My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“I think some fresh air would be best,” Christopher said, his gravelly voice dropping even lower than usual.
My mother did not lower her finger, but her hand began to shake. I stood up and followed Christopher out the side door into the dark yard before my father could speak.
The air outside was cool, smelling of damp earth and the heavy rot of fallen maple leaves. Christopher walked down the flagstone path toward the overgrown stone wall at the edge of our property.
“She is wrong,” I said, my voice barely reaching him in the shadows.
He stopped by the old stone birdbath and pulled the silver pocket watch from his trousers, his thumb tracing the worn initials on the casing. He didn’t open it immediately, just let it rest in his palm like a smooth river stone.
“Five years ago, I was driving my old pickup home from a job in West Chester,” he said, staring at the dark grass. “A dark sedan came over the yellow line near the creek road and took the front corner off my truck.”
“That was the night of her accident,” I said.
