Jacob’s book lay precariously on his lap. The young boy’s head rolled to the right, a small dribble of droll peaked out the right side of his mouth. He shifted his leg. “Lord of the Flies” dropped to the floor.
Jacob stirred. He twisted his neck. He stretched his arms overheard and inhaled deeply. The house was quiet. He sat upright. The thought, “What time is it?” raced through is mind. He got up. He hesitantly asked, “Grandpa?” Silence spoke back. He walked into the kitchen, “Grandpa?” He opened the basement door. The lights were off. He walked outside opened the side garage door, “Grandpa?” The car was there, but nothing else.
Koira delicately nudged the extended arm. There was no response. She let go a whine. She lay down. It was getting dark, cold. The temperature had dropped and a cloud cover had crept in from the west. Koira was slightly hard of hearing, but she thought she heard a voice she knew. She picked up her head and turned her ears down the path. There it was again. She stood up. She barked.
Jacob came running up the path. He broke out of the forest line into the clearing. “Grandpa!” his voice pierced. He ran to the body, kneeled down. “Grandpa” sobbed from deep within. Koira nudged the boy lightly on the shoulder. Jacob’s shoulders heaved in a spasm of sobs.