“You didn't know that.”
Laura laughed.
“Dad, give him the watch.”
Howard finally unfastened it.
For a few seconds he held it.
Then Mark took it.
Evelyn had turned toward the computer to complete transport documentation.
She saw the exchange only peripherally.
She did not see where the watch went after Mark accepted it.
That detail would matter later.
Mark had his leather messenger bag on the chair beside him.
He opened the front compartment.
Then changed his mind.
Too shallow.
He unzipped an inner pocket.
Placed the watch inside.
His phone rang at the same time.
His wife.
He answered.
The transport technician arrived.
Laura handed Mark their father’s glasses.
Someone asked about Howard’s dentures.
Another person needed a signature.
Within thirty seconds, the small act of putting the watch in the bag disappeared beneath ten other things.
Mark forgot.
Howard was wheeled toward pre-op.
Evelyn walked beside him until the secured doors.
“I don't like this part.”
Howard admitted quietly.
“What part?”
“The waiting.”
“The part where you're all standing and I’m the one lying down.”
Evelyn looked at him.
“That's normal.”
“Doesn't make it pleasant.”
“No.”
She adjusted his blanket.
“You don't have to enjoy it.”
“You just have to let us take care of you.”
Howard looked at her.
“Think you can manage that?”
Evelyn smiled.
“We'll do our best.”
He nodded.
Then disappeared through the doors.
The procedure lasted ninety-three minutes.
No complications.
Howard had significant narrowing but nothing requiring emergency surgery.
His cardiologist performed the necessary intervention.
By 2:45, he was in recovery.
By 3:20, he returned to the floor sleepy, uncomfortable, but stable.
Evelyn was there.
She checked the access site.
Vitals.
Pain.
Peripheral pulses.
Orientation.
Howard opened his eyes.
“Still here?”
“I’m difficult to get rid of.”
“Good.”
Mark and Laura entered several minutes later.
Howard looked at them.
“You both look worse than I do.”
Laura started crying.
Howard immediately regretted the joke.
“Oh.”
“Don't do that.”
She hugged him carefully.
Mark squeezed his shoulder.
“You did good, Dad.”
“I lay there.”
“Very impressive.”
The room softened.
For the next hour, everything was ordinary.
That was what made what happened next so violent emotionally.
At 4:31, Howard asked:
“My watch.”
Mark looked up.
“What?”
“My watch.”
“The one your mother gave me.”
“Oh.”
Mark looked around.
“I had it.”
Laura said:
“You took it before they brought him back.”
Mark nodded.
“Right.”
He looked at the bedside table.
Not there.
Drawer.
Empty.
He checked his jacket pocket.
Nothing.
Then the bag on the chair.
He opened the large compartment.
Laptop.
Phone charger.
Folder.
Two pens.
No watch.
He checked the front pocket.
Nothing.
His breathing changed.
Howard watched.
“What are you doing?”