It was mid-September before I could bring myself to go into her closet. I’d gotten through all of the necessary tasks. I’d followed the plan. Joy always had a plan. But I didn’t think we’d need it until much later.
Everything felt far away. I needed to make it real—to hold something close. I sorted through Joy’s tidy piles of souvenir T-shirts, searching for the one from our trip to Atlantic City. It should be here. Under an ivory-colored shirt with a line drawing of the Parthenon, I found the box.
As usual, she’d only wrapped the lid so it could be lifted easily to reveal the present. She always bought lovely, hand-made wrapping paper and hated to see anyone tear it. I had a dozen lid-wrapped boxes stacked on my dresser from Christmases past.
I removed the lid to discover the pocket watch I’d seen in an antique shop on our trip to London last year. I’d dismissed it as impractical, but she said it made me look distinguished. I wondered how she’d bought it without me seeing. Cupping the time-piece in my hand, I pulled out the tiny post on top of the case to wind it. I closed my eyes and pressed the rose-gold watch to my ear. Each tick was like the click of a tumbler on a combination safe, unlocking the emotions I’d kept inside since New Jersey.
Tick.
Joy’s slightly sunburned face beamed at me from under the straw hat she bought on the first day. We’d spent a sticky afternoon in the hotel bar to avoid the crush of tourists on the boardwalk in the heat of the day. At three-thirty, she finished her Cosmo and led me back to our hotel room.
Tock.
We’d splurged on a suite with a king-size, four-poster bed. She played a Prince album on her phone, jumped onto the bed and performed a striptease for me—sliding down the bed-post like a pole dancer before dissolving into giggles on the bed.
Tick.
She wanted to go for one last swim. The summer sun glowed over the ocean at 5:30 p.m. We waded into the warm waves and soaked up the last salty moments of our vacation.
Tock.
Joy screamed. The outgoing wave had pulled away enough sand to form a deep trough. She stepped into the hole and snapped her ankle. I rushed to her as she fell into the waves that thundered and crashed around her head.
Tick.
In the hospital waiting room, the sand dried to a crust on my legs and feet where I’d knelt in the surf. She kissed me when they loaded her into the ambulance and told me not to worry. Always thinking of me, never herself.
Tock.
Resting in the recovery room after surgery, she awoke, her eyes fluttering..
“Looks like we’re going to be here a few more days after all,” I said. She smiled and slipped off to sleep.
Tick.
She never woke up again. A blood clot they said.
Tock.
I remembered where the shirt was. How could I have forgotten? It wasn’t in the closet because Joy hadn’t unpacked it. Her suitcase was still in the corner of the bedroom, untouched since the day I’d returned. I lifted it onto the bed and unzipped it. She would have hated how I threw her clothes in. I dug through the jumble of sundresses, tank-tops, cargo shorts, and panties to find the black T-shirt with a red heart and the words New Jersey is for Lovers. I traced the heart with my finger, then folded the shirt and placed it on top of the others.
Twelve shirts. Twelve boxes. Twelve years. I pressed the watch to my ear. Tick-Tock. My heart unlocked and tears could finally flow.
