The Watch with the A-Shaped Scar

Chloe let her eyes roll toward the ceiling, then sank into her pillows. “Mason, drop it. You know how Dad is about his army things. All you’ll get for this is a lecture.”

“Chloe, hear me out.” I lowered my voice until it was barely more than air. “Before I got home today, I went by Miller’s Pawn on Fourth Street. Dad’s watch was sitting in the front window.”

She studied me while her phone cast a cold blue glow across her face. “You’re being ridiculous. He had a watch on at dinner. You already made a whole production out of wanting to see it.”

“I know he wore one,” I said. My frustration made my voice quiver. “But the one in that window was his. I’m sure of it.”

“Because it was green?” She gave a disbelieving snort. “There are thousands of green watches, Mason.”

“Not with that mark.” I leaned toward her. “When I was five, I took Mom’s bobby pin and tried to scratch a star into the back of Dad’s watch. I messed it up. What I left was this big, crooked A-shaped gouge in the casing. Dad got furious and said I was never to bring it up again. So I didn’t. But I saw that same mark on the watch at Miller’s. I swear I did.”

The irritation on Chloe’s face began to give way to interest. She knew I wasn’t someone who spun stories for fun. I usually kept quiet and noticed what other people missed.

“You really saw it?” she asked, softer now.

“I’m certain. And at dinner, when I asked to look at his watch, he tucked his wrist out of sight beneath the table. You noticed.”

She lowered her phone onto the nightstand and drew her knees close. “All right. Suppose you’re telling the truth. The one at the pawnshop is the watch you marked. Then the one he had on tonight…”

“Would have to be another one,” I said. “A replacement.”

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “Why replace it and keep quiet? Why would he pawn something that mattered to him? His job at the logistics company pays well. We’re not desperate for money. If he needed cash, I think he’d part with his car before that watch.”

“I can’t explain it,” I admitted. “But we can check. If the watch he takes off before bed doesn’t have the scratch, then the one in the shop is the original.”

She pressed her teeth against her lower lip. Chloe was sixteen, restless by nature, and tired of the same quiet suburban days. A puzzle involving our strict father had caught her attention.

“Dad’s usually asleep by eleven,” she said. “He leaves his watch on the mahogany tray on his dresser. Mom takes her sleeping pill at ten-thirty. We’ll wait until midnight.”

The evening crawled past. I sat in my dark room, watching the digital clock change one number at a time. When it reached twelve, my doorknob shifted. Chloe appeared, dressed in dark sweatpants with a little flashlight in a rubber case. She gave me a silent nod.

We crossed the hallway carefully, avoiding the floorboards we knew would complain under our feet. The door to our parents’ room stood open a crack. Dad’s CPAP machine made its steady rushing sound inside, masking the noise of our breaths.

Chloe eased the door wider, just enough for us to get through. Lavender lotion and Dad’s shaving soap filled the room. Moonlight slipped between the blinds, leaving the furniture in shadow.

I indicated the tall mahogany dresser by the closet. Chloe crossed the carpet without a sound, and I followed her. My heart beat so hard I worried it might wake them.

The watch lay in the middle of a leather tray, beside Dad’s keys and wedding ring.

Chloe lifted it gently. Metal tapped against a coin. We stopped dead and listened, barely breathing. The CPAP kept hissing. Dad stayed still.

Turning her back toward the bed, Chloe shielded the watch with her body. She switched on the small flashlight, placing her fingers over its lens until only a narrow thread of light escaped. Then she aimed it at the steel casing.

I bent close, nearly touching her hands with my face.

The back was clean and smooth. The brushed steel looked untouched. In the center, the military details—his unit number, discharge date, and the name Arthur Vance—were clear and undamaged.

I searched the casing for the place where I had made my mark.

The crooked A was nowhere to be found. There wasn’t a scratch at all.

I met Chloe’s gaze. Her eyes looked huge in the dim light. She clicked off the flashlight and returned the spotless watch to its place on the tray. We slipped out of the room without a word and waited until we were behind the closed door of her bedroom before speaking.

“So it’s another watch,” Chloe whispered, leaning against the door. “Maybe a duplicate. Not the one you saw in the window.”

“The one at Miller’s is the one I scratched,” I said. A chill tightened in my stomach. “But why would Dad pawn it?”

“I have no idea.” Her voice took on a firm, protective edge. “But we’re going to learn the answer. Try to sleep, Mason. I’ll drive us to Miller’s Pawn tomorrow morning.”