Chapter 22: The Street

We carried the clock up the stairs at nine that night, my two cousins and I, with Fern walking ahead to open the doors.

It weighed as much as a small safe.

We set it on the dresser across from Clifford's bed, and Meredith straightened the walnut case with both hands.

Clifford lay propped on the pillows with the tube under his nose, and he watched us with a drowsy, satisfied look.

The whole house was in that room.

Fern sat in the chair at his right hand.

The housekeeper stood by the door with a dish towel, crying and pretending she wasn't.

My cousins leaned on the wall with their arms folded and their eyes on the floor.

"Well," Clifford said. "Go on, then. Someone start it."

"You should," Meredith said.

"I made it. You should."

She looked at me.

I opened the glass door of the case and reached in.

The brass pendulum hung heavy and still at the end of its rod.

I laid two fingers against it and pushed it gently to the left.

It swung back, and then out again, and the clock caught.

Tick.

The sound was slow and loud in the quiet room, and Clifford shut his eyes.

"There it is," he said. "That's the one."

Meredith sat on the edge of the bed and took his hand in both of hers.

"I love you, Grandpa."

"I know, my girl."

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