He stood, hands thrust deep in his pockets, looking out the window. Absent-mindedly his eyes followed a brown leaf tumbling across the dead grass. The leaden sky pleased him; it matched his mood. He stood away from the window only to return at the sound of a car. The car passed and it was quiet again
A part of him wanted to do something, but whenever he tried to organize his thoughts, his body would return to the window. He wiped his fingers across the window sill looking for dust.
Another car…the car passed by.
He sat down, stood again, poured a glass of water, drank a sip, dumped the remains into the sink. He ran a hand through his thin gray hair.
Looking at his distorted reflection in the oven glass he was thoughtful of another time when he had waited for her. A long wait of pacing and praying, of hearing the unfamiliar sounds of hospital activity. That night he had been anxious, but not worried. Today was different, today he knew it could be bad.
He ran the back of his hand over his stubble of whiskers. He wished he had gone with them, at the same time he was glad that he didn’t. He looked at his watch, then held it to his ear.
He looked back out the window and was surprised to see the white car pull to the curb. He straightened up and strode to the door, opening it wide. A smile spread across his face as he watched her scamper from the car and run toward him. Her grandmother, following her, was smiling.
He knelt, holding the screen-door open, as she ran into his waiting arms. “Grandpa, Grandpa. I got haircut," she squealed, her blue eyes wide, her wild mop of blonde curls tamed for the moment.
He stood, holding her in his arms, and raised his eyebrows at his wife, who said, “She was a good as gold. You’d never know it was her first haircut.