CHAPTER ONE #2
Then a metallic glint caught my eye. Out of place on a table with teapots and porcelain plates was a gold watch.
The way it glowed in the fading afternoon light was photo-worthy, but my hand reached for the watch instead of my phone’s camera.
The watch felt substantial, full of weight and heft.
The finish was beautiful—too special to be tossed on a table where it didn’t belong.
Rehomed where it didn’t fit. The second hand was frozen; the time was hours off. A tag hanging off the side read $15.00.
My parents had already gifted me a watch for graduation.
Abuela’s heirloom watch was currently packed away in my luggage, a stinging reminder of a wish that hadn’t come true.
I didn’t need another timepiece, yet alone a broken one, but something about this golden relic called to me. You’ve been left behind too.
“I thought I’d find you in here,” Vivian said, coming up behind me. “?Estás lista? The owner’s jiggling his keys like it’s time to lock up. Plus I want to make one more stop before it gets too dark. There’s this amazing lookout point a short ride away. I could use the inspiration.”
I nodded. Vivian was the definition of inspiration, no matter the view. Independent. Successful. Totally her own person. All the things I hoped my Perfect Triangle would help me become. “Let me pay for these, and I’ll meet you at the car.”
I’ll admit, the panoramic canyon lookout had been impressive, but my tía’s idea of a “short ride away” was vastly different from mine.
I didn’t complain as we piled back into the Camaro, cabin bound—finally.
When Vivian had custom orders like the one she’d be working on this summer, she rarely indulged in a day off, so I embraced this side quest while I could.
I moved my shopping bag from Spines and Pines off my seat, the watch accidentally tumbling out into my lap. Before I could repack it, Viv moved her hand off the gearshift and grabbed my arm.
“This is what you bought at the antique shop?”
“Yeah, plus a couple other things. Seemed like a good deal. It was only fifteen dollars.”
Vivian cut the engine and turned on the interior light. “That was fifteen dollars?”
“Yeah, why? Is it a rip-off?”
She laughed wryly, almost maniacally. “?Mijita, por favor! This is a vintage Vacheron Constantin in solid gold. Super high-end.”
I didn’t doubt Vivian’s take; she knew about stuff like this.
And when she asked to examine the watch and made me spill every last detail of the purchase, I did, though there wasn’t much to tell.
The shaggy-bearded owner of Spines and Pines had barely glanced at the piece as he bagged it with the rest of my items and took my cash. But now . . .
“Okay, let’s say Spines and Pines is the worst judge of antiques on the planet, and they had no idea what they sold me. Now what?” I asked.
Viv examined the watch, turning the crown to no avail, before handing it back to me. “When we get back to LA, you have it repaired—I know a guy. It needs a good tune-up to get it ticking again. Then you’re the proud owner of an antique worth eight thousand dollars, if not more. Bien hecho, Sylvie.”
My stomach crashed. These numbers made no sense.
Lost and foreign. Bewildering. But when I caught up to them, they ignited.
Sacred had given me a watch I could sell to pad my bank account like no summer job ever could.
This watch was my freedom. A promise that the big, big life I wanted was coming.
I fastened the timepiece around my wrist, vowing to keep it safe and close.
The Camaro growled to life again, and last night’s insomnia kicked a noisy yawn from my chest. The champagne dial on the new watch was useless; I glanced at my phone instead. But there was more on my home screen than the date and time. I’d missed a number of texts from my parents.
Mom: Besitos. We’re all settled in Palermo
Mom: Be sure to send the address of the place
you’re staying in Oregon
Mom: The rules do not change simply because
you’re not in LA. And I love you. Te amo
Dad: Te quiero, carino
Aye, aye, captain, I mouthed. In my case, it wasn’t just a saying.
My father’s uniform blazer bore the four golden stripes signifying his rank.
While he helmed the ship they called home each summer, my mother kept everything else on board running—even controlling my life from thousands of miles away.
Back on the road, I found my eyes drifting closed.
Soon, my subconscious slipped into a place I’d only seen in photos.
The dream was always the same—me, standing on the top deck of the massive boat called the Mercury that was owned by a shipping billionaire and piloted by my dad.
My hair blew in the Mediterranean breeze as scenes flashed of the parties and private concerts my mother organized.
Movie stars and champagne and laughter and—-
My head cartwheeled as the wooden deck of the Mercury morphed into a slab of pavement rising toward my face. I jolted into consciousness, my eyes winging open before the hit.
A dream. I’d only been sleeping.
I steadied myself. Tía Viv was there, hands gripping the wheel like she had most of the day. The sky was black syrup. My tongue, graveled.
“Ay, sorry,” Vivian said as I reached for my water bottle and chugged. “A deer darted into the road, and I swerved. You were out. Must’ve been a good dream.”
“Sure.” I remembered the term “hypnic jerk” from anatomy class. The sensation of falling while sleeping perfectly safe and sound. God, the brain was a shitty little trickster.
I registered the pain then, an unhappy ending to my restorative nap. My hand flew up, pressing into the grinding headache that made this morning’s dull throb feel like a tickle.
“Oh no.” Vivian reached one steadying hand on my shoulder. “Your head again?”
I winced, shrugging, mentally repeating the mantra my cheer coach used to call before each mount. One, two, set. I often breathed through its rhythm to center myself.
“The nerve of that flier to fall right on top of you like that. The one time you switch to base.”
I fished Aleve and a protein bar from my bag.
“Wasn’t her fault. It’s fine.” Sadly, this wasn’t my first visit from a post-concussive headache, courtesy of that fateful day at cheer practice last fall.
Even though tonight’s was one of the worst I’d had in months, the last thing I wanted to do was alert Tía Viv, who would alert my parents.
A post-concussion syndrome, or PCS, relapse meant I’d be plugged back into another strict program of brain monitoring and medication, all of which required my parents’ insurance. And me, remaining as their dependent. My plan to move out could be derailed by my own head, and I had to be careful.
Headlights from an approaching semitruck illuminated the cab and the gold watch around my wrist. I saw it then—or I thought I did.
Perplexed, I reached for my phone and aimed the flashlight at the circular face.
The watch looked almost the same as when Vivian examined it—broken, the hour and minute hands way off.
And yet there was no explanation other than post-nap grogginess or the headache messing with my brain for what I saw.
The second hand ticked its way around the champagne dial. Alive.