It was evident it had been a watch much loved. The cognac-colored leather band had been softened and creased with age; a less sentimental person would have replaced it years ago with a new one. The gold casing had acquired a lovely patina, too, and engraved on the back was an inscription that read simplyLove, with scripted initials beneath.
Jack ran his finger over the engraving. He always relished reading the words that people chose to make permanent on a timepiece. It seemed almost sacred to him, the same way it felt when he would come across a tree during one of his late-night walks and see two sets of initials carved into the trunk, a fossilization of someone else’s adoration.
The Elgin watch was a mechanical one, so it wasn’t an easy repair that simply required a change in the quartz battery. He contemplated if perhaps it needed to have its gears stripped and cleaned. He pulled the magnifying visor down over his head and slowly began to unscrew the back of the case and then laid it on the table, revealing the insides of the watch.
The internal mechanisms of a watch were beautiful to him: the gear train, the escapement and balance wheel. All the working calipers, framed by the bridge, came together in an enviable harmony. Jack felt as if he was peering into a perfect world when he opened up a watch, one where one component fit perfectly into the next, where everything merged to make two linked hands move ahead.
He saw this beauty all through the lens of his one good eye. And even when a watch didn’t work as it should, there was the expectation that it could still be resurrected with the proper care. But could a life be as well?
Nothing in his life had ever come together like the workings of a watch. But while the sadness and isolation of his life had gutted him prior to meeting Tom and his family, Jack had realized just this evening why he no longer saw his life as a tragedy. The invitation to Sunday night dinner was in fact not offered out of pity, as he once believed.Instead, he had the impression that when Tom asked him to come, he wanted him there because he and Grace now considered him part of their family.
That Sunday evening, rather than the usual round roast or baked chicken, Grace set the table with large soup bowls and chopsticks collected from all the times they had ordered in Chinese food from Charlie Suey’s. The house smelled of new flavors and scents. Hours earlier, she and Anh had taken the old station wagon to Queens, where she’d lived before marrying Tom. There she knew they could find all the ingredients they needed for Anh’s recipe. Anh had written out her shopping list in Vietnamese.
“Remind me again what we’re getting for tonight?” she’d asked.
“Rice noodle. Garlic. Coriander …” Ahn had practiced with Sister Mary the day before to remember the English translations for the ingredients.
Grace had smelled some of Anh’s cooking at the motherhouse, and it always made her mouth water. “It all sounds wonderful,” she said. “I can’t wait to taste what you make tonight.”
“I am happy to cook for you and your family,” Anh grinned. She patted the shopping list with her hand.
She felt almost giddy with the windows rolled down, the breeze rippling through both their hair. Grace caught Anh smiling as she looked out at the changing scenery, the rows of suburban houses being replaced by two-family homes, redbrick apartment buildings and storefronts that reflected the neighborhood’s rich immigrant community. Grace pointed to a pub next to an Indian restaurant that had an Irish flag in one of its windows. “I used to go there with my girlfriends,” she laughed. “I’m glad ol’ Malachy’s is still around.”
A few minutes later, Grace spotted the sign for Lo’s Market. “Here we are.” She slowed the car and pulled into a parking spot just in front.
Anh looked at the sign. “This store we go to, it owned by Vietnamese?”
“It’s actually Chinese,” Grace clarified. “But I called this morning, and they said they have your noodles and spices, too.”
The two women got out of the car and walked inside. In the past, it was Grace who’d always taken charge whenever they stepped through the threshold of Kepler’s. But now she walked behind Anh, who floated confidently through the store’s narrow aisles, her fingers combing through the bushels of familiar produce and herbs. She smiled as she lifted a small knob of ginger root to her nose.
“This place very good,” she told Grace as she eyed the stack of cellophane vermicelli noodles on the shelf. “We can make ph? just like back home.”
Now the Golden house was filled with the scents steaming off from the rich broth that Anh had showed Grace how to make when they’d returned from the Asian grocery store.
Jack was drinking a cold beer with Tom in the living room, and a few minutes later the doorbell rang. It was Anh, who had gone back to the motherhouse an hour earlier to get B?o.
“We made pounded sweet bean and rice treats with the Sisters yesterday.” Anh offered Grace a tin filled with the dessert. “We have full Vietnamese meal now,” she said, smiling.
“That’s so kind of you, Anh. Thank you,” Grace said, taking the tin and walking her toward the living room where Tom and the others were waiting. Katie was still not back from her job, but Molly rushed over to greet B?o.
“Well, you know our Molly … and Katie will be home soon.” Grace pushed a cheeriness into her voice. “And this is our friend Jack. He works with Tom at the store.”
Anh stepped forward and proudly offered a handshake. Her eyes did not react even when they registered the disfigurement on Jack’s left side. She felt the warmth and strength in the man’s grip flood through her.
B?o swiveled around after greeting Molly and seemed to ponder for a moment the man who stood rigid in the living room, staring out at him with one good eye and a face etched with scars. His eyes lifted from the ground and traced Jack’s silhouette in its entirety.
“Hello, sir. It’s nice to meet you,” he articulated his words with careful, practiced diction. Dressed in a checked button-down shirt and khaki pants that hit him above the ankle, B?o extended his hand. Jack grasped it and shook it firmly.
“It is a pleasure, young man,” Jack said softly. He was surprised how much emotion welled inside him from such a simple gesture. But there was something about seeing two children, both from two different worlds, standing next to each other and bonded in friendship, that filled Jack with an emotion he hadn’t felt since he’d left Foxton Elementary: a beautiful feeling of hope.
The steaming bowls of broth brimming with ribbons of rice noodles, cilantro leaves, and thin slices of beef were placed down cheerily by Grace and Molly.
Jack sat down at the table. “It certainly smells delicious.”
“Anh showed Mom how to do everything,” Molly chirped. “We need some new dishes around here, right Dad?” She dipped her head closer and inhaled the scent of ginger, clove, and coriander wafting off the surface, then reached for the lime wedge to squeeze into the soup and a few bean sprouts. Anh had told her to add both before taking her first sip of the broth.
Tom settled into his chair. “Well, I’m excited. This will be my first time eating Vietnamese food.”
