A Timely Gift

Chapter 1 “Rory. Come with me.” Immediately I heeded my grandfather’s directive. When he told you to do something, you did it. Not that he was a scary man. Far from it. Though he’d seen his eightieth birthday, John Cameron was still as strong and tall as an oak. Weathered by the years, yes, but sturdy and stalwart. He was the patriarch of our little family, and we always did what he said. Because Grandda was always right. My da, John Junior, caught my eye as I followed Grandda out of the room. He raised an eyebrow and jerked his head toward his father. I just shrugged. I had no idea what he wanted, but I wasn’t going to keep him waiting while I talked about it with Da. He caught my hand as I walked by and gave it a quick squeeze of support. My stomach clenched, and I suddenly felt like I was about to get in trouble. All the way down the hall, I wracked my brain. I didn’t think I’d done anything to raise Grandda’s ire, but I couldn’t be sure. Sometimes something little would set him off, and one or all of us would be subject to a lecture—mild and softly spoken but a lecture nonetheless. Grandda never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. His disapproval alone was enough to make us rethink whatever we’d done or said. Grandda was already sitting in his favorite leather chair when I stepped into the den. It was quiet. Only the ticking of the clock on the mantel broke up the silence. Everyone else was in the living room, and the book-lined floor-to-ceiling shelves muffled the sound completely. When he motioned to the door, I shut it behind me. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, but I did my best to swallow them down. What had I done to rate a private audience? “Sit.” He pointed to the highbacked chair next to him. An antique end table sat between them. I perched on the edge and clasped my hands between my knees so he wouldn’t see them tremble. Long moments stretched out the silence. I was sure he could hear my heart pounding. “Rory.” He sighed, a hiss of sound, and I jerked my gaze to his face. He didn’t look upset. I could usually tell when he was. It was all in the eyes—the same blue he’d passed down to his son and to me and my brother and sister. I had the strange urge to burst out with, “I didn’t do it,” much like I would have as a kid. Instead I made myself take a breath, let it out slowly and soundlessly, and then said, “Yes, Grandda?” He nodded like that was the right response, and a little of the tension eased from my shoulders. “You’re thirty-five now, Rory, my boy. It’s time you settle down and have a family.” And just like that, the dread was back. He knew I was gay. He was the first person I’d told, and he’d just hugged me and told me he loved me. Thanked me for telling him, even. I was fifteen and scared out of my skull, but I knew it had to be Grandda first. If he accepted me, then everyone else would, too. He said it was as natural as anything else, and I should never be afraid to tell him anything. So why was he now, out of the blue, changing his mind? After all that time, he suddenly wanted me to find a nice girl and have a couple of kids? Panic welled in my throat, making it hard to breathe, but I forced it down, focused my brain, and opened my mouth to explain that I wasn’t bi, I was gay, and no woman would ever turn my head. “With a man, ye daft idiot.” The insult was tempered with humor, and everything in my chest released. “I don’t want kids,” I blurted. He c****d his head to the side and studied me shrewdly. After a long minute of silence, he asked, “Who said anything about children?” I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Uh, you said family, so—” He looked at me like I was crazy. “A family can be just two people, aye?” “Yes,” I agreed immediately because he wanted me to. And because he was right. “Absolutely.” “Do you know what today is?” The abrupt topic change startled me, and it took me a second to answer. “Umm…Thursday?” Instant scowl. Oh. Wrong answer. I tried to think of something else, but I had no idea what he was getting at. “Winter solstice.” Grandda’s voice held a note of disapproval, but he couldn’t blame me. He was pagan, had been his whole life, but at the insistence of his wife, he hadn’t passed the traditions and ideals down to his children. I’d never met my grandmother. She died before I was born, but by all accounts, I was lucky. The winter solstice didn’t mean anything more to me than the longest night of the year. Obviously for Grandda, it meant something more. “It’s a time of rebirth, ye ken? The sun reclaims her place in the sky, and the frozen earth begins to warm. The Oak King is in charge again.” Grandda’s Scottish was coming out, as it usually did when he spoke of the old ways. He’d lived in Upstate New York for more than sixty years, and his accent had diminished with each one that passed. Every now and again, though, that soft burr would make itself known in his words. I loved hearing it. But I also knew that meant he was serious. “I have a present for ye.” He placed his hand on a small wooden box on the table between us and then handed it over. It was maybe only four inches by six inches and the light-blond color of ash, varnished and smooth. I took it with the reverence it deserved. The hinged top was engraved with three runes I couldn’t read. Could Grandda? Probably. I was going to ask him what it meant, but the look on his face stopped me. He was all seriousness and concentration. It wasn’t the time. Maybe I could google it later. “Thank you.” Grandda grunted. “Open it.” It took me a second to comply. There was a tension in the air, a heaviness that underscored the importance of the gift. My first instinct was to dismiss it, but I knew that would be foolish. Grandda hadn’t called me in there for some silliness. I took a deep breath and lifted the lid. The pocket watch inside was old and scarred, its gold finish nicked and scratched. It had lost most of its shine and was dull with age and use. I carefully lifted it and turned it over in my hand. The family crest was etched on the back—a belt in a circle with five arrows in the center, tied together with a ribbon. The words Aonaibh ri Chiele, which translated to Unite, should have been at the top of the circle, but they were so worn I could barely make them out. “Oh, Grandda. It’s beautiful, but I can’t—” “Ye can. Ye will.” He reached out a hand, gnarled with age though still strong, clasped mine and closed it over the watch. “It’s yours now, Rory. It’ll help you sort your life.” I refrained from scoffing but only just. I didn’t think an old pocket watch was going to help me “sort my life,” but I knew better than to argue. It would be in poor taste and an insult to my grandfather to make fun of his gift. Not that I actually wanted to because the sentimentality of it, having something that was once his and obviously well-loved, was more touching than I could say. I nodded. “Thank you. I’ll cherish it.” “I know ye will.” He cleared his throat and sat back. I pressed the little button, and the top popped open. The second hand ticked steadily across the face. The numbers were faded a bit but still very visible. It took me a second to realize what I was seeing. “Is that the right time?” I glanced up at the clock on the mantel to confirm it and jumped to my feet, barely catching the box before it tumbled off my lap and to the floor. “Crap. Grandda, I gotta go. I’m on overnights this week.” He nodded, and I was certain he knew that, too. The family dinner had been great, and we had it earlier than normal just so I could come, but it was almost seven. If I didn’t hurry, I was going to be late. I tucked the watch in the pocket of my scrub shirt and then patted it. Its unfamiliar weight was somehow soothing. I hugged Grandda, and he kissed the side of my head and pushed me toward the door. I’d have to make my goodbyes quick—hugs and kisses all around—if I wanted to make it across town in fifteen minutes. If the traffic lights were with me, I would barely make it.