The Time Keeper Part 11

"I want the oldest pocket watch you have," he said.

The proprietor smacked his upper lip.

"Cost?"

"Doesn't matter."

"All right ... One moment."

He moved to the back and mumbled something to someone.

Victor waited. It was December, a few weeks before his final Christmas, and he'd decided to buy himself a timepiece. He would have the cryonics people stop it the moment he was frozen; when he reached the new world, he would start it up again. He liked symbolic gestures like that. Anyhow, it was a good investment. An antique today would be worth much more centuries from now.

"My apprentice can help you," the proprietor said.

From the back stepped a man whom Victor guessed to be in his mid-thirties, leanly muscled, his dark hair mussed and uneven. He wore a black turtleneck. Victor tried to guess his nationality. Strong cheekbones. Somewhat flattened nose. Middle Eastern? Maybe Greek?

"I'm looking for the oldest pocket watch you have."

The man closed his eyes. He appeared to be thinking. Victor, never a patient man, glanced at the owner, who shrugged.

"He is very knowledgeable," the proprietor whispered.

"Well, let's not take a lifetime," Victor said. He chuckled to himself. "Or another lifetime."

Another lifetime.

The man's eyes popped open.

42.

Ethan hadn't seemed as attentive the next week at the shelter.

Sarah told herself it could be anything. Maybe he was tired. As a gag, she wrapped a pack of peanut b.u.t.ter crackers with a little red bow. Privately, she was hoping for a kiss. But when Ethan saw it, he smirked and said, "All right, thanks."

She hadn't mentioned their night together, because she didn't know what to say. She was embarra.s.sed to admit that, thanks to the alcohol, she didn't remember every detail (she, Sarah Lemon, who once memorized entire verses of The Canterbury Tales for English cla.s.s), and besides, she thought less was more when it came to talking about that night.

Instead she tried to make more topical conversation, about all the things she felt they had in common, as they had done before things got physical. But something was off. Whatever subject she raised, Ethan ended with a clipped response.

"What's wrong?" she finally asked.

"Nothing."

"You sure?"

"I'm just beat."

They fell into silence and unpacked the boxes. Eventually, Sarah blurted out, "That vodka was good," but it sounded as phony as it felt. Ethan grinned and said, "Can't lose with booze," and Sarah laughed, but too loudly.

As he left, Ethan lifted a hand and said, "See you next week." She was hoping he would add "Lemon-ade"; she just wanted to hear him say it, but when he didn't, she heard herself say, "Lemon-ade" and then she wondered, Oh, G.o.d-had that been out loud?

"Yeah. Lemon-ade," Ethan said. He walked out the door.

That afternoon, without a word to her mother, Sarah withdrew money from her bank account and took an hour-long train into New York City to buy his special watch.

Sometimes, when you are not getting the love you want, giving makes you think you will.

43.

Victor had to admit, that apprentice knew what he was doing.

He'd located a timepiece made in 1784, a pocket watch trimmed in eighteen-karat gold, with a painted sh.e.l.l depicting three people under the stars-a father, mother, and child. The dial was white enamel and had lifted Roman numerals. The hands were silver. The mechanics were the old-fashioned verge fusee system. It even made small chiming sounds on the hour. Given its age, the watch was in excellent condition.

Coincidentally, it had been made in France.

"I was born there," Victor said.

"I know," the apprentice said.

"How would you know?"

The apprentice shrugged. "Your voice."

His voice? Victor didn't have an accent. He thought about it, then let it go. He was more interested in the timepiece, which fit perfectly in his palm.

"Can I take it with me?"

The apprentice looked to the proprietor, who shook his head. "We'll need a few days to ensure its operation. Remember, this is a very old piece."

Sitting now in the back of the limo, Victor realized they had never told him what the watch cost.

Not that it mattered. He hadn't asked the price of anything in a long time.

He swallowed several pills and drank the rest of a ginger ale. The pain around his stomach and kidneys was throbbing, as it had been for months. But the dread he felt in his time running out was being addressed the way he always addressed things: with methodical action.

He checked his watch. This afternoon, he would consult with his legal team. Then he'd review the cryonics doc.u.ments. Finally, he'd go home to Grace, who would be waiting with another of her "healthy" meals-bland and tasteless vegetables, no doubt. It was typical of the gap between them, he thought. Here she was trying to stretch his meager days, while he was planning for another century.

He thought again about the pocket watch, how perfectly it had fit in his palm. He was surprised at how energized he was from the purchase, even though it was another thing he couldn't tell Grace about.

44.

The newscaster was talking about the end of the world.

Sarah stepped closer to the TV in the train station. The man was discussing how, according to Mayan calendars, the world was scheduled to end next week. Some predicted a spiritual awakening. Others saw Earth's collision with a black hole. In various corners of the world, people were gathering in churches, squares, fields, near the ocean, awaiting the end of existence.

She thought of telling this to Ethan. She thought of telling everything to Ethan. She pulled out her phone and texted him.

"Did u hear Tuesday is end of the world?"

She pressed send and waited. No reply. Probably had his phone off. Or in his pocket.

The train came and she boarded. She had most of her savings account in her purse-seven hundred and fifty-five dollars-and she wondered how much a movie watch would cost.

45.

Although it was the weekend, Victor's office was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with activity.

An expression at his firm went: "If you don't come in on Sat.u.r.day, don't bother coming in on Sunday."

Victor nodded to various employees as Roger wheeled him down the halls. Roger, tall and pale, with cheeks that sagged like a hound dog's, was almost always by Victor's side. He was unfailingly loyal, never questioning an instruction, and Victor rewarded him handsomely.

"Afternoon," Victor mumbled as Roger pushed him into the conference room, where five lawyers gathered around a long rectangular table. The winter sun sliced through the window shades.

"So. Where are we?"

One lawyer leaned forward, pushing a pile of papers.

"It's incredibly complicated, Victor," he said. "We can only set up doc.u.ments based on current law."

"Future rulings could render them obsolete," added another.

"Can't protect against everything," said a third.

"Depends on how long we're talking," said the first.

"Normally, your estate would pa.s.s to Grace," the fourth lawyer said.

Victor thought of her again, how she knew nothing of this plan. He felt a pang of guilt.

"Go on," he said.

"But if we do that, she controls everything. And when she goes, to return it to you, well, the law is fuzzy on leaving an estate back to someone who is already, technically ..."

Everyone looked around.

"Dead?" Victor said.

The lawyer shrugged. "It's better to set up certain funds right now, insurances, a special trust-"

"-a dynasty trust," the first lawyer interjected.

"Right. Like the kind you use for a great-grandchild's education. This way the money can revert to you when you are ... what's the right word?"

"Revived?"

"Yes, revived."

Victor nodded. He was still thinking about Grace, how much he would set aside to take care of her. She always said she didn't marry him for his money. Still, how would it look if he didn't leave more than enough for her every need?

"Mr. Delamonte," the third lawyer asked, "when are you planning the ... uh ..."

Victor snorted a breath. Everyone had such a hard time with the word.

"I should be gone by the end of the year," he said. "Isn't that to our benefit?"

The lawyers looked at one another.

"It would make the paperwork easier," one said.

"By New Year's Eve, then," Victor announced.

"That's not much time," one lawyer protested.

Victor wheeled to the window and looked out over the rooftops.

"That's right," he said. "I don't have much time-"