And Meg throws away Henry’s carpentry certifications and Portuguese-English dictionary and Valentine’s Day and anniversary and birthday cards and she donates his tools and jeans and boots, and she tears up the wedding registry bedsheets and she pulls down the posters of the bands he liked, rips them off their thumbtacks and stuffs them in the trash, and she carries his ring to the corner of Main and Skinner and there, she finds a watch. That the watch is glowing gold and emerald from beneath an azalea bush not seven feet from Florida Gun & Pawn feels like kismet and Meg walks in with both, slipping them through a slot cut out of bulletproof glass.

And a skinny woman wearing a Bugs Bunny t-shirt says, I’ll give you seven-fifty for the Rolex so long as you got papers, and Meg says, what papers and the woman says, proof you didn’t steal it and Meg says, what about the ring and the woman says, no thanks followed quickly by, I can do six thousand for the watch without papers, and Meg says, no thanks and zips the watch into the pocket of her purse and heads home and there, she finds Betty. That Betty is sweating and sniveling not seven feet from Meg’s door feels like kismet and Meg slips Henry’s ring onto Betty’s pinky finger.

And Betty gasps at the ring and at the boxes and bags and plunges to the tile entryway like she’s been shot and says, how can you give away all his things and Meg says, how can you show up now when you were too chickenshit to watch your son die and Betty says, you’re so cruel, you never loved him, and Meg runs two-at-a-time down the front stairs and back onto Main. Meg is red-hot rage as she rounds Skinner and there, she finds a man on his knees. That Meg finds this man where she found the watch feels like kismet and Meg slips down beside him and says, looking for something?

And he squints up at her and says, my granddad’s watch, and his teeth are so white and uniform like a dry erase board begging to be written on and his neck smells like last night’s cologne and Meg says, yeah well my husband is dead and it’s the first time she’s said it out loud, those four words, not my husband passed away or I lost my husband like he slipped off her wrist, and instead of saying something trite about Henry being in a better place this man says, can I buy you a coffee?

At Starbucks the bell jangles above their heads and Meg lets this man tell her about his granddad the Canadian fighter pilot who shot down Nazis and married a widow. The man claims he wore his granddad’s watch until it slipped off his wrist and anyway Americans don’t appreciate the Canadian contribution to the war effort and Meg says what war are we talking about here but she makes her mouth smile so he’ll know she knows about wars.

And the door to Meg’s house is open and Betty has left and taken more of Henry, yearbooks and denim jacket and wallet and the book of poems he was trying to read while cancer chewed him up and this man says, you moving out? and she pushes him down on the couch and bunches up the black-and-white skirt of her dress that according to Henry turned Meg into an old-fashioned pin-up girl. That Meg finds this man among the piecemeal collection of objects that made up her marriage, bedsheets and birthday cards and promises to get old together and die on the same day, among the meaninglessness of things and words, that this man stole a watch then lost a watch then cared enough to make up a story for Meg about heroes and war widows feels like kismet and Meg lowers herself onto this man’s lap and as she slips herself inside of him she says, I’m sorry for your loss.