Chapter 6: No Clocks

Eli lived on the fourth floor of an old brick building near the river.

I stood in the hall at seven exactly, because I was my father's daughter, and I hated that I had checked.

He opened the door before I could knock.

He was in a gray sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and his feet were bare.

"You're on time," he said.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Come in."

The apartment smelled like garlic and browned butter.

There were boxes still stacked against one wall, and a single lamp on in the living room.

On the kitchen counter, a pot of water was coming to a boil.

"I should warn you," he said. "I make one dish."

"What is it?"

"Pasta with whatever's in the fridge."

"That's not one dish."

"It is if you commit to it."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

He turned away to the stove, and I saw him smile at the pot.

I looked around for a clock.

I couldn't find one.

The microwave was dark.

The stove had a cloth thrown over its display.

"I took the batteries out of the wall clock," he said, without turning around. "I thought you'd rather not have one watching you."

My throat tightened.

"Eli."

"I mean it about no clocks."

He unbuckled the watch on his left wrist, a plain steel one, and held it in his palm for a moment.

Then he crossed to a drawer under the bookshelf, dropped it in, and shut it.

"Your turn," he said.

I wore my father's Christmas gift, a thin gold watch with a very quiet tick.

I unfastened it and set it in the drawer beside his.

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