Chapter 5: One Bed

By that evening a news van was parked across from Ida's gate with its mast up.

A photographer stood on the roof of it, pointing a long lens at the spare room window.

"You're moving to the houseboat," Ida said. "It's out on the mooring. Let them try to shoot through Jasper."

The houseboat was one room and a deck.

A galley the size of a closet. A table that folded off the wall. Charts taped to the ceiling.

One bed.

It was built into the bow under a round window, made up with a navy blanket and one flat pillow.

We both looked at it.

"I'll take the deck," Jasper said.

"I'll take the bed," I said.

"I was going to offer."

"You were going to offer slowly. I'm tired."

He laughed, a short surprised sound, and went to dig a hammock out of a locker.

Biscuit chose the bed.

Nobody argued with Biscuit.

I found the shower behind a folding door at the back.

It was a metal stall with a drain in the floor and a showerhead on a hose.

There were two knobs and a lever and no tub.

In five years in Corbett's house I had never taken a shower.

I took baths with a cup of sea salt, every night, for an hour, and Corbett called it my little habit.

I turned the left knob.

Nothing.

I turned the right knob.

Nothing.

I pulled the lever, and cold water hit me in the face like a slap.

I yelled.

"You okay?" Jasper called from the deck.

"It's attacking me."

"What is?"

"Your shower."

The folding door rattled.

"Are you decent?"

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