Several months later, another family birthday passed without a gathering.
I spent the evening at Lena's table eating lemon cake and helping her children with a jigsaw puzzle.
I thought briefly about calling Monica.
Then I asked myself whether I wanted to speak with her or merely wanted to avoid the sadness of an empty family calendar.
The answer was not the same.
I didn't call.
Lena never suggested I should reconcile because life was short.
She asked which piece of cake I wanted.
I chose the corner with extra icing.
When I got home, I opened my desk drawer and looked at Monica's unanswered letter.
I didn't tear it up or read it again.
I left it where it was.
Some decisions could be revisited later without needing to be made tonight.
I set my alarm for work and went to sleep.
I considered putting the watch away permanently.
Then I remembered the reason Dad had given it to me.
He'd said I was learning to make time for other people while running a demanding business.
I had not always managed that balance.
Neither had he.
I wound the watch and wore it to my next class.
Nobody remarked on it.
The students were busy with a worksheet about household expenses.
During the break, I checked the time and saw the engraving reflected in the glass of a classroom door.
For once, I thought about Dad's pride instead of Monica's theft.
The feeling was quiet and incomplete, but I let it stay.
The watch needed a new strap.
The leather had cracked where Monica had worn it too tightly.
I took it to a small repair shop and asked the owner to check the mechanism.
He opened the back carefully and showed me the engraving.
My father had used my initials and the year I opened Buckeye.
The letters were shallow from years of wear.
The repairman said it could be cleaned and fitted with a new band.
I asked him to keep the old strap in a bag.
I wasn't sure why.
At home I placed it next to Dad's last birthday card.
His handwriting was uneven at the end of his life.
He had written that he was proud of me for building something useful.
I remembered showing that card to Monica because I wanted her to share my happiness.
I had not understood how she might have received it.
That didn't make the letter responsible for what happened later.
It simply reminded me that family history had more than one perspective.
I considered whether I owed Monica a response longer than the note I'd sent.
My counselor asked what I hoped such a letter would accomplish.
“I want her to understand.”
“Has she shown that she is ready to hear you?”
I couldn't answer.
So I kept the longer letter in my drawer.
I could change my mind someday.
I also had permission not to.
The repaired watch began ticking softly beside my bed.
It reminded me of Dad, not the argument in Opal's yard.
That was enough for the present.
I received Monica’s letter in spring.
There was no money inside.
Only our father’s watch, wrapped in a soft cloth, and three pages of handwriting.
She admitted she had helped prepare inaccurate records while Trevor was running the company.
She said she had told herself that I would be able to straighten everything out once Loretta recovered.
Then the investigation began.
She panicked.
By the time my case went to trial, she believed admitting her role would destroy her own life.
Her letter did not excuse what happened.
It described a chain of selfish decisions.
She also acknowledged threatening me after my release.
I read it once.
Then I handed a copy to Nadia because ongoing legal questions made that necessary.
I did not answer for two months.
Monica's letter began with an apology for taking the watch.
That was the easiest sentence in it.
She wrote about our father, childhood comparisons, and the resentment she had carried into adulthood.
There were paragraphs describing how Trevor made her feel important at the company.
I could hear the familiar attempt to turn her choices into somebody else's fault.
Then she wrote that she'd helped conceal information during the investigation.
I stopped reading and called Nadia before making assumptions about the legal significance of the claim.
My lawyer asked me to preserve the original letter and envelope and not negotiate privately with a possible witness.
The admission would have to be evaluated carefully.
It could affect matters beyond a family apology.
I placed the letter in a folder and went for a walk.
Every mailbox on the street reminded me of the one at our childhood home.
Monica and I used to race to see who could reach it first.
Sometimes the prize was only a grocery circular.
When Dad gave me the watch, she'd refused to join the family photograph.
I had tried to make up for the slight by inviting her into the business.
Now I wondered whether she'd experienced every kindness as a reminder of what she believed she lacked.
None of that excused what had happened.
But understanding a motive was different from needing my sister to be a monster.
Weeks later, through our attorneys, she requested a meeting about personal matters.
I declined.
I wrote her a short response after the legal questions were addressed.
I said I had received the watch.
I said I recognized her apology.
I also said I was not ready for direct contact.
There was no promise of a holiday dinner.
No deadline for forgiveness.
I mailed the note and returned home to find Opal teaching her neighbor how to make pie crust.
They had flour on the table and a disagreement about butter.
Opal asked whether I wanted to join them.
I washed my hands and took the rolling pin.
For an hour I helped make something that wasn't evidence.
During those weeks, I helped Opal organize her pantry and replace the broken porch rail.
I enrolled in a community course on updated accounting software.
I began applying for work.
One employer rejected me after an interview.
Another asked whether I could explain my years away.
I presented the certified court documents and spoke about my current skills.
They asked me to complete a practical assessment.
I did.
A week later, they offered me a part-time position reviewing invoices for a small distribution firm.
I accepted.
I still worked for Opal on agreed mornings.
She disliked the idea of hiring another housekeeper.
Then she met Mrs. Carter, who lived two streets away and made excellent biscuits.
Opal changed her mind.
On the first Saturday after my new job began, I wrote Monica a short response.
I told her I had received the watch.
I told her I had read the letter.
I was not ready for a personal relationship.
If there were legal matters to address, our attorneys could handle them.
I did not promise forgiveness.
I did not tell her she could never change.
I simply described the boundary I could keep.
Then I put our father’s watch on my wrist.
Its clasp was loose.
I took it to a repair shop the following week.
The jeweler tightened it while I waited.
For years I had imagined that getting the watch back would heal something.
Instead, I felt the weight of an ordinary object.
That was enough.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: Opal Asked What I Wanted Next And I Finally Had An Answer Of My Own
The Woman Who Asked About My Sentence Offered Something More Useful Than Sympathy
Part 15 of 16
