“A doctor in Helena said I might.”
“And?”
“I hated him.”
Evelyn smiled.
“Why?”
“He made me exercise.”
“That monster.”
“I told him so.”
She laughed.
Miles rolled onto his side.
“For seven months I believed my life was over.”
Evelyn’s smile faded.
He continued.
“Then I stood.”
“For the first time.”
“I thought standing would return everything.”
“It didn’t.”
“No.”
“My father was still gone.”
“The men responsible still had power.”
“My land still felt empty.”
Evelyn reached for his hand.
Miles squeezed.
“Then you came.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“For thirty dollars.”
He groaned.
“You will mention that forever.”
“Yes.”
“I regret the amount.”
“Too low?”
“I was going to say any amount.”
“Correct answer.”
Their first anniversary arrived during a thunderstorm.
Evelyn laughed when she realized.
“Apparently weather attends our important events.”
Miles brought something wrapped in cloth.
She opened it.
Her father’s watch.
Restored.
The metal polished.
The mechanism repaired.
Evelyn stared.
“You fixed it.”
“A watchmaker did.”
“Still.”
She wound it.
The ticking began.
For years the watch had been silent.
Now it lived again.
She cried.
Miles held her.
Inside the case, the original hidden note remained.
Vernon knows about Jacob.
Evelyn had considered removing it.
She chose not to.
Memory should not be cleaned until only pleasant things remain.
Instead she added another tiny paper beneath it.
We know now too.
Years passed.
Vernon Carter was sentenced to prison.
Evelyn attended only one day of the trial.
His testimony.
He looked smaller.
Older.
He asked to speak with her afterward.
She almost refused.
Then agreed.
A deputy stood nearby.
Vernon sat behind iron bars.
For several seconds neither spoke.
Finally:
“You look like your father.”
Evelyn felt nothing.
Perhaps that was progress.
Vernon continued.
“I did care for you.”
She answered quietly:
“Sometimes.”
He flinched.
“I did.”
“You cared for me when caring cost you little.”
“That is not the same as loving someone.”
His eyes filled.
Evelyn had once imagined she would enjoy seeing him suffer.
She did not.
Pain was not justice.
Only pain.
He whispered:
“I was afraid.”
“So was my father.”
Vernon looked away.
“I never meant…”
Evelyn stopped him.
“No.”
He looked back.
“You have spent years telling yourself intent matters more than what you did.”
“It doesn’t.”
He cried.
Evelyn remained calm.
“I hope someday you tell yourself the truth without requiring anyone else to forgive you first.”
Then she left.
She never visited again.
Miles waited outside the courthouse.
He did not ask what Vernon said.
He only held out his hand.
Evelyn took it.