The Time Keeper Part 13

She suddenly felt self-conscious being there, and she put Ethan's gift inside her coat pocket and left. He'd never believe it was an accident anyhow, and she'd have no explanation besides the truth: that she was now, literally, chasing after him.

When she got outside, she texted him again.

50.

Victor wheeled into his private office and pushed the door shut behind him. Only then did he see the apprentice from the clock shop, standing against the wall.

"How did you get in here?" Victor asked.

"Your timepiece is ready."

"Did my secretary let you in?"

"I wanted to bring it to you."

Victor paused. He scratched his head. "Let me see."

The apprentice reached into his bag. Such an odd guy, Victor thought. If he worked for me, he'd be in the lab, one of those shy, nerdy technicians who one day invents a product that turns the company into a gold mine.

"Where did you learn so much about timepieces?" Victor asked.

"It was once an interest of mine."

"Not anymore?"

"No."

He opened a box and handed over the pocket watch, its jeweled case polished to a s.h.i.+ne.

Victor smiled. "You really buffed this up."

"Why do you want such a device?"

"Why?" Victor exhaled. "Well. I have a journey coming up, and I'd like to have a st.u.r.dy timepiece with me."

"Where are you going?"

"Just some R and R."

The man looked lost.

"Rest and relaxation? You do come out of that back room once in a while, don't you?"

"I have been other places, if that is what you mean."

"Yes," Victor answered. "That's what I mean."

Victor examined his visitor. Something was off about him. Not his clothes so much. But his language. He got the words right, but they didn't fit naturally, as if he were borrowing them from a book.

"The other day, in the shop, how did you know I was from France?"

The man shrugged.

"You read it somewhere?"

He shook his head.

"The Internet?"

No response.

"I'm serious. Tell me. How did you know I was from France?" The man looked down for several seconds. Then he flashed his eyes straight at Victor.

"I heard you ask for something when you were a child. Then, as now, you wanted time."

51.

Sarah got the idea from, of all people, her mother.

Lorraine, over a dinner of chicken pot pies, was talking about a bracelet she and her friends were buying for a woman who was turning fifty. They were having it engraved with a message.

As soon as Lorraine said that, Sarah thought of Ethan. A message on the back of his watch? Why hadn't she thought of that?

"Sarah? Are you listening?"

"What? Yeah."

The next day, Sarah cut her last two cla.s.ses (again, uncharacteristic for her, but she had Ethan now, and he required time, too) and took the train back to the city. When she entered the clock shop, it was late afternoon, and she was once again the only customer. She felt sorry for this place, because if it wasn't busy at Christmas, when would it be?

"Ah," the old proprietor said, recognizing her. "h.e.l.lo again."

"You know the watch I got here?" Sarah said. "Can you engrave it? Do you do that?"

The proprietor nodded.

"Great."

She took the box from her bag and put it on the counter. She looked through the door that led to the back room.

"Is the other man here?"

The proprietor smiled.

"You want him to do it?"

Sarah flushed. "Oh, no. I mean, I didn't know if he did it or not. Whoever. I mean. Yeah. If he does it. Sure. But anybody can."

Privately, she was hoping the man was there. He was, after all, the only person she'd told about Ethan.

"I'll get him," the proprietor said.

A moment later, Dor emerged from the back, wearing the familiar black turtleneck, his hair still mussed.

"Hey," Sarah said.

He looked at her with his head tilted slightly. He had the gentlest expression, Sarah thought.

He picked up the watch.

"What do you want it to say?" he asked.

She had chosen a simple message.

She cleared her throat.

"Can you put ..." She lowered her voice to a near-whisper, even though no one else was in the shop. "'Time flies with you'?"

Dor looked at her, puzzled.

"What does it mean?"

Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Is it too serious? Honestly, I think-this sounds stupid, right?-I think he's like, the one for me. But I don't want to overdo it."

Dor shook his head. "The phrase. What does it mean?" Sarah wondered if he was kidding. "Time flies? You know, like, time goes really fast and suddenly you're saying good-bye and it's like no time pa.s.sed at all?"

His eyes drifted. He liked it. "Time flies."

"With you," she added.

52.

Even after the funeral, young Victor wondered if his father might return one day, magically, as if all this-the priest, the weeping family, the wooden casket-was just some phase you went through when adults had accidents.

He asked his mother. She said they should pray. Perhaps G.o.d knew a way they could all be together. They knelt by a small fireplace, and she pulled a shawl over their shoulders. She closed her eyes and mumbled something, so Victor did the same. What he said was, "Please make it yesterday, when Papa came home."

In a cave, far away, the boy's words wafted up through a glowing pool. There were millions of other voices, but the pleas of a child find our ears differently, and Dor was moved by the simple request. Children so rarely ask to reverse time. Mostly they are in a hurry. They want a school bell to ring. A birthday to arrive.

"Please make it yesterday."

Dor remembered Victor's voice. And while they deepen with age, voices are, to one destined to listen for eternity, as distinct as a fingerprint. Dor knew it was him the moment Victor spoke in the shop.

He did not know that the child who had asked for yesterday was now seeking to own tomorrow.

Victor never prayed again.

Once his mother leapt from that bridge, he gave up on prayer, he gave up on yesterdays. He came to America and learned that those who made the most of their time prospered. So he worked. He sped up his life. He trained himself not to think about his younger days.

Now, in his top-floor office, he was being reminded of them by a virtual stranger.

"I heard you ask for something when you were a child," the apprentice said. "Then, as now, you wanted time."

"What are you talking about?"

The apprentice pointed to the pocket watch. "We all yearn for what we have lost. But sometimes, we forget what we have."

Victor looked at the timepiece, the painting of the family.

When he looked up, the man had vanished.

Victor yelled, "Hey!" a.s.suming it was some trick. "Hey! Get back here!"

He rolled his wheelchair to the door. Roger was already headed his way, as was Charlene, his executive a.s.sistant.

"Is everything OK, Mr. D?" Charlene said.

"Did you see a guy just run out of here?"

"A guy?"

He noticed the concerned look on her face.

"Forget it," he said, embarra.s.sed. "My mistake."

He shut the door. His heart was racing. Was his mind going now? He felt uncharacteristically out of control.