Before going to bed each night, five-year-old Sarah Ball would listen to her father read the book she’d long ago memorized, hug him afterwards with all her might, and, as he kissed her forehead and left the room, crawl under her covers and wind back her magic clock twenty-four hours.
Tomorrow would be the exact same thing, and she feared she would tire of the routine—but then she thought about what would happen the following day, how her father would be gunned down in the line of duty during a random traffic stop.
No. She’d keep using the clock.
Tomorrow would be the exact same thing, and she feared she would tire of the routine—but then she thought about what would happen the following day, how her father would be gunned down in the line of duty during a random traffic stop.
No. She’d keep using the clock.
