The schedule was folded into quarters in the pocket of his rain jacket, soft from being handled. One crossing was circled in pencil: the 7:55 from Colman Dock to Bainbridge. In the margin, in her father’s careful Japanese, was a single word she could read only half of.
Emi’s father had not spoken since the stroke. He could hold a spoon and turn his head toward the window. The doctors said language sometimes came back, and sometimes it came back as something else.
She rode the 7:55 the next morning. She did not know what she was looking for. She sat on the port side because he always had, and she watched the city get small.
This is as far as the free sample goes. The rest of The Ferry Schedules is waiting for you.
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