Mais Tarde -

Elias looked at the empty jar. "Ma'am, this is just glass. It’s worth nothing."

Elias stayed silent. He looked at his notebooks—his own "jars" of paper. That evening, he didn't open his "later" notebook. Instead, he picked up a pen and wrote one sentence on the first page of a new one: Mais tarde

Clara smiled sadly. "This is a Jar of Laters. My husband filled it for forty years. Every time he wanted to tell me he loved me but was too busy, he’d whisper it into the jar to save for 'mais tarde.' Every time he wanted to see the ocean or learn the piano, he’d put a note in here for 'later.'" Elias looked at the empty jar