Free Timekeeper by Alexandra Monir Page B

the camera; she could practically see Marion running through the Windsor Mansion while peering into the lens, proudly making her own films at a time when home movies were newly in vogue. As she looked at the camcorder, Michele had an uncanny feeling that it had something to tell her.
    “I can’t believe I’m about to see my parents,” Michele said in amazement. “Do you guys want to watch with me?”
    The two of them shook their heads.
    “It’s still … too hard for us,” Walter said quietly. “But we want you to watch it. You never got to see your parents together. You deserve that.”
    “Thank you. I can’t thank you enough,” Michele said fervently.
    As soon as her grandparents left the room, she huddled on the couch, her heart hammering with anticipation as she pressed Play.
    The tape began with static, so much so that for one awful moment Michele thought there might be nothing else—until the four-inch display screen lit up with the beautiful face of a youthful Marion Windsor. Michele’s hand flew to her chest, her heart twisting at the sight. “Mom.”
    She looked so young, almost younger than Michele. Marion’s auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, highlighting the exuberance on her face. She wore jeans and a pink T-shirt, and when she spoke, her voice was lighter than Michele had ever heard it.
    “Time to go,” her mother said excitedly into the camera. “He’s waiting!”
    Marion turned the camera away from her, showcasing Windsor Mansion as she tiptoed out of the bedroom and down the grand staircase. Her handheld flashlight served as the video’s only form of lighting.
    “I have to be very quiet,” Marion stage-whispered intothe camcorder as she passed the Grand Hall and headed through a dark corridor. “Mom and Dad could seriously hear a mouse!”
    She silently opened the door to the library and slipped inside. Michele watched in astonishment as young Marion tiptoed toward the glass-enclosed wall of books at the back of the room, and pushed her palms against it. The bookcase swung open, leaving a tall, gaping hole in its wake.
    “Oh, my God!” Michele yelped as she watched the scene. What was that?
    The camera zoomed in closer, and Michele saw that the hole in the wall was actually a dark tunnel lined with bricks, large enough to stand upright in. Marion crept purposefully along, the flashlight illuminating her way, until a second beam of light appeared and stopped Marion in her tracks.
    “Baby!” she called, her voice filling with excitement.
    He stepped into the light, and Michele gasped. It was her father.
    Irving Henry gently took the camcorder from Marion and set it on a ledge before pulling her into an embrace, his flashlight clattering to the ground as he lifted her in the air. Michele’s eyes filled with tears at the first glimpse of her parents together. The love she saw on the screen was so powerful, her parents so vibrant, it felt as if they were both alive again.
    Michele gazed at her father in awe, unable to believe she was really seeing him , and not just staring at an ancient photograph. He was dressed in his best imitation of 1990s style: a Pearl Jam T-shirt paired with blue jeans and Converse sneakers. But Michele could still sense the Victorian young man he reallywas, from his proper posture to the old-fashioned tinge in his warm voice as he murmured Marion’s name.
    Goose bumps rose up her arms as Michele watched her parents onscreen, whispering and laughing together. Marion snuggled her head against Irving’s shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her protectively. Michele couldn’t get enough of seeing them together. As she gazed at her father, it occurred to her that he looked just like the Old Hollywood version of movie star Paul Newman, from his light brown hair parted to the side, to his clear blue eyes and earnest smile.
    That’s my dad! Michele marveled. Until now, she hadn’t admitted how much of her life she’d spent wishing for her father. She