It's Wednesday. Isn't that nice?
Happy Birthday, Roi!
The best thing about today? The sun is shining. It might be in the single digits and windy, but the old ball of burning gases is out in that cold blue sky just shining like the dickens. Thank god, I think I might live until spring now.
January 26--Princes' Island. The view from Sheila's window was magnificent, ancient pines growing on steep headlands plunging into the sea, but she felt trapped. Trapped by the geography of the place and trapped by her agreement with Greg. He had promised her a life of comfort in return for being his hostess and housekeeper. That had been fine in Chicago where an elevator and taxi were all she needed to escape for an afternoon, but once they arrived here on Princes' Island all that changed. There was no place for her to go, no nearby town, no sops, no neighbors. She felt like a captive and Greg just laughed, patted her hand and said, "You'll get used to it here soon enough." And he went out shooting with his man, Solomon. She hated the hooded-eyed man who was so close to Greg, hated his dark looks and sardonic smirks as he touched the brim of his hat and followed her husband from the room.
Ooh, spooky. Did I mention that the sun''s shining?