The Morning Guest

The alarm rang its incessant tone until she half-rolled to shut it off. She rubbed an eye, checking the time on her smartwatch with the other as a sliver of light came in through the slightly parted curtains. Sighing, she swung her legs off the side of the bed as she flung the covers to one side. Mentally going over what she needed to accomplish that day, she opened the closet door, turned on the light, and grabbed a pair of pants, a shirt, a zip-up hoodie, socks, and sneakers. In the quiet, she heard another door open and close. She stopped moving, fingers in an awkward position as she tied her shoes. Only she should be up. Glancing up, she eyed her bedroom door, which was ajar as the cat needed free reign in her room, or she’d never sleep. Her eyebrows came together in concentration, her ears listening hard as her eyes shifted left to right and back. Hearing only quiet, she finished what she’d been doing, stood, and flicked the switch, turning off the light.

Walking out of the room into the dim hallway, she saw the early morning light shining from the kitchen sliding glass door and stopped in her tracks as she reached the opening that led to the living room. Staring past the living room into the kitchen, she saw him. The old man was in front of the refrigerator door, a cane hooked on his forearm. That salt and pepper hair and cut were familiar, a sight she knew well. The morning light changed his hair to silvery-white. He must have known she was there because he turned to look at her, faded dark brown eyes crinkling slightly behind silver-framed square glasses as he smiled at her. He pointed with one finger at the refrigerator door. Knowing what he was asking, she nodded and entered the bathroom.

As she finished washing her face, she could smell the aroma of that life-fortifying coffee. She hadn’t heard the fridge door open or the man move about in the kitchen getting things set up to make coffee. She hadn’t heard the coffee cabinet open and close, the hinges making a slight squeaking noise as they needed to be oiled. She hadn’t heard the coffee machine buttons being pressed, but she could hear the gurgling sounds of the water as it brewed and then the drip drip drip as the freshly brewed coffee met the glass carafe. Closing the door behind her, she saw him standing in front of the cabinet which contained the cups. With his body half-turned in her direction, he motioned with the fingers of one hand: Wide or tall? Smiling, she mimicked the tall motion and headed to the laundry room. She gathered her bag and checked to ensure she had all she needed for the day. Taking the bag with her back to the living room, she saw that he was sitting in his customary chair, a cup of coffee on the table before him, the sunlight creating a soft halo effect around him.

She entered the kitchen, and he pointed with his chin at the coffee pot, lifting his cup to his lips to take a sip. Glancing at it, she saw two green lights on. One was blinking. The timer had kicked in at the programmed time. She felt a small, sad smile come and go on her face before she went to the cup cabinet. Back at the coffee pot after grabbing a tall mug, she hesitated as she reached out to grab the pot handle, her hand wobbling. She looked over her shoulder quickly and finished the movement, pouring coffee into the mug. Taking the full cup, she sat in the chair closest to her. He was there, gazing at her steadily, silent, and very still, as only those in his position can do. The air around him seemed just as still and quiet, even though the AC was on and should have stirred it, and the tick tock tick tock of the grandfather clock’s pendulum sounded loud in the otherwise silent house. She stared into his eyes, hers watering and throat tightening as she could feel the overwhelming surge of emotion. As she watched, he lifted his mug in salute, winked at her, and smiled. She saw him take a sip as he reached to put a hand on her forearm. She closed her eyes simultaneously but knew she wouldn’t feel anything.

She lowered her head slightly and opened her eyes, a tear escaping, inhaling and exhaling in between swallows in an attempt to get her emotions under control. Side-glancing at the empty chair beside her, she leaned back in her seat. She studied the chair before shifting her eyes to a wall on the far side of the living room. Her dad, the man with the salt and pepper hair, stared back at her forever still in one of the last pictures he’d taken. She let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. She lifted her mug in the picture’s direction and winked back.

She finished her coffee, poured more into a thermos, and went to set the thermos next to her stuff. She took a post-it from her bag, scribbled a note, and walked over to her dad’s picture frame. She stuck it in the corner, smiling one more time before she turned to grab her things and walked toward the front door. She turned once, sensing a presence behind her, and saw him reading the note: “Thanks for the coffee, Dad.” He glanced at her, nodding once in acknowledgement. Knowing her kids and mom were still asleep, she closed the door softly behind her to begin the rest of her day.