Chapter 14 — THE BACK OF THE WATCH

On the last Sunday in January, Eli asked me about the watch.

We were at the diner. Booth three. Mabel was drawing on a paper placemat.

He said, "Can I see that?"

I take it off and hand it to people about once every ten years. It is a 1979 Rolex Day-Date and it is the single most expensive object I own besides the buildings, and I have worn it every day for forty-six years and it looks it.

He turned it over.

There is an inscription on the back. It is worn nearly smooth now and you have to hold it to the light.

He held it to the light and he read it out loud, slowly, the way you read something that is hard to see.

"W.H. — from J. — 1979."

He looked up.

"Who's J.?"

I had a decision to make in about a second and a half and I made the right one, which I have not always done in this story.

I said, "Her name was Joan. She was my wife. She was your mother's mother."

Eli sat with that.

Then he said, "Is she dead?"

"She died in 2005. Two months before your mother left."

"Did Mom like her?"

I had to stop for a moment.

"Your mother loved her more than anybody in the world," I said. "Including me. And that's not a complaint. That's how it should be."

Eli turned the watch over again and looked at the face.

Then he said, without any weight at all, the way children drop the thing:

"Is that why Mom's mad at you?"

I said, "Yes. That's why."

"Because Grandma died?"

"Because of how she died," I said. "And what I signed."

He nodded slowly, and he did not ask what I signed, and I have wondered since whether he did not ask because he was ten or because he was Eli and he had already worked out that I was not ready to say it.

He handed the watch back.

Then he said: "Mom has a yellow paper."

I said, "What?"

"In her coat. In the plastic bag. She said don't lose it and don't let anybody read it except a doctor."

I said, "Eli. Which bag?"

"Mabel's bag. From the step."