A pair of cufflinks

My grandfather’s cufflinks, a 21st-birthday gift from my grandmother. They never belonged to my father; they passed through his hands on their way to me, in a small-but-too-large wooden box. 

But when he gave me the links, the box had gone. He denied the two had ever been together, and we never spoke of it again. The truth was, he had to have that box; it eased a want in him, tethering him to a time before loss. It was worth more to him than gold.

“A nice weight, these.”  the jeweller said when I had them repaired. Back in the palm of my hand, they were ineffably light.