Chapter 10 - A New Sunrise
One year later.
The summer sun warmed the brick sidewalks of Racine Avenue. Flower boxes hung from the second-story windows of the Quinn Clock and Lock Workshop, overflowing with bright red geraniums and yellow marigolds. Through the open front door came the rhythmic, soothing sound of hundreds of antique pendulums ticking together in harmonious precision.
Inside the workshop, Arthur sat on a cushioned stool behind a brightly lit jeweler’s bench, a magnifying loupe over one eye. His hands were steady, his skin bronzed from the afternoon walks he now took along the park. He hummed a soft tune as he fitted a tiny brass escapement wheel into a Swiss carriage clock.
The brass bell above the front door chimed.
Arthur looked up and smiled warmly. Gabriel.
Arthur, Gabe nodded, stepping into the cool, cedar-scented air of the shop. He wore a light linen suit, his posture relaxed in a way it had never been during the dark years of Sal’s shadow. How is the ticker holding up?
Dr. Levin says my heart is beating like an eight-day regulator, Arthur laughed, wiping his hands on a clean leather apron. Where is she?
Right behind me, Gabe said, stepping aside.
Nora burst through the door, wearing a navy blue school uniform, her hair neatly braided with matching ribbons. She dropped her backpack onto the leather sofa by the reading nook and ran straight into Arthur’s outstretched arms.
Grandpa! I got an A on my science project! she shouted, her face glowing with triumph. I built a working sundial out of cardboard and copper wire! The teacher said it was the most accurate one in the whole second grade!
Of course it was, Arthur chuckled, kissing her forehead. You have a clockmaker's blood in you.
Nora turned toward Gabe, her eyes gleaming with playful ambition. Mister Gabe! Look down!
Gabe looked down at his handmade Italian leather shoes. A tiny scuff marked the toe of the right oxford where he had caught it on a stone step earlier that morning.
A catastrophe, Gabe deadpanned. Completely ruined.
Nora immediately marched to the corner of the counter and brought out her battered cigar box. She hadn't let Arthur throw it away; instead, Arthur had restored the worn leather strap, polished the wood until it shone like mahogany, and lined the inside with soft green velvet.
Sit down, Don Santoro, Nora commanded with all the gravity of an executive. Black cream, not wax. Wax cracks in the sun.
Gabe obediently sat on the wooden bench, placing his foot on the restored box.
With practiced, surgical rhythm, Nora pulled out her flannel rag, applied a pea-sized dab of cream, and worked it in small, disciplined circles. Within three minutes, the leather mirrored the bright Chicago sky outside the window.
She tapped his ankle politely. Done. That’s five dollars.
Gabe reached into his wallet, pulled out a crisp five-dollar bill, and handed it directly to her.
She inspected the bill, nodded with professional satisfaction, and dropped it into a glass jar labeled College Fund on the counter.
Fair exchange, Nora said, crossing her arms with a grin. I don't take what I didn't work for.
May you like
Never change that, Nora, Gabe said softly, standing up and pulling her into a warm, fatherly embrace.
Outside on Racine Avenue, the neighborhood was alive with children playing, shopkeepers chatting, and the peaceful rhythm of an honest afternoon. The ghosts of the past were finally laid to rest, buried beneath justice and honor. A small girl had asked for a meal on a freezing street corner, and in return, she had given a lonely man his soul back."
