The compass had been restored without removing its scratches. The watchmaker had repaired the pocket watch, replacing one internal spring while preserving the original face and case. It ticked softly for the first time in decades.
Toby picked it up.
“You fixed it.”
“Watchmaker did.”
“Did it cost a lot?”
Silas gave him a look.
“Right. Not my job.”
“Learning.”
Toby opened the back cover.
Inside was an engraving no one had noticed under the tarnish.
To Elias and Silas. Time is the only thing you cannot rebuild. — Dad.
Toby read it twice.
Silas did not speak.
The watch had belonged to their father and apparently had been intended for both sons, though Elias had ended up carrying it. Silas touched the engraving with one finger.
“I had forgotten this.”
Toby looked at him. “Do you want it?”
Silas's immediate instinct was yes.
Then he thought.
“You keep it for now.”
“For now?”
“When you are older, we decide what happens to the family things together.”
Toby liked the word together.
He put the watch carefully in its case.
Silas leaned back in his chair. “There is something else.”
Toby waited.
“I found the quarry.”
“What quarry?”
“The one where your father said he dumped his motorcycle in 1973.”
Toby's eyes widened.
“Did you find it?”
“No. Water is deep. The place changed. It may have been removed years ago.”
Toby looked disappointed.
Silas continued. “I realized something while I was standing there.”
“What?”
“I had been looking for proof that the Elias I knew still belonged to me.”
Toby frowned slightly.
“The lighter. The watch. The bike. Things.” Silas looked toward the office wall where the old charter photograph hung. “But people are not recovered that way.”
Toby looked at the silver lighter in his pocket.
“Then how?”
“You tell the truth about them. Even the parts you wish were different.”