Page 87 of Ladybirds

“Yeah…” She clears her throat. There’s something horribly (wonderfully) intimate about going to pick out clothes for him, but she doesn’t dare unleash him on the world in his bloodied clothing two centuries out of date. “I don’t suppose you know what size you are?”

Seth frowns. “I don’t have any money.”

“I know, so don’t expect me to be bringing home Prada.” No matter how good he would look in a suit. “I’m guessing that’s a no on the size?”

Her answer only serves to make him more disgruntled. “No,” he grumbles.

She kind of suspected as much. Even if they did have a sizing system back then, it would no doubt have changed since. “I’ll just grab a few things then, until we figure it out.” She eyes the shadow lining his face and adds, “And maybe a razor.”

Frowning, he runs a hand over his jaw, wincing at the stubble. “Ah, didn’t miss that bit.”

Sara ducks her head, hiding a smile as she rifles through her drawers to pull out a fresh set of clothes. She can feel Seth’s eyes on her, but reminds herself that there is literally nothing embarrassing about him being able to see into her underwear drawer as she pulls out a clean pair. “Alright, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. There’s some cereal left in the cabinet if you get hungry, but do not try to use the stove.”

His nose wrinkles. “I am perfectly capable of turning on an appliance.”

She levels him with a warning look, but she suspects the pile of clothes in her arms might be sabotaging her efforts. “No stove.”

“So little trust,” he grumbles. When she doesn’t budge, he sighs. “Fine.”

“Thank you.” There’s only a little bit of sarcasm lacing her voice. “I’m gonna get dressed and go. I’ll be back in a few hours, ok?”

He nods, face solemn, but when she turns to leave, he stops her. “Wait.”

She pauses in the doorway, patiently waiting for him to continue. He licks his lips, hands fisting in the material of her comforter. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the corded muscle stark against his lean frame. “The pocket watch,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to meet hers. “The gold one. It’s in the pocket of my vest.”

Sara’s brow creases, confused. “You want me to get it for you?”

He doesn’t meet her eyes when he answers, “I want you to have it. Sell it.”

“What?” she breathes, not quite believing she heard him right. “But it’s—”

“I know what it is,” he snaps.

She frowns. Sure, she tries to be frugal in her spending, but since Oma’s inheritance went through, she’s far from poor. Certainly not to the point where he needs to sell anything to cover the costs of a few outfits. There’s a stubbornness in his gaze that leaves no room for arguments, though, and she’s too physically and emotionally exhausted to fight over it.

However, when she finds it in the vest wadded up on the living room floor, she takes her time studying it. She turns the watch in her hand, admiring the warmth of the metal and the delicate curves of the filigree. Seth doesn’t pull it out often, and only ever when he seems to think she isn’t paying attention, but she’s caught him fingering the chain when he’s deep in thought. That alone is enough to tell her there’s more value to the timepiece in her hand than just the gold.

She finds the latch, momentarily impressed that it’s still ticking when her eyes snag on the engraving opposite of it.

‘For my favorite son’

Sara swallows, closing it softly. She feels like she’s intruded on something private, but she can’t bring herself to regret it. If she had any hesitations about its fate before, it’s gone now.

The watch in her hand is the last thing Seth has of his life from before; the only tangible connection to his mother—the other woman in his life with the same name but a different spelling. The one, she knows, who loved him too. There’s no price in the world worth parting him from it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

After filling his prescription at a local pharmacy, she ends up at a thrift shop. Mostly because she doesn’t know his size and she hates dealing with returns, but also because she suspects he’s less likely to fight her on the watch if she can keep the costs down. Plus, she still has to grab groceries and toiletries, so she’ll save where she can.

She hobbles straight to the men’s section. The crutch is uncomfortable under her armpit, but she’s too busy scanning the racks with mounting glee to notice much.

They’re full of plaid.

By the time she comes home, he’s torn through a box and a half of cereal. One of them lies empty beside him as he shovels another spoonful of chocolate-flavored cereal into his mouth. When he sees her, he quickly swallows his bite, gesturing to the bowl enthusiastically with his spoon. “This is… I’ve always found the look of it quite unappealing, but it’s delicious.”

His excitement over cereal is nothing short of endearing. “Wait till you try ice cream.” Then she spies what he’s wearing below the table and blinks. “Those are my sweatpants.”

It’s stating the obvious, but seeing him in her pink sweats—so short on him they look more like capris—has her brain short circuiting.

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