The letter in the fireproof box had explained everything. Dad knew Doug better than Doug thought. Two months before he died, he asked a jeweler friend to make an exact copy of his railroad watch, with that message engraved on the back. He wore the copy in the hospital. The real watch was in the little velvet case, wrapped in his old handkerchief. That was why Dad had me fetch the box.

His instructions were simple. If Doug took the copy, I was to place the real one on his wrist before they closed the casket. So the next morning, before the burial, the funeral director let me have a few minutes alone with Dad. My husband stood guard at the door. I fastened the real watch around his wrist, wound it one last time, and listened to it tick. Then I kissed his forehead and let them close the lid.