PART 1 — THE SILVER POCKET WATCH

The silver pocket watch on the kitchen table was ticking so loudly I could hear it over the scrape of my butter knife.

It sat on the plain oak wood next to the mayonnaise jar, its scratched casing reflecting the gray morning light.

Oliver picked up the watch and rubbed the metal with a yellow polishing cloth.

He did not look at me while he worked, his thumb moving in small, rhythmic circles over the glass.

“We have to think about the long-term maintenance of this place, darling,” Oliver said, his voice smooth and untroubled.

I finished spreading the mustard on Harry’s sandwich and reached for the plastic wrap.

Outside, the morning air carried the sharp, clean smell of damp pine needles from the woods behind our back porch.

“The roof is fine, Oliver,” I said, keeping my voice low so Harry wouldn’t hear me from the stairs.

“My husband had the shingles replaced five years before he passed.”

Oliver stopped rubbing the silver and looked up, giving me a warm, reassuring smile.

He spun the silver signet ring on his pinky finger twice before setting the watch down on the table.

“Five years in Ohio is a lifetime for cheap asphalt, love,” he said, laughing softly.

“By winter, we will be looking at a major project, and we need to be prepared for how we handle the deed.”

He picked up his coffee mug and took a slow sip, watching my hands.

I smoothed the front of my canvas trousers with both palms, trying to keep the fabric flat.

“The house is fully paid off, Oliver,” I said.

“There is no mortgage to worry about.”

He set the mug down with a small click that sounded too sharp for the quiet room.