Scott arrived on Saturday afternoon.
Mom had agreed to let him visit after he called again and asked whether she was ready to see him.
She hadn't promised him forgiveness.
She had only agreed to talk.
I was there because Mom wanted me nearby.
When the doorbell rang, she looked toward the hallway.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Then she took a breath and walked to the door.
Scott stood on the porch with his hands in his coat pockets.
He looked older than he had at the funeral.
Or perhaps I was simply seeing him differently.
"Hi, Mom."
She stepped aside.
"Come in."
He entered quietly.
He didn't make a joke about the cold.
He didn't complain about the drive.
He followed her into the living room and sat where she indicated.
I remained nearby.
Mom had placed the velvet box on the coffee table.
The watch was inside.
She had not told Scott she would put it there.
He noticed it immediately.
His eyes stayed on the box.
"I see you got it back."
Mom nodded.
"Yes."
Scott rubbed his hands together.
"I'm sorry I took it."
Mom didn't answer right away.
He continued.
"I knew it belonged to Dad. I knew you wanted to keep it there."
He looked down.
"I was thinking about myself. I wanted money, and I didn't care enough about what it meant to you."
The words were difficult for him.
I could tell.
He had spent years finding ways to explain his decisions.
This time, he was describing them without blaming anyone else.
Mom listened.
When he finished, she looked at him.
"You hurt me, Scott."
"I know."
"I woke up and thought I had lost my mind because I couldn't find something your father had left beside his glasses."
Scott closed his eyes briefly.
"I didn't think about that."
"No. You didn't."
She spoke quietly.
That made the words harder to ignore.
Scott leaned forward.
"I can't change what I did."
"No."
"I wish I could."
Mom looked at the velvet box.
"So do I."
Nobody spoke for a while.
I had imagined this conversation many times.
I had imagined Mom shouting.
I had imagined Scott defending himself.
I had imagined myself stepping between them, trying to make one understand the other.
None of that happened.
They sat in the living room, with Dad's watch between them.
Finally, Mom opened the box.
She lifted the watch and held it in her palm.
"This belonged to your father for fifty-one years."
Scott looked at it.
"I know."
"He bought it with his first paycheck."
"I remember him telling us."
"He wore it everywhere."
Mom ran her thumb along the steel casing.
"You sold it for forty dollars."
Scott looked down.
"Yes."
"And you spent the money at a tavern."
"Yes."
He didn't try to soften the truth.
Mom put the watch back in the box.
"I don't want you to think that because I let you come here, everything is fine."
"I don't."
"I love you. You're my son."
Scott nodded.
"But I won't pretend you didn't do something wrong."
"I understand."
Mom closed the lid.
Then she asked him whether he had been taking care of himself.
The question surprised him.
He looked up.
"Mostly."
She waited.
He admitted that he still had financial problems.
He didn't give her a long list of excuses.
He didn't ask her for money.
He simply told her that things were difficult.
Mom listened without offering to solve them.
That was different from the way things had been when Dad was alive.
For years, Dad had stepped in when Scott ran into trouble.
He had paid debts, offered advice, and given him another chance.
Now Mom was learning that she could care about Scott without immediately taking responsibility for his choices.
She told him she hoped he would find a way to manage his problems.
She also told him she couldn't keep rescuing him.
Scott nodded.
"I know."
I wondered whether he truly understood.
Only time could answer that.
When he stood to leave, he looked toward the bedroom.
"Can I see the watch one more time?"
Mom considered the request.
Then she opened the velvet box.
Scott looked at the watch without touching it.
"I'm sorry, Dad," he said quietly.
It was the first time I had heard him speak to our father since the funeral as though he were addressing the man himself.
Mom closed the box.
Scott hugged her before leaving.
She hugged him back, but she didn't tell him everything was forgiven.
After the door shut, Mom sat down.
I sat beside her.
"How do you feel?"
"Tired."
I waited.
"Relieved, a little."
She looked toward the window.
"I needed him to say it plainly."
I understood.
An apology could not return the lost months.
It could not undo the shame Mom had felt when she questioned her own memory.
But it could stop the family from pretending that the truth was something else.
The watch remained in its box.
Scott had finally looked at what he had taken.
And Mom had finally told him what it had cost her.
Click here to continue reading: PART 23: I Stopped Asking What Dad Had Hidden Long Enough to See What His Old Watch Had Already Given Back to Us
The Forty Dollars My Brother Took From Dad’s Bedroom Meant More to Our Family Than Either of Us Understood
Part 22 of 24
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