Where Time Begins Again

My books are novels – works of fiction inspired by imagination. 

After more than twenty years of Navy service and Winged Submarine missions, Jack and Matt return to shorter shore assignments in Washington.

In Arlington, Beatrice and Meg welcome their husbands into lives that have continued during the separations.

A lost clock, recovered from a closing repair shop, becomes part of their effort to understand old hurts and enjoy the time they have together.  This fictional story follows two enduring marriages, three college students, and a clock repairer beginning her own new chapter. Love is renewed through shared choices, honest disappointment, and the ordinary work of coming home.

Jack is married to Beatrice, an accountant with an independent practice. Matt is married to Meg, who coordinates community programs and is developing a library exhibition.

These women are proud of their husbands, but pride has never paid an invoice, attended a school meeting, or replaced a missed conversation. Their husbands' return offers companionship and exposes habits built during separation.

The men expect to fit back into their homes.

Their wives have learned how to run those homes without them.

The story begins with an unexpected discovery.

In the window of Nora Bell's closing clock repair shop, Beatrice recognizes the walnut mantel clock from her early marriage. Lost during a move, it carries a crescent scratch she made on her wedding night. Its hands have stopped at the time of Jack's first long-awaited homecoming. Finding it invites the families to ask what can be restored and what must be accepted as history.

The answer develops through eighteen chapters of family life, travel, conflict, and renewed romance.  A few days later, Jack came home carrying a sea bag and groceries. Beatrice kissed him, then rescued the leaking milk.

A client waited on her telephone.

Upstairs, their daughter argued with a college registration website. Nobody had arranged the house around his arrival.

Beatrice finished her call at the kitchen table, where accounting files occupied the place he remembered keeping a newspaper. During his absences, she had built an independent practice, paid repair bills, and traded school pickups with Meg.

A sick child meant working after midnight.

A broken water heater meant choosing a plumber herself.

Jack had thanked her from distant seas.

Beside those files, he understood how little a message could carry. "Where do I belong?" he asked. She smiled. "Start with the milk."

Across Arlington, Matt found Meg's hallway filled with panels for her library exhibition. Their son Daniel carried one toward the garage. Matt's younger daughter warned Matt about the wet paint. Both were home from college, just as Meg was.  Meg kissed him with a pencil caught in her hair.