a bright lamp.
He asked how old it was.
I guessed.
He nodded.
“I’ll have a look.”
Two weeks later, it was ticking again.
The sound was almost too quiet to hear.
I wore it home.
At dinner, Lucy noticed.
“Was that Grandpa’s?”
“Yes.”
“Does it still know the time?”
“It does now.”
She leaned closer.
“It looks old.”
“It is.”
“Do you like old things?”
“Some.”
She thought about that.
Then asked, “Are old things allowed to change?”
I glanced at Evan.
He was trying not to smile.
“The watch got a new strap,” I said.
“And somebody cleaned the inside.”
“Then it’s still his?”
“Yes.”
Lucy nodded as if that answered something larger.
After dinner, I called Mom.
It was not a conversation arranged around conflict.
Not a response to pressure.
I wanted to ask when Dad had bought the watch.
She remembered.
An anniversary.
A sale at a department store.
He had said his old one was perfectly good, then spent the whole evening looking at the new one.
I laughed.
Mom laughed too.
For a few minutes, we shared a memory without using it to ask anything of each other.
Then the conversation ended.
I sat beside the window afterward.
Dad’s watch rested against my wrist.
I had once believed every contact with my mother would either restore everything or ruin my peace.
Now there were other possibilities.
A short conversation.
A remembered detail.
An ending chosen before exhaustion arrived.
I could keep a little without giving away everything.
PART 46 — THE CHRISTMAS PLAN
In November, Mom asked about Christmas.
She did it by message.
Would you consider a short visit sometime during the holidays?
There was no mention of dinner.
No claim that she deserved it.
No photograph of an empty chair.
I did not answer immediately.
Evan and I spoke first.
Then I spoke with Lucy privately.
“Grandma has asked whether we might visit during the holidays.”
Lucy looked at me.
“At her house?”
“She hasn’t said where.”
“I’m not going to her house.”
“Okay.”
She returned to the page she was coloring.
I waited.
Then she said, “Maybe somewhere else.”
“What are you thinking?”
“The park.”
“It could be cold.”
“Then we wear coats.”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
She chose an afternoon before Christmas.
A public park.
Twenty minutes.
Evan would be there.
So would I.
Noah could decide whether he wanted to come.
No gifts.
No meal.
Nothing afterward unless we agreed beforehand.
I wrote the plan to Mom.
She accepted it.
On the morning of the visit, Lucy asked whether she could change her mind.
“Yes.”
“Even when we get there?”
“Yes.”
“Even if Grandma is already waiting?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
Then she zipped her coat.
