She raised me, helped me finish school, and gave me a home.
I eventually became a nursing aide.
Your father made it possible for me to reach her.
I never needed to sell his watch.
I kept it safe.
Every morning, I wound it.
Whenever life became difficult, I’d listen to it ticking and remember that a complete stranger once decided my life mattered.
I spent years trying
to find him.
I wrote to the truck stop.
I searched online when I got older.
But I only knew his first name, that his wife was June, that his daughter was Rachel, and that he drove a blue truck.
I never found him.
Then, this year, my own life began falling apart.
My husband left in July, when our twin boys were only three months old.
He took our car and most of the money.
He hasn’t contacted us since.
I found a job at Willow Creek Nursing Home in Millbrook and rented a little yellow house on Pike Street.
I start work Monday.
But my first paycheck is still two weeks away.
Yesterday, unexpected bank fees left me with almost nothing.
That morning, I sat on my kitchen floor holding Tom’s watch.
For the first time in twenty-two years, I seriously considered selling it.
My boys needed diapers.
Tom had told me to sell it if I ever became desperate.
And I was desperate.
But I couldn’t bring myself to let it go.
I’d always hoped I would return it to him someday.
Then I walked into your store.
My card was declined.
People behind me were getting angry.
One baby wouldn’t stop crying.
I felt utterly humiliated.
And you paid for the diapers.
You smiled as though helping me was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Then I noticed the photograph beside your register.
I recognized him immediately.
The same smile.
The same cap.
The same blue truck.
The same watch.
I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
When I went home, I compared your receipt to the watch and cried for nearly an hour.
I returned to the store after closing, hoping someone could tell me whether I was right.
Your manager confirmed your
father’s name.
And he told me Tom had died when you were twelve.
Rachel, I’m so sorry.
I had no idea.
All these years, I imagined him still driving somewhere, helping people and making them laugh.
