The Grandfather's Watch

Kirra needs something special for the school's Heritage Evening. Every student has to bring an object that tells a family story. Her grandfather keeps an old silver watch in a wooden box in his bedroom. He wears it only on holidays.

She knows she should ask him. But he is staying at his sister's house until Sunday, and the evening is on Friday. Kirra decides that one small borrowing can't hurt.

On Friday afternoon, she wraps the watch in a scarf and puts it in her bag. Her presentation goes well. Her classmates ask about the words engraved on the back. She tells them how her grandfather received it from his own father. Then, while she is hurrying to pack up, the watch slips from her hand and hits the floor.

The sound is small and sharp. When she picks it up, a line runs across the glass, from the edge almost to the middle. The hands are still moving, but the watch looks hurt.

Her stomach drops. All the way home, she thinks of ideas. She could put it back in the box with the cracked side down. He might not notice for months. Maybe he would think it had happened years ago.

That night, she opens the box and looks at the empty velvet. The idea of hiding the damage makes her feel worse, not better. She remembers how carefully her grandfather winds the watch. "Time is the one thing you can't borrow," he always says.

On Saturday morning, she takes the watch to a small repair shop near the station. The repairer turns it over under a lamp. "The glass is easy to replace," he says. "It will cost sixty dollars, and it will be ready on Tuesday."

Kirra has exactly seventy dollars in savings. She was keeping it for new headphones. She counts out the money slowly, and then she pays.

On Sunday, her grandfather comes home. She waits until after dinner, then puts the empty box on the table. "I need to tell you something," she says. "I took your watch without asking. It fell, and the glass cracked. It's at the repair shop, and I've already paid for it."

Her grandfather is silent. He rubs his chin. "You should have asked," he says at last.

"I know," Kirra says. "I'm sorry."

"I would have said yes," he says. "That is the part that bothers me." He shakes his head slowly, but his voice is softer now. "Thank you for telling me the truth. Many grown people wouldn't."

On Tuesday, they collect the watch together. Back at home, he fastens it around her wrist for a moment. "Next time, ask," he says. "Then it's a gift, not a secret."