Chapter 11 – THE TIME WE HAVE LEFT

We sat by the edge of the lake as the sun began to set.

The sky was painted in brilliant strokes of orange and purple.

Leo was fast asleep on a blanket, exhausted from catching three tiny bluegills. Clara sat beside him, reading a book.

Vincent and I walked along the shoreline, the cool water lapping at our shoes.

I stopped and handed him the gold pocket watch.

He looked at it in surprise.

“I thought the feds took this for evidence,” he said.

“I asked for it back,” I admitted. “They wiped the GPS tracker. It’s just a watch now.”

Vincent ran his thumb over the engraved casing.

“My father gave this to me when I made my first million,” he murmured. “He told me time was the only currency that mattered.”

“He was right,” I said.

Vincent opened it. The inside was empty. The fake ultrasound was long gone.

“I don’t want it,” Vincent said suddenly.

He looked at the deep water of the lake.

“I spent thirty years letting time slip away from me. Let it go, Ellie.”

I smiled.

“I have a better idea.”

I took the watch from his hand.

We walked back to the blanket. I knelt beside my sleeping grandson.

Gently, I slipped the gold watch into the front pocket of Leo’s little overalls.

Clara looked up, surprised.

“Mom, that’s incredibly expensive.”

“It’s a family heirloom,” I said softly. “It belongs to the next generation. But he’s not going to use it to count the hours he spends away from his family. He’s going to use it to know when it’s time to come home.”

Vincent stood behind me.

He placed his hands on my shoulders, squeezing gently.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For leaving the light on long enough for me to find my way back.”

We drove home under a canopy of stars.

When we pulled into the driveway of the farmhouse, the porch was dark.

Vincent carried a sleeping Leo inside. Clara followed, carrying the fishing gear.

I lingered on the porch for a moment.

I reached out and clicked the switch on the little brass lamp.

The warm light spilled across the wooden floorboards, pushing back the dark.

I walked inside, locked the door behind me, and finally, for the rest of my life, I was home.

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