Timepiece by Richard Paul Evans

clutched a beaded purse. She was flanked by a knickered boywho strained beneath the weight of a large, bronze-statued clock.
    â€œLemme take that,” Lawrence said, quickly stepping outside to relieve the boy of the clock, who surrendered it gratefully. “You go right on in, Miss Maud.”
    â€œThank you, Lawrence.” She turned to the boy. “You wait outside,” she said sternly, then stepped inside ahead of Lawrence, who set the clock on the work-table, then returned with a cloth and dusted off the chair she stood by. Its surface was already clean, but this was an expected ritual and one not to be neglected.
    â€œSit down, ma’am.”
    â€œThank you, Lawrence.” She straightened herself up in the chair. “I would like the clock cleaned.”
    Lawrence’s brow furled. “Somethin’ wrong with the work I done last week, ma’am?”
    The woman looked back at the clock, asa confused expression blanketed her face. She cleared her throat. “No, Lawrence, you always do a fine job. It is just that I have visitors calling this week and I would like the clock ware to be especially nice.”
    Lawrence had known the woman long enough to discern the truth. She had forgotten which clock she had last brought.
    â€œYou shore know how to entertain your guests, Miss Maud. They must appreciate your hospitality.”
    She sighed. “I do not think they even notice.” She brought out an elaborately embroidered handkerchief and patted her brow. “I think the bell on that one sounds flat.”
    â€œI’ll be shore to check that, Miss Maud.” He opened the crystal door and pushed the long hand to the half hour. The bell struck once in perfect pitch. “Shore is a luv’ly piece, it’s a right honor to work on her.” He stepped back and admired theclock. “Seth ‘n’ Thomas makes a right luv’ly piece.”
    It was a white-faced clock surrounded by a pot-metal sculpture of an angel pointing heavenward, as a young girl clasps her hands to pray.
    â€œYou’d think that angel gonna fly right off there.”
    The widow smiled, patted her brow again, then replaced the handkerchief in her purse. “I have a special request of you, Lawrence.”
    â€œYes, ma’am?”
    â€œI would like to call you Larry.”
    He looked back at the widow. “Larry?”
    â€œYes, we’ve known each other for some time. Would that be acceptable to you?”
    Lawrence cared little for the name but had no desire to offend his client. “I s’pose so, ma’am. Ain’t no one ever called me Larry before.”
    â€œIf it’s all the same.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    She sat back contentedly. “Larry, lately I have been given to much thought about you. Maybe it is because of you being a Negro and not having much, but it seems to me that you are one of the few people I know who truly appreciates the value of things. Like this clock here,” she said, gesturing toward the table. “That is why I can take my clocks to you without anxiety.”
    â€œThank you, ma’am.”
    â€œBack when my Rodney was alive, bless his soul, he appreciated things. Rodney would look at a sunset like he had discovered the thing. You would think it was God’s gift just for him.” She sighed and her voice softened in longing. “How life turns. The only family I have now is my miserable nephew.”
    â€œYour nephew appreciate things, ma’am?”
    She frowned. “My nephew’s a damn fool. I should not curse, but it is the gospel truth. I give him money and he spends it on liquor and gaming and I shudder to think what else.” She leaned forward. “He thinks when I die he will have a pretty sizable inheritance, but that will be over my dead body!” she said indignantly. Suddenly, her mouth twisted into an amused grin. “I suppose all inheritances are over a dead body,