I laughed when Teresa told me that. I’d seen that exact move before.
Michael’s gold watch is in Lily’s room. Annie gave it back to her at Christmas, in the same green leather box, with a note.
It doesn’t keep time anyway. I figure we can take turns. You get it this year. I get it next year. Forever.
Your sister,
Annie
Last Sunday, I came downstairs late at night to get water. The light was on in the kitchen. The sewing machine was going chunk-chunk-chunk.
Lily was sitting at the table. Annie was beside her, in pajamas, with her feet up on the chair, humming something while she held the pins.
Fabric everywhere. A red tomato pin cushion. Two empty mugs of hot chocolate.
“It’s almost one,” I said, leaning in the doorway. “Can’t this wait?”
They both looked up at me at the same time. With the same eyes. His eyes.
“No,” they said together.
I laughed. I pulled up a chair.
“Okay,” I said. “Then tell me what I can do.”
David Reynolds
Specialty: Quiet Comebacks & Personal Justice
David Reynolds focuses on stories where underestimated individuals regain control of their lives. His writing centers on measured decisions rather than dramatic outbursts — emphasizing preparation, patience, and the long game. His characters don’t shout; they act.
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