Mara fixed watches in a little shop that smelled of brass and old oil. On Wednesday she buried her brother Tomas, who had stepped under a delivery truck on Tuesday. That night she sat alone and wound the dead clock he'd left her. The mainspring caught hard, like it snagged on something. Then every hand in the shop began spinning backward.

Mara held the clock tight and the spinning got faster. The shop windows went dark, then bright, then dark again. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, sun was pouring in. The wall calendar read Tuesday. Tomas was alive somewhere out there, and she had until the truck to find him.

Mara decided not to chase Tomas at all. The truck was the problem, so she'd stop the truck. She knew the delivery route. If she could block that street or warn the driver, her brother would never be in danger. She headed for the depot.

Mara reached the depot and found the driver loading boxes. She told him a wild story about a faulty brake she'd dreamed. He thought she was strange, but checked anyway. The brake line was cracked. He grounded the truck for repairs. No truck on Main Street today.

With the truck grounded, Mara raced home to find Tomas safe on her couch, feet up, eating her snacks. "Where were you?" he asked. She just laughed and cried at once. Noon came and went. Main Street stayed quiet. Her brother was alive, and Tuesday finally stayed put.