Book With No Words

Josie MacPherson

Day off, and it rains.

Josie MacPherson smiled wryly, gazing at the gray, waterlogged streets of New York City four stories below, much as she had at another window nearly a year ago. Only then, the scene on the other side of the glass had been the dense brush along one bank of the Mississippi River, which flowed gray along the starboard side of the Silver Princess.

It had been the morning after she had discovered Christine hanging by a pink scarf from the ceiling of her cabin, body swaying slightly with the motion of the steamboat. The weather had been appropriate for her mood; she had never thought about what she'd do without Christine. But now, it was her day off and she had to decide how to spend it.

One look around the small front room of her tiny apartment, dim without sunlight flowing in through the windows, told her that she didn't want to spend the entire day at home. If you could call it home. The tiny set of rooms had been reasonably cheap, even though they faced the street, because the landlord had given her a discount on the rent. Because of its size, she only had a few pieces of furniture, and the walls were mostly bare. Nothing like what her grandparents' home had been like. Even though it, too, hadn't been crammed with furniture, it had exuded a feeling of warmth and hominess. Her place had all the warmth and personality of a cheap hotel room in the worst part of any town.

She shut the door on it.

to be continued . . .