by Ramsey Isler
Yusef laughed. “Hey, he fixed that old Cartier in record time. How did he do that?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam said. “Now that watch was old. I never thought he’d be able to restore that thing, but it left this place shining like a new silver dollar and ticking like a metronome. I don’t know how in the world he did it. Dad says he taught me everything he knows about being a watchmaker, but I still get the feeling there are some things he’s kept to himself.”
“Why would he keep anything from you?” Yusef said. “Especially...you know...with his health and all.”
“Dunno,” Sam said. “I’m sure I’m just being paranoid and cranky. The old man’s just so good that it makes me wonder sometimes.”
“Wonder about what?”
“Where he got that talent,” Sam said, “and why he didn’t use it for other things.”
Chapter 3
Samantha sent Hamilton’s watch up to her father a few hours later, after poking around in the Rolex 3529 until her head and hands got tired. She figured he might have better luck, or at least be able to give her an idea for which direction to go in. In the meantime, she busied herself with the shop’s other projects.
When Yusef headed home, Sam closed up the shop. Then she went to the left side of the building and opened a door which led to a short flight of stairs. Sam ascended the stairs and went through a long hallway that led to the back of the building. There was a nice living area there; small but comfortable. The reddish-orange hardwood floors had a beautiful polished finish. There were several soft armchairs scattered throughout the living room—amazing chairs that were great for sleeping in. She found her father there, reading an owner’s manual for the 1982 Volkswagen Rabbit.
He looked over the frames of his bifocals and smiled at her. “Hello, Sunshine.”
“How are you feeling?” Sam asked.
“Me? I’m...good enough.”
Sam crossed her arms. “That’s not what Dr. Williams tell me.”
“That man and his blabbermouth,” Mr. Chablon said with a sour expression. “Whatever happened to that...you know...whatchamacallit. Patient confidentiality! Yes, that.”
“Dad, I don’t like you living alone here. It’s fine during the day, but nobody’s here at night. Maybe you should come stay with me at the house.”
“I’m fine, dear,” Mr. Chablon said. “I’ve never been a burden to anybody, and I’m not going to start now.”
“It wouldn’t be a burden.”
“Nonsense. You’re a busy young woman with a bright future ahead of her. You don’t need me in your house, stinking up the place with old man smell.”
“Dad—”
“I myself got accustomed to old man smell long ago,” Mr. Chablon continued, “I don’t even notice it anymore. But, as I recall, it was a unique blend of Ben-Gay, denture cream, talcum powder, and old skin. Mostly old skin.”
Sam glared at him. “Are you done?”
He smiled. “For now.”
Sam’s stony expression did not change. She shuffled over to the nearest window and peered out at the moon shining behind the big grove of trees behind the shop.
“You’re wearing your sad face,” Mr. Chablon said quietly. “That’s the same sad face you made all those years ago when I left you alone on the first day of kindergarten.”
“Hmm,” Sam hummed in reply. She didn’t take her eyes off the moon.
Her father continued. “Back then, I knew exactly what ailed you. You were scared. It was the first time you’d been in a new environment without Daddy. Are you scared now?”
“Horrified,” Sam said.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Do I?” Mr. Chablon said.
“Of course you do. This is hard for me, Dad. I know you’re trying to take the edge off with a little humor, but I don’t know if that’s going to work for me.”
Sam stared at the window for a while longer. Her father kept silent. She waited for him to deliver another one of his irreverent quips to make light of her concerns, but nothing came. After a couple of minutes, she turned to him and found him staring at the floor. His jaw was moving, but no words were coming out.
“Are you going to say something?” she asked.
Her father looked up and offered a lopsided smile. “Oh, I’m sorry dear. My denture slipped. I was trying to work it back into place with my tongue.”
Sam put her hands on hips. “Were you listening to me?”
“Of course. I understand how you feel. But we both know that nothing can be done for this situation. All we can do is prepare. At least we have that—the time to make sure everything’s right between us. Not everyone gets that luxury.”
“It’s not a luxury to watch you waste away,” Sam said.
“But I’m still here,” Mr. Chablon said. “I may not be the strong, healthy man you remember, but these past few months have given us the chance to be closer. A slow end is hardly an unfair price for that gift.”
“I can see I’m not going to make any progress on this topic,” Sam said.
“Smart girl,” Mr. Chablon said. “Would you like to try to make progress on a different topic?”
“A man named Terry Hamilton came by the shop today,” Sam said.
“Oh, that name rings a bell,” Mr. Chablon said. He looked up to the ceiling, as if he’d find the memory somewhere up there.
“He said he worked with you a long time ago,” Sam added.
“Ah yes. I vaguely remember him. He was quite a precocious fellow. Thought he knew everything.”
“Maybe he did,” Sam said. “He’s a very rich man now.”
“Wealth is hardly the most important thing in the world, dear.”
“No,” Sam said. “But it is nice to have.”
Her father smiled. “Is this your way of asking for a raise?”
“Of course not.”
“I’ve arranged everything for you,” Samuel continued. “You won’t be able to retire early, but you should be pretty comfortable for a good while. You can take some time off and find something to be other than a watchmaker.”
“I like being a watchmaker,” Sam said.
Mr. Chablon shook his head. “You like it because I like it. You’ve always liked following Daddy’s adventures. Except for one, of course.”
“Well,” Sam said, “some things I did grow out of.”
Mr. Chablon shrugged, and stared at the shiny hardwood floor again.
Sam diverted her attention to the various pharmacy bottles littering the room and said, “Have you been taking your medicine?”
“Of course not,” Mr. Chablon said. “That stuff tastes like Ovaltine. Just the thought of it gives me shivers and makes my poor old liver quiver.”
“Dad, you have to take your medicine.”
“It just prolongs the inevitable, dear.”
“I know. But I’m not ready, yet.”
“You,” Mr. Chablon said with a stern finger pointed in his daughter’s direction, “are a strong, smart woman. You are ready for anything.”
Sam looked away, unable to withstand that look of finality in her father’s eyes. But when she turned, she saw something on his desk. There was a familiar watch there, and it was ticking just fine.
“You fixed the thirty-five twenty-nine already?” Sam asked.
“Not quite,” Mr. Chablon said, smirking. “I mean, it is fixed, but I can’t take all the credit.”
“Ah, let me guess,” Sam said. “Your little helper did it for you.”
Sam’s father gave her a wink. “He works fast when you give him a challenge.”
Sam just leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. “So what was wrong with it?”
“The old Rolex watches have very sensitive balance tolerances,” Mr. Chablon said. “This one simply had a lever that was a couple millimeters out of place.”
“And how in the world did you figure that out?”
“Who says I did?” Mr. Chablon said.
Sam sighed and shook her head. “Well, it’s fixed. And that’s a load off of my mind. We can give it back to Hamilton and collect a nice fee. What should we charge him?”
“Whatever you think is fair, dear. You know I’ve never been good at those things, and I recall getting quite an earful from you when I apparently undercharged last time.”
“You’ve got incredible talent,” Sam said. “I wish you would place a premium on your time.”
“Oh I do,” Mr. Chablon said. “I value my time so much I’d never do something as silly as trade it for money when I didn’t have to.”
“Money gives you the ability to do what you want with your time,” Sam said.
“That depends on what you want,” Mr. Chablon said. “The simple things in life don’t require a budget.”
“Not everyone wants the simple things,” Sam said.
“Everyone wants the simple things, eventually,” Mr. Chablon said. “Take it from a man with very little time left. I’m happy just being in the presence of the people I love, doing the work that I love. I’m not going to my death bed wishing I’d spent more time chasing caviar dreams.”
“Don’t talk like that,” Sam said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re going to die tomorrow,” Sam said quietly.
Mr. Chablon reached out and gently clasped his daughter’s hands. “Oh my sweet Sunshine. Any one of us could be dead tomorrow. The odds are just higher for me.”
* * *
Sam went home directly after the chat with her father. The drive only took ten minutes, but it was enough time for her mind to fill with frustrated, guilty thoughts. She wanted her father to be around forever, but every day was a reminder that it wasn’t going to happen. And his calmness about the whole thing wasn’t helping—in fact it was having quite the opposite effect. It was almost like he was just giving up, and a part of Sam’s psyche resented him for it. It was not something she was proud of, and she’d never tell anyone, but it was absolutely true.
She put those thoughts to the back of her mind when she arrived home. Her feet dragged along the eight flagstones that led to the front door. She got her keys out of her left pants pocket. The only silver key on her keychain slid smoothly into the locks—one left twist for the top one, one twist right for the bottom. She opened the door, walked three paces, reached up to the security panel on the wall and entered the code for the house alarm; 4422.
Then she was greeted by a monster.
The four-legged form ambled out of the dark living room. Only the dim light from the streetlamps outside gave her an idea of the creature’s shape. It was long and lanky, with a head that came up to her waist even though the animal was on four legs. Sam could see its primal eyes reflected in the darkness. The creature approached her with a casual swagger, then rose to stand on its rear legs. Sam stood stock still as the animal’s long forelegs draped across her shoulders, and it’s massive head bent down to give her a friendly lick on the forehead.
“Missed me, huh?” Sam said.
The behemoth beastie was Rupert, Sam’s Irish wolfhound and the only male that she’d ever lived with beside her father. She’d gotten Rupert after her graduation from the University of Michigan. Sam hadn’t had the best of luck with pets in the past, but when she laid eyes on that puppy she couldn’t resist him. He was such a cute little thing.
But he didn’t stay little for long. Irish Wolfhounds are a big breed, but Rupert grew up to be a giant even amongst his peers. At well over seven feet long and just shy of two-hundred pounds, he was a rare specimen. His size intimidated everyone. For some women, their dogs are great ways to meet men. But not Rupert. He scared away even the most brazen of Sam’s potential suitors, and she liked it that way. It saved her from having to find ways to tell guys to stop bothering her.
Rupert kept his front paws on Sam’s shoulders and followed her with an awkward two-legged gait as she backed her way into the kitchen. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Sam said as she felt around for a treat on the kitchen table. Her hand discovered a plastic jar of Milkbones, and she tossed one on the floor. Rupert was back on four legs in a flash, and munching happily.
Sam ruffled his shaggy coat and said, “Don’t ever change.”
* * *
Samuel Chablon was in pain.
He’d never let his daughter know, of course. She had enough to worry about these days. The medicines dulled the agony long enough for him to put up a reasonable charade, but after months of putting on this show, he was done with it.
He dimmed the lights, shuffled to his soft bed, covered himself with his plaid blanket, and settled in. Then he spoke one simple name.
“Piv.”
Long, silent moments passed before anything else happened. Samuel closed his eyes for a bit. When he opened them, he knew was no longer alone in the room. The shadows to his left had shifted, and a gentle creaking told him someone was sitting in his rocking chair. Samuel’s eyes could barely make out the murky outline of a small figure on the chair, sitting with knees drawn up to his chin. But the eyes glowed brightly in the darkness.
The shadow said, “It has been many moons since the last time I’ve actually been in the same room with you. You look tired and wrinkly, and you smell odd.”
“I’m dying,” Mr. Chablon said.
“Ah,” the strange voice whispered. “All that grows must wither away.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Chablon said. “Thank you for fixing the Rolex, by the way.”
“Oh certainly. It was so much fun to scrounge around for the problem. You always bring me the most delightful machines.”
“I suppose you won’t tell me how you did it.”
“Some of our ways must stay secret,” the shadow said, “even to you.”
“You won’t even indulge a dying man?”
“We all fade. It’s nothing special. Death doesn’t earn anyone anything.”
Samuel blew out a belabored breath. “I suppose...that’s true.”
“Will it happen soon? Your death?”
“It’s always hard to tell with these things,” Samuel said. “But I’d say I won’t last to see the seasons change again.”
“Oh dear. She will be sad. Your daughter.”
“She will. But, as you know, that’s the nature of things. The old must eventually move out of the way so that the young can take their place. Children cannot fulfill their true potential until their parents are gone.”
“Interesting,” said the shadow. “Another lesson on your kind.”
Samuel nodded. “We have taught each other a great many things, have we not?”
“Absolutely! And I have been a useful companion to you, have I not?”
“Yes indeed. But...I will ask you one final favor before I pass on.”
“Oh,” the shadow said. Samuel could see its shoulders sag. “How bothersome. What is it this time?”
“I want you to help my daughter.”
“With what?”
“Whatever she asks,” Samuel said.
“That could be very difficult,” the shadow said, “but it could also be very fun.”
Mr. Chablon exhaled hard again, but this time it was more of a wheeze. “I only ask that you assist Samantha faithfully.”
“If that is what you wish, it shall be so.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Chablon said. “I’d like to die now. You can help with that, can’t you?”
“Of course,” the shadow said. “It will be as leisurely as a walk down by the lake in the summer.”
“Good. Thank you, my old friend.”
“Farewell, Sam,” said the shadow as it approached him. “Farewell.”
Chapter 4
Sam found the body the next morning.
She wasn’t shocked. She didn’t cry. All she did was hold his cold, spotted hands for a while as she sat alone with him for the last time.
When she felt ready to face the world again, she called Dr. Williams and informed him. He gave her
his condolences and assured her he would handle the next steps. Then she went into the shop and informed Yusef. He took the news better than Sam expected; he only cried for ten minutes.
* * *
The next day, Sam started her life as an orphan.
Perhaps that was a bit melodramatic, but it was exactly how Sam felt. She wasn’t even thirty and both her parents were gone. The prolonged adolescence of her twenties was officially over. But at least she’d had time to prepare for this. In some ways, she’d been preparing for it most of her life.
Her mother died first. Sam was just a girl back then, but she still clung to the most vivid memories; short walks home from school, the warm bowls of homemade chicken soup, hugs that seemed like they would last forever. But what she remembered most were the last days spent at her mother’s side, watching the cancer take her away piece by piece.
So, from an early age, Sam learned to come to terms with the hard truth. Everyone she loved was going to die.
Her father knew she had come to this realization. In his opinion, she’d figured it out far too early. But she’d always been a bit ahead of the curve on all topics, so he wasn’t too surprised when death became one of them. He was all too aware of how much Sam had been affected by her mother’s death, so he had done everything he could to make his own passing easier on her. His constant levity was a part of that (although he had never wasted a chance to tell a joke even before he fell ill), and he’d taken extreme care in handling all of his affairs on his own. All of the finances were settled, as well as all the matters with the watch shop. Samuel had started introducing his daughter to his suppliers years ago, just in case. He’d even made all the arrangements for his own funeral. So there was very little for Samantha to worry about.
Except for her father’s books.
The man had loved his books. He’d collected them since he was five years old and never parted with a book that crossed his path. There were all sorts of novels, magazines, manuals, comics, and textbooks meticulously collected and ordered in boxes stacked around his living quarters above the watch shop. When he died, he’d left no instructions on what to do with them. Sam decided it would be best to keep them at her house for now, and sort through them later. Perhaps years later.
