The Clock at Four-Twelve

Alexis looked up at the clock. Its hands pointed to four-twelve—and stayed there.

“Still four-twelve,” said Dante, her station partner, as he carried a basket of clean towels past the kitchen doorway. “That clock must be having a very long minute.”

Alexis smiled, but she glanced toward the stove. She wanted the team’s evening meal ready on time. Tonight’s menu was vegetable soup, warm bread, and apple slices. The soup was already simmering, and the bread needed a little while in the oven. Around the station, there were still ordinary jobs to do before supper.

“First, practice,” called Captain June from the apparatus bay.

Alexis and Dante joined the rest of the crew beside the bright red fire engine. They practiced rolling a hose into a neat coil, then checked that the helmets were in their proper places. Dante’s hose made a loop shaped like a giant pretzel.

“Ready for dinner?” Alexis teased.

“Only if dinner is made of hose,” he said, straightening it.

After practice, they wiped the engine’s handles and swept a few bits of dust from the floor. Alexis kept checking the clock as she worked. Its hands never moved. She could not tell whether the sweeping had taken five minutes or fifteen.

In the kitchen, she stirred the soup. A little puff of steam curled up, carrying the smell of carrots and potatoes. The bread waited on the counter. Alexis wanted everything ready when the crew finished washing up, but the stopped clock could not tell her how much time remained.

Dante came in with the last towel folded over his arm. “What should we tackle next?”

Alexis looked from the soup to the bread, then up at the frozen hands. For a moment, all the jobs seemed to crowd together: set the table, put away the towels, check the bread, slice the apples.

“I don’t want supper to be late,” she said.

“Then let’s find another way to keep track,” Dante replied.

Alexis’s eyes landed on the small kitchen timer beside the mixing bowls. A pencil and a scrap of paper rested in a drawer nearby. She pulled them out and set them on the counter.

“Maybe we don’t need that clock after all,” she said. “We just need a plan.”

Alexis turned the scrap of paper over and wrote a short list. First: set the table. Next: put away the towels. Then: check the bread and slice the apples. At the bottom she added: stir the soup.

Dante read it aloud, pointing to each line. “A list helps us remember what to do. Good thinking.”

Alexis set the kitchen timer for the amount of time the bread needed in the oven. A timer could measure that set amount, even while the station clock stayed frozen at four-twelve. She placed the timer where they could both hear it and returned to the soup.

“Table first,” said Dante. He carried plates while Alexis set out spoons. They put a napkin at every place, including one for Captain June, who liked to tuck hers into her shirt collar like a bib.

“Next, towels,” Alexis said, checking the list. Together they stacked the clean towels in the cupboard. Dante tried to make the pile as straight as the fire engine’s ladder. It leaned a little to one side, but stayed standing.

The timer ticked on. Alexis stirred the soup, then glanced at the bread. She could not tell how much time had passed by looking at the stopped clock, but the timer was counting the minutes for her. She trusted it and kept working.

Then the kitchen timer began to ring.

“Bread!” called Dante.

Alexis used an oven mitt to take the tray out. The rolls were golden on top and smelled warm and buttery. She set them safely on the counter. The timer had done its job.

There was still one line left on the list. Alexis washed the apples and sliced them carefully on the cutting board while Dante stirred the soup. He paused to ask, “Is it ready?”

“Let’s taste a spoonful,” she said.

They tried a little. The soup was hot and tender, with just enough salt. Alexis smiled. “Ready.”

Captain June and the crew came in from washing up. The table was set, the towels were away, the bread was baked, and the apples were in a bowl. Alexis looked once at the clock, still stuck at four-twelve, then at her list with every job checked off.

“Dinner is right on time,” Dante said.

“And we did it without knowing what time it was,” Alexis replied. They carried the soup to the table together.

The crew gathered around the table. Captain June tucked her napkin into her collar, just as promised, and everyone laughed. Dante passed the warm rolls. Alexis ladled soup into bowls, careful to give each person plenty of carrots and potatoes.

They talked about the hose that had looked like a pretzel and the towel pile that had leaned like a little tower. Nobody hurried. The soup warmed their hands, and the bread made a soft crackle when they pulled it apart.

When the bowls were empty, Alexis and Dante cleared the dishes. They rinsed the spoons, stacked the plates, and wiped the table. Alexis crossed the last task off her list, then set the pencil beside it.

“I’m leaving a note for the clock repair,” she said.

She found a small note card and wrote: The station clock stopped at four-twelve. Could you please take a look? She placed it where the morning crew would see it. The clock remained still, but now everyone knew what had happened.

Dante put the leftover rolls in a covered basket. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a better idea of the time.”

“Maybe,” said Alexis. “But the timer and list worked just fine tonight.”

The station settled into its evening routine. A cupboard door clicked shut. The last dish went into the rack. In the apparatus bay, the fire engine stood ready for another day, its handles clean and its hose neatly coiled.

Alexis folded the list and tucked it into a drawer, saving it in case the team needed another plan. Then she and Dante checked that the kitchen was tidy and the meal was put away. Captain June wished them good night as she headed down the hall.

“Four-twelve forever,” Dante whispered, glancing at the clock.

“Not forever,” Alexis whispered back. “Just until someone fixes it.”

They turned off the kitchen light and walked quietly through the station. The stopped clock stayed behind, holding its hands in one place. Alexis listened to the familiar sounds fade: a footstep in the hallway, a door closing, the last gentle clink from the dish rack.

Soon the neighborhood fire station grew quiet. The list was finished, the supper was done, and the kitchen timer rested on the counter, ready to measure another set of minutes whenever it was needed.