Jeffrey Renner was driving to the airport straight into the rising sun. His thoughts shifted from a vague consideration of the upcoming site-walkthrough in Seattle to the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbor. His point of view put him alternately in the cockpit of a Zero and on the deck of a battleship firing some sort of anti-aircraft weapon at the Kamikaze. Jeff had never fired a gun, not even the handgun he’d given Julie a month ago, or flown an airplane, so his thoughts here were amorphous. He imagined the plane crashing into the sea, and for a moment he was both the drowning pilot and the jubilant sailor, though he recognized that the sailor was not so likely to be jubilant, there being dozens and dozens of other Zeros circling like buzzing wasps. It was only a matter of time.

Jeff glanced down at his left wrist and his watch wasn’t there. He frowned. The watch was a gift from his wife Julie, a replacement for his dad’s watch, which he’d worn faithfully ever since inheriting it, until it had stopped some six months ago.

“Probably just needs a new battery,” Julie had said when Jeff mentioned it to her on an early morning walk along the beach.

“But I can’t even turn the knob to set it,” Jeff said. I’m afraid maybe something’s snapped.”

Julie peered at the dial, at the frozen hands. “Hm, 3:33. So it must have stopped last night.”

“Luckily it’s not 6:66.”

“You’re funny,” Julie said. “There is no 6:66.”

“Lucky for me.”

Jeff had taken the watch to a watch repair shop, and the man there looked at it and frowned and said it wasn’t worth fixing.

“But it was my dad’s,” Jeff said.

“Let me put it this way, if it can be fixed at all, it would cost a fortune.”

At home Julie watched Jeff store the watch in his sock drawer next to his Phi Beta Kappa pin and said, “That’s so sad, honey.” A day later she bought him a present: a very expensive watch. “It’ beautiful,” Jeff said, trying it on. “It feels great. You’re so good to me. I love you.”

While they were making love to celebrate, the new watch snagged Julie’s hair. It took several minutes for Jeff to get it untangled. Julie laughed when the watch was finally free of her hair, though Jeff noticed the stain of a teardrop on her cheek. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll try to be more careful.” He took off the watch and set it on the bedside table. Julie shook her mop of wild, rust-colored hair. “Do you think it’s an omen?” she said. When Jeff frowned, Julie laughed and opened her arms and said, “Now where were we?” After that time, Jeff always made sure to take off his watch before bed or sex. At home he would set it on the computer table in the den while making a last check of his email.

But last night he hadn’t taken it off in the computer room because the phone lines were down again, probably from that storm the other night. He’d taken it off when he undressed for bed and had set it on the dresser.

Now that he wasn’t wearing the watch, he missed it. He glanced again at his wrist. He thought about turning the car around and going back to get it. That would be silly. Julie would still be asleep. He thought of her in their bed, dreaming. He thought of their love-making last night. They always made sure to make love on nights before Jeff would be out of town. Julie’s ardor was invariably keen on those nights, and she was much more aggressive than usual, sometimes almost fierce in her love play. “I have to store you up,” she’d say.

Wondering if there would be time to get home and retrieve his watch and still catch his plane, Jeff looked at his wrist again, and then he laughed. I’m so silly, he said to himself, imagining Julie’s mirth at his slip. But that’s right, she’d still be asleep, and he wouldn’t disturb her. He’d just sneak in. He’d tiptoe into the bedroom and fetch his watch. Of course he wouldn’t be able to resist looking at his sleeping wife. Julie was so adorable. So beautiful. What he wouldn’t give to slip into bed next to her and hold her in his arms and when she stirred into almost-wakefulness they’d make slow sleepy wake-up love until ... well, forever.

Except now Jeff remembered that the watch wasn’t on the dresser after all. He’d woken in the middle of the night hearing a dripping noise, like a leaky faucet, tip, tip, tip, slow, soft, and regular. He’d tried to ignore the sounds, but they seemed to be getting louder. Knowing he wouldn’t get back to sleep until he turned off the water, he’d carefully eased out of bed. But the bathroom faucet was not dripping, nor was the shower. Everything in the bathroom was quiet. It can’t be a leaky roof, Jeff thought—it had been a wild storm, but Jeff had designed the house himself and overseen every step of the construction—and it couldn’t have been a leaky pipe, either. Well, it better not be a roof or pipe problem. Such a nuisance. Jeff hated for things like that to go wrong. He hated for Julie to have to deal with that sort of thing. Jeff clenched his teeth. He listened. Yup, still the dripping noise. He tried to pin down the location. He followed his ears to the dresser opposite the bed, and there, sure enough, was his watch. He held it to his ear. He could hear the tick. Small. Almost frail. He hadn’t realized this watch even made a noise. He’d thought it was silent. He grinned and shook his head. Of course it would tick, and at night in the dark it would seem loud as a heartbeat. Again Jeff held the watch to his ear. The sound was vaguely comforting. He remembered when he was a little boy how his dad would calm his younger brother, Eddie, by holding his wristwatch to Eddie’s ear. Probably dad had held his watch to Jeff’s ear, too, but Jeff could remember that. He took his watch out of the bedroom and put it—where did he put it? In the computer room next to the computer, its usual spot. But he hadn’t bothered to check email this morning—the phone company had said the service wouldn’t be restored until Monday. Jeff remembered crawling back into bed, wondering if he and Julie would ever have a kid, and whether he’d ever comfort the fussing child by holding the watch to his or her ear. His or her, Jeff thought. Would he prefer a girl or a boy? Maybe one of each. But it was still too early in their marriage. They hadn’t really talked about children. Julie had her art. There was time. Plenty of time.