My dad is building a pendulum clock with his kit. He wanted something to bequeath to us, something we could pass on to each other. We could hear the saw and pounding in the basement. I knew what he was setting up on his saw stand—a long rough wooden box to which he mounted decorative ledges. A drop of sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked. Tonight I discovered my ability to look across rooms at once, to see what was going on. A rat is gnawing inside the wall. Crazy lines curled up behind the masonry, hidden and patient like snakes.
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