It could have been anything-Hatchet Press

Kenneth

Sinclair

It Could Have Been Anything

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A girl sat wrapped in a cloth dress. Its floral pattern was colored shades of Sunday pastels. The rim of it ruffled around her as she sat on the hardwood floor. It folded with the patterns of the wood. Her knees and feet curled underneath herself vanishing from sight under its rim. She held ornate silver in her hands. The sun from the windows played on it as she held it in her palm. Her eyes matched the gleam of the metal.

“What have we got there sweetheart?”

The girl, with her small hands, raised the item up to her father. Her fascination with the item was clear, as her gaze locked on it .

“That’s like a baseball in your hands, dear.” The father took the watch from the little girl’s hand. She followed it with want in her eyes. She watched her father.

The father moved the watch through his fingers. The silver was etched in sharp detail. “This is a nice watch,” he said aloud, as he moved his thumb over the watch’s glass face. The time became clear. “We’ve got to get going.” He put his hand out. From instinct, his little girl took it in her own. She stood up with the help of her father. They set out on foot from the chapel. The Sunday air felt like spring in the middle of summer. Their dress shoes were washed from the dew on the plush green grass of the church’s yard.

“Did you enjoy Sunday school?” the father asked his little girl as they crossed the chapel’s gardens. They stepped onto stern cement. The sound of the congregation’s shoes on the parking lot, upon entering and exiting, was a distinct memory for her, that was significant to Sundays.

The click of the cement on her heel woke her up. “It was okay,” she said, before actually remembering the day she had spent in Sunday school. “Mrs. Hudson was weird today.”

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“Ha, what do you mean weird, sweetheart? That doesn’t sound nice.”

“She was upset.”

“With the class?”

“No, she was just upset. She said she’d be okay.”

“Wonder what was wrong?” the father thought aloud. “It could have been anything,” he concluded with himself.

The Little girl watched her father put the pocket watch into his pocket. He let the chain hang so that it peeked out of his slacks. She saw a single skip in his step.

The father opened the car door for his daughter. “Go on now, up, in, and get buckled.” She smiled hesitantly at her father’s full-toothed grin. He closed the door for her as he walked around.

She sat in her seat and waited for him to get in. She realized he didn’t ask her where the watch had come from. He always asked her where she got things. He was taking it from her, but she found it. It was hers, she thought.

Her father got in the car. “Alright, you all set?”

She nodded. The tires gritted underneath them as they pulled out of the parking lot and pushed onto the road.

“Maggie’s going to come over and watch you tonight honey.”

“What? Why?” “I’m going over to David’s. You know Mr. Rogers.”

“I don’t want Maggie to watch me.”

“Come on now, Elizabeth, I haven’t been out in a couple of weeks.”

“Ugh.” “Watch it, young lady.”

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“Ok…” “Excuse me?”

“Yes sir.” She corrected.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

He glanced at his daughter occasionally as they finished the ride home. Every time she caught him staring at her, she turned from him. She would pretend to look out of the window, but they were both aware of what was going on.

When they got home he made lunch and they watched TV. The afternoon hours passed quickly. Before her dad started to get ready, she crept into his bedroom. The pocket watch laid out on the sheets of his bed. She was unable to resist now that she had it alone with her in the room. With privacy to disobey, she took back what she wanted, and grabbed the watch. The doorbell rang.

The father answered the door. “Hey, Maggie, thanks for coming.”

“No problem, Mr. West.”

“Come on in…” Mr. West said, opening the door all the way for Maggie. “Elizabeth, Maggie is here…” There was no answer. “Just a second,” he said, as he shut the front door and went to find his daughter. She was in the den watching the TV. “Alright you two, be good. My number’s on the fridge, Maggie,” he said, as he checked his pockets for his wallet, keys, and watch.

He went back to his bedroom. The pocket watch was missing. He knew immediately what had happened and greeted his daughter in the den. With an open palm, he said, “give it to me now.”

Elizabeth stood instantly and sulked as she made her way to a drawer in the kitchen. She pulled the watch from her hiding

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spot. He fastened it to his pants and let the chain hang from his pocket.

“Now be good, girls,” and he was off.

He rang the doorbell at Mr. Rogers’s house. He crossed his arms as he waited for an answer.

“Hello! Who is it?” the pitch of the voice rising with the speech.

“Come on now! Someone will see me standing out here.”

A laugh came through the door as it opened and Mrs. Rogers grabbed him. She playfully mocked him. Her warm embrace and the flash of her smile instantly cooled his temper.

The door closed with her foot, as she spun him into the house with a kiss. Disorienting, the only clear focus kept on their lips. They spun past family portraits. Past a living room that people in the photos shared. But she spun him, and all of that fell out of focus. All he saw was a kiss.

She giggled them into the bedroom. He stared patiently smiling at all the key moments. They fell into bed, rolling with the sheets, as they shared a moment of contentment raveled between them. She pulled the pocket watch from his pocket, wrapped it around the back of his neck, and pulled him onto her.

Eventually, she needed both her hands again. She stretched an arm from the bed and placed the watch on the nightstand. They began to lose time, as they shared it in the bed together.

They heard a car door close in the driveway. Both of their eyes instantly went wide like gunshots. Mr. West moved for his clothes as he heard footsteps lead to the front door. He hopped into his pants, then exited from the back patio of the house. The night grass was cold on his bare feet. She pretended to be napping, and Mr. Rogers entered his home. He just returned from a meeting at the church. He went into the bedroom and set his briefcase down. He left it on the side of the bed frame while loosening his tie.

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Mrs. Rogers stirred awake from her slumber. “Hey, honey.”

Mr. Rogers turned from the closet he had just put his suit into. He took notice of his waking wife in bed. “Hello, dear.”

“How was work?” she asked him, as he sat on the edge of the bed and took his shoes off.

“It was okay, trying to figure more things the congregation can get involved in. We discussed about maybe some sort of retreat all the families could take.”

She saw the pocket watch on the bedside table and was completely lost from the conversation. Mr. Rogers’s eyes followed his wife’s stare. She locked; she saw everything fall apart around her. Would he yell? Would he hit her? Would he leave her? That’s what she wanted wasn’t it? She imagined the divorce.

Mr. Rogers spoke, “Oh! My watch, look how a day turns around!” He turned to his wife. “I thought I lost it at church this morning, thanks, Hun.” He kissed her on the forehead.

Upon returning home Elizabeth’s father paid Maggie and thanked her for staying to watch Elizabeth for him. Mr. West now stood square with his daughter, Elizabeth, in the entryway to their home. Elizabeth’s school photo hung in the hallway on the wall behind him.

Immediately she asked, “where’s the watch?”

Mr. West patted his pockets. “Best not to worry about what is not yours, dear.”

She huffed.

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Next Sunday they went to church. She caught her dad staring at Mrs. Rogers. Elizabeth thought Mrs. Rogers looked sad.

She looked at her dad and confirmed who he was watching. Then Elizabeth looked back to the Rogers. Mr. Rogers sat with the flash of a chain that came across his vest. Surely it was a different watch, she thought.

They set out on foot from the chapel. The fresh dew washed their shoes as they walked through the plush grass.

“How was Sunday school?” Mr. West asked his daughter.

But she knew what she wanted to talk to her dad about already. They stepped onto the stern concrete and she asked him, “Mrs. Rogers looked upset today. Did you notice?”

“What?” the question startled him. “No, I didn’t notice, did she?” he asked his daughter.

“She sure was.”

“Huh, I guess it could’ve been anything.” he said, as he opened the car door for her. “Go ahead now, up, in, and get buckled.”

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