Maybe This Time...

Most nights I walk to the kitchen door and look out at the driveway. I tell myself it's just a routine security check, to make sure all the doors are locked, that everything looks good.

But I hope, each time, that I'll see him getting out of the car. Sometimes I stand there for a moment and ask, "Jeff, where are you? When are you going to get home?"

No, I know. I know.

But it doesn't stop me from thinking that maybe just this once it will be different.