Stopped.
Permanent.
Untouchable.
Now it moved again.
“I told you I liked it broken.”
“I know.”
“Then why fix it?”
Clara looked toward the lit windows of the community center.
“Because remembering someone isn’t the same as freezing everything where they left it.”
I looked at her.
She shrugged.
“Also, watches are supposed to tell time.”
I laughed.
That night I wore it home.
Years have passed since then.
Hale Group still exists.
I still work too much.
Clara still tells me when I am being impossible.
We still meet for coffee on Tuesdays.
Sometimes we speak about Father.
Sometimes Mother.
Often neither.
That may be the clearest sign that we became a family.
We no longer need the past to justify our relationship.
On the anniversary of Mother’s death, we visit the garden where her ashes were scattered.
There is a bench beneath the elm tree now.
