The Face of a Elf

Jacob slept late the next morning. His mother was drinking coffee and leafing through a star telegram, her hair still in a towel because she hdn't dried it yet. He poured himself a bowl of raisin bran and sat at the empty table in the sitting area reconstituted from the old houses living room furniture. At one point there had been a tradition of eleanor toasting storebought waffles for her grandchildren when they visited. Jacob held his breath to keep himself still while he observed. But he knew in his heart that his grandfather's body already had the fragility of a thing that can no longer repair itself.