Page 129 of Fated

“Mum,” I say loudly, hoping I don’t wake Mila, “I have to ask you about the watch.”

“What watch?” she asks. Then, “Just a moment, Felicia. I’m speaking with my daughter. What watch? You have a lot of watches.”

I’m back at the window, my reflection wavy in the glass. My pale face is superimposed over the dark night sky, the smudges of trees coated in snow, and the wide, dark expanse of the lake, flat and fathomless. I press my palm to the glass and the cold seeps into my skin.

“I mean the watch you gave me on summer solstice. Adolphus Abry’s watch.”

The white frost, hoary and spidery, begins to melt and the glass around my hand clears to black.

“Oh, the watch I stole from dear old Leopold?”

“Yes. That watch. I was wondering, did Uncle Leopold tell you what happened after you dreamed? Did he say what you were supposed to do?”

“Well ...” My mum trails off, and for a moment the only noise is the throbbing beat of the drums, rising and crescendoing.

My hand is nearly numb from the cold, so I pull it from the glass. My handprint, surrounded by frost, remains behind.

“He only said that it let you live your dreams. So, I suppose you’re supposed to live them.”

I let out a sigh and my breath fills in the handprint, leaving a fog over the window glass.

“He didn’t say anything more?”

“What happened? Moonbeam?—”

“Fiona.”

“Fiona. You don’t sound as if you’re happy. You don’t sound as if you’re living your dreams. I thought this watch would help you find yourself. It’s why I took it.”

I shake my head, the weight of the pearl bracelet heavy around my wrist. “Max proposed.”

I don’t know why I tell my mum. We don’t have heart-to-hearts. We don’t have chats where she gives worldly advice or even loving advice. I haven’t shared anything with her in decades.

“The hoover salesman?” she asks.

“Mum.”

“Fine. I hope you turned him down.”

“Why?” I clutch the phone, knowing precisely why.

“Because he isn’t right for you.”

“I love him.”

“Of course you do. But that doesn’t mean he’s the man you should spend your life with. Or even a few years with. I’m still learning about life, but there’s one thing I know. You have to trust yourself. You can only live a true life if you trust yourself. What is your heart telling you?”

I look down at the floor, breathing in the cool stone and the scent of lavender that always lingers in my room. I look toward my nightstand, where I still keep the antique box and the gold pocket watch.

“It’s telling me to dream.”

“All right. Then do that.” She says it as if it’s simple.

It’s not.

I think perhaps Uncle Leopold knows that too. After all, he left Abry, Geneva, all of this behind, because life and love weren’t simple.

“Do you have Uncle Leopold’s phone number by any chance?” I ask.

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