My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
We got into the car, and the engine turned over with a familiar, raspy hum.
The clock on the dashboard showed exactly three o’clock as I backed out of the driveway and turned down Pine Lane.
The oak trees lined the street like old sentinels, their bare branches reaching toward the grey Pennsylvania sky.
“Thank you, Mia,” Christopher said after we had driven several blocks in silence.
“For what?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. “I am the one who dragged you into this.”
“You gave me the chance to look them in the eye,” he said. “That is worth more than the money.”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his father’s silver pocket watch.
He held it in his open palm, the metallic casing catching the dim afternoon light.
“I want you to have this,” he said.
“I can’t take that, Christopher,” I said. “You told me it was the only thing you kept from the days before the crash.”
“It was,” he said. “But those days are finished now. I am starting something new.”
He placed the watch gently on the console between our seats.
