Chapter 12 - Andrew's Watch
I did not call Caleb that night.
I knew my anger would make a careful conversation impossible.
Instead, I photographed the imitation watch beside the velvet case and sent the images to Marcus.
Then I placed both objects in a secure location.
At breakfast, June found me staring at a cup of coffee I had forgotten to drink.
"Something else?" she asked.
I showed her the messages.
She read them without speaking.
"We can't assume Caleb took the watch," she said.
"I know."
But I remembered him as a child, sitting on Andrew's knee and turning that watch over in his hands.
He had been fascinated by the moving second hand.
Andrew once told him, "Time is the only thing you spend without knowing how much you've got left."
The memory almost undid me.
Caleb arrived at noon after speaking with his lawyer.
His face fell when I set the imitation watch on the table.
"Where did you get that?" he asked.
"It was in your father's watch case."
He looked genuinely shocked.
"That's not his."
"No."
"Where's the real one?"
"Harper says I should ask you."
Caleb sat down heavily.
For several seconds, he examined the imitation without touching it.
Then he took out his phone and searched for a message.
"A couple of months ago, Harper asked what Dad's watch was worth."
"What did you say?"
"I told her I didn't know."
"And then?"
"She asked if he left any paperwork for it."
I had the original purchase receipt and a photograph of the engraving.
Caleb knew that because he helped me organize the memorial box after Andrew's funeral.
"Did you give her the receipt?" I asked.
He nodded miserably.
I looked away.
I kept Andrew's watch receipt in a cream-colored envelope tied with blue ribbon.
He had bought the watch for himself after the promotion that allowed us to pay off the last large debt from our early married years.
I surprised him by paying for the engraving.
He pretended to be embarrassed by the sentiment.
Then he wore the watch every day until his illness made it uncomfortable against his thinning wrist.
I remembered the evening I gave it back to him after having it cleaned.
He held it beneath the lamp and read the words again.
"For every minute," he whispered.
"Did you really mean that?"
"Even the ones when you leave socks on the floor," I told him.
He laughed until he coughed.
The memory came back as I prepared the ownership information requested in connection with the watch.
I found photographs from birthdays, anniversaries, and the last Christmas we celebrated together.
In every picture, the watch rested on his wrist.
I had never imagined needing those photographs as evidence that an object belonged to my family.
June sat beside me sorting them by date.
"He really loved that thing," she said.
"He liked to pretend he bought it because he was becoming important."
"He was important."
"Not for the reasons he claimed."
We smiled sadly.
Then I found a photograph of Caleb, about twenty, wearing the watch at our kitchen table.
Andrew had let him try it on for a moment.
Caleb was grinning at the camera.
"I remember this," I said.
"He wanted a watch just like Dad's."
June leaned closer.
"Did Andrew offer it to him?"
"He said he could borrow it for his wedding someday, if he was responsible enough to return it."
I studied the photograph.
Caleb had been proud simply to be trusted with it for a minute.
Somewhere, years later, Harper had learned the watch's worth and treated it as an object available to secure a debt.
The contrast made me angry enough to stand.
I walked onto the balcony and listened to the waves until my hands stopped trembling.
When I returned, June had found a note tucked among the receipts.
It was Andrew's handwriting.
"Insurance update—remember sentimental value can't be replaced."
I sat down slowly.
He had been so ordinary about the things that mattered most.
He filed policies, checked dates, repaired appliances, and worried whether the windows would withstand hurricane season.
In the middle of those habits, he quietly built a life around us.
I had taken that steadiness for granted.
Now I recognized it as a form of devotion.
Caleb called that afternoon to ask whether I had located the serial number of the watch.
I told him I had.
Then I asked why Harper knew the watch was valuable.
He was quiet.
"She used to ask about Dad's stuff."
"When?"
"After we got married."
"What did she ask?"
"Whether he had collectibles, antiques, investments."
I closed my eyes.
At the time, I had interpreted Harper's curiosity as an interest in family history.
She admired the old clock in the hallway and asked whether it was rare.
She complimented Andrew's cuff links and wondered if they were made of real gold.
She looked through photograph albums and asked which relatives owned property.
Some questions were harmless.
Others, in retrospect, seemed painfully calculating.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked.
Caleb sighed.
"I didn't think it mattered."
"That's becoming the saddest sentence in this entire business."
He said he was sorry.
I told him I knew.
Then I asked him not to contact anyone about the watch without coordinating through the proper channels.
He agreed.
After the call, I placed the photographs in a new envelope and wrote Andrew's name across it.
I felt steadier than I had the previous evening.
The watch was still missing, but the memory of it belonged to me.
No one could pawn the minutes Andrew and I had shared.
No one could place a price on the years of kindness that made an ordinary object irreplaceable.
I repeated that truth when I began feeling frightened again.
It did not make me less determined to recover the watch.
It simply reminded me that Harper had not taken everything she hoped to take.
He had not stolen the watch, as far as we knew.
But he had handed her another way to identify something valuable.
Marcus recommended checking relevant resale records and sharing the item description with the officer taking the property report.
We did not chase pawnshops or confront strangers.
We let the process move where the evidence led.
Three days later, an investigator contacted us about a consignment inquiry matching the watch's description.
The shop had not completed a sale.
Someone had brought the watch in for appraisal, along with several jewelry pieces.
The name on the inquiry was Lorraine Whitcomb.
I stared at the screen when Marcus showed me.
Lorraine.
The woman who ate breakfast from my wedding china.
The woman who criticized my curtains.
The woman who laughed when Harper told me to ask for a senior discount.
I had underestimated her because she played the part of a vain, foolish mother who simply followed her daughter.
The possibility that she had handled my jewelry suggested something more deliberate.
When the investigator arranged appropriate follow-up, Lorraine suddenly wanted to speak with me.
She called from an unfamiliar number.
"Eleanor, you have everything all wrong."
"Then tell the authorities what is right," I answered.
"Do you know what this will do to my family?"
I thought of Andrew's watch.
"You should have considered that before you went through mine."
She began to cry.
The sound did not soften me the way it once might have.
"Dennis said the things were collateral," she whispered.
I gripped the phone.
"For what?"
"Temporary collateral. He said you'd agreed."
"Did you ask me?"
She did not answer.
"Then you didn't know."
Her voice dropped.
"You have no idea how bad things are."
"Tell me."
"Dennis owes people money."
"How much?"
A pause.
"More than we can pay."
I heard someone in the background shout her name.
Lorraine went silent.
Then she whispered, "Harper can't find out I called you."
The connection ended.
I stared at the blank screen.
For the first time, I wondered whether Lorraine was afraid of her daughter, her husband, or what both of them might do to save themselves.
That evening, Marcus received an urgent message from the lawyer representing a contractor who claimed Dennis had failed to pay for months of work.
The contractor had records of invoices and promises that financing was coming soon.
Among the correspondence was a spreadsheet marked PROJECT RESCUE.
It listed my condo, the cottage, and Caleb's accounts under a heading that made my hands shake.
AVAILABLE FAMILY ASSETS.
Beside my name was a short notation.
May you like
"Resistance expected. Resolve before Friday."
