Chapter 38 - The Fifteen-Minute Window
At seventy-three, Vincent sometimes forgot that Moretti Global existed.
He remembered Claire.
Most days.
He remembered Hope.
Usually.
He remembered Silas junior because the boy—now a teenager—visited constantly.
But time became fluid.
Some mornings, Vincent believed he was thirty-four again.
On one of those mornings, Claire found him dressed in a suit.
It was an old one.
Charcoal.
Perfectly tailored.
He was standing beside the door.
“Vincent?”
He checked his wrist.
No watch.
Confusion crossed his face.
“I’m late.”
“For what?”
“Singapore.”
Claire’s chest tightened.
“What year is it?”
He became irritated.
“Claire, I don’t have time for this.”
The old tone.
The old man.
For one horrible second, she was thirty again.
Invisible.
Scheduled.
Small.
Then Vincent looked at her.
Something changed in his face.
Fear.
“Why are you crying?”
Claire hadn’t realized she was.
“I’m okay.”
He stared at her.
“Did I hurt you?”
The question cut deeper than memory.
Claire walked closer.
“You did once.”
Vincent looked devastated.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
He touched her cheek.
“Are we married?”
“Yes.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“Do I love you?”
Claire smiled through tears.
“More than every ship in every ocean.”
His expression softened.
“Good.”
He removed the suit jacket.
“Then Singapore can wait.”
Claire laughed.
They spent the morning making coffee.
Fifteen minutes later, he forgot the conversation.
But Claire remembered.
That afternoon, Hope arrived.
She found her mother sitting in the Peony Room.
“You okay?”
Claire nodded.
Then shook her head.
Hope sat beside her.
“I miss him while he’s still here.”
Hope cried.
“I know.”
Claire looked at Angel’s footprint card.
“I used to think the worst thing that could happen was losing someone suddenly.”
She glanced toward the window.
“Now I know there are different ways to lose people.”
Hope took her hand.
“But he’s still here.”
“Yes.”
They sat together.
Downstairs, Vincent began playing an old record.
Claire froze.
It was the song they had danced to in their Brooklyn apartment when they were twenty-three.
She stood.
Hope smiled.
“Go.”
Claire walked downstairs.
Vincent stood near the record player.
He looked toward her.
For a moment, his eyes were perfectly clear.
“Dance with me?”
Claire crossed the room.
He placed one hand at her waist.
She rested hers on his shoulder.
They moved slowly.
His steps were unsteady.
His memory was unreliable.
But his body remembered.
Halfway through the song, he whispered, “I used to leave you notes.”
“Yes.”
“Did you like them?”
“I kept some.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
The song ended.
Vincent continued holding her.
“Claire?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t give me fifteen minutes.”
Her breath stopped.
“What?”
His forehead rested against hers.
“I want all of it.”
She closed her eyes.
“You already have it.”
He smiled.
And for that moment, time opened completely.
No diagnosis.
No past.
May you like
No fear.
Only them.
