Keeping Time: A Novel Read Online Free

of you, Mum, changing that washer successfully.
       Daisy smiled. Proud of herself, too, until remembering where it got her.
    DENNIS: I admit the wire that shorted out, the one that exploded the panel box, was a bit of simple bad luck, but none of this would have happened if the water main hadn’t been touched. It was crazy of you, Mum, to think you could do this sort of thing on your own.
    LENNY [shrugging]: You don’t know that. Maybe the hose was going to burst at that moment regardless. We’ll never know. It’s not as if there’s any special skill involved in turning on a water main.
    GABRIEL: I think it’s cool, Nan, that you hung in there all day on the top of that ladder.
       A general nodding in agreement.
    DENNIS: So, I guess we can all agree now that Mum shouldn’t be on her own anymore. This is precisely the kind of thing we’re seeking to avoid. And, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, bringing up Chessex again.
    LENNY: Then don’t. She doesn’t want to go, do you, Mum?
       “I, uh, well …” Daisy, scanning mental files, sifting through categories of polite, diplomatic answers. Refraining from shouting out that she didn’t want it indeed. Feeling Amanda’s eyes on her as if they actually had weight to them.
    LENNY [continuing]: See, she doesn’t. [Eyeing Daisy closely] Right? Senior apartments? That’s not like you, Mum. You don’t really want that, do you? And, besides, it’s too far.
    DENNIS: Far from what, Lenny?
    LENNY: From me. [Simply put.]
    DENNIS [exasperated]: Easy for you to champion her staying, Lenny. When’s the last time you did anything for her? When’s the last time she called you for help?
    LENNY [a wide, guilty smile. Wiping his mouth with big, meaty fingers.] Must have been when Thatcher was PM.
    DAISY: Those poor firemen will probably be telling the story forever, talking about the silly old woman on the top of the ladder.
    G tell her she could since ulABRIEL: Maybe, but I think it’s cool, Nan, that you hung in there all day on the top of that ladder.
       A general nodding in agreement, and they would start around again. The same conversation playing through the long minutes of the afternoon, straight into the slowly dimming evening until, after Lenny, Sarah, and Gabriel had said their good-byes while Amanda, with her thick, glossy mahogany hair and amber eyes, her long and lanky body, her long slendernose on her long slender face, was glancing at a fashion magazine—the pictures, not the articles—a new topic of conversation popped up, breaking the pattern.
    For Daisy, a doozy.
    Dennis, staring blankly at the TV—the evening news on, suddenly turning to his mother, saying, “By the way, Mum, who’s Michael?”
    “Michael?” Daisy, blinking.
    “You were talking about a Michael when you were babbling. When I found you. You were saying, ‘Michael’ and something about a box or a watch.”
    “Did I really?” Daisy, mystified.
    Dennis, nodding. “Any idea who you might have meant?”
    Daisy, shaking her head.
    But of course she did.
    She knew this: Michael Baker. 1945. Years before Paul.
    A U.S. soldier. So handsome in an American way, like the movie stars. Like Gary Cooper. An easy, open, honest face, quick to reveal emotions. Surprising Daisy, this quality in a soldier, she had always thought they had faces made of stone. His uniform, dark green. Remembering the way it made him look: important, part of something essential. Capable, strong, smart, daring, brave. Ready for anything. Fearless, but not reckless.
    Daisy, on the hospital bed, remembering the first time she saw him; she was convinced her heart had stopped, before resuming triple time. All he did was buy a newspaper, a cup of tea, a custard tart. To Daisy his every movement was miraculous. So tall. Broad shouldered. His hands and fingers strong, beautiful. Nothing at all like the boys she went to school with. Built nothing like the men in the village. Where did he get those