Clock


It wasn’t a grandfather clock but it was his grandfather’s clock and Jack had no idea where it was. His mother had it repaired then foisted it upon them when she cleaned out the old house; said it was worth a pretty penny. It made a pretty awful racket, that was for sure. He was always surprised when it would suddenly appear on the mantle whenever his mother’s arrival approached.
Miriam was good with that stuff in a way Jack just never could be. Birthdays, bills and condolences were always such a mystery to him. The only way he remembered their anniversary was because Miriam put an orange post-it on the kitchen calendar.
Jack sat on a trunk in the attic and touched the ring on his ring finger then scanned the dimly lit space. There were a lot of places to hide amongst the waist high clutter he hadn’t seen in years: old albums from the service, eighteen years of tax statements, boxes of clothes, the exercise bike they never used.
Hanging in the corner, all ghostly white, glowing almost, Miriam’s dress. Jack pulled it from its clear, plastic covering. In the poor light he could just make out the ruffled embroidery. Jack slid the dress into his arms like a baby and began to sway and spin a bit in 3/4 time. Opening his eyes, he spotted the clock in the corner near the cobwebbed window. Jack carefully covered the dress again and hung it up. He went over to the clock and wiped off the dust with his sleeve.
It had been almost a month now that Miriam was gone and he still hadn’t told anyone. Jack turned the crank to open the window and slid the clock until it dropped and smashed on the landing. The sound made him happy. His hope was that his mother would see the clock and turn around and get back in her car. Then she’d drive back to Michigan and leave him alone in the attic.