the visitor

Imogen gets up early. Soft, white-blonde swoops of hair rest on her forehead and tangle on her crown. She sits, blankly staring ahead, her leg shaking. It always shakes, but she never notices it. She doesn't feel awake or asleep. This must be what a ghost feels like. Or the undead. No impulse to make a decision or even look in a particular direction.
A bird lands outside the window--a black bird with a bright orange beak. It looks hungry as it hops around, silently twitching its head from side to side. Suddenly Imogen's thoughts turn to Ren.
"Why am I thinking of him?"
The black bird jumps down from the fence, landing on the deck. He is cautious but slowly comes nearer the window.
"What did he think he'd find?"
The black bird hops closer to the window, looking around as if waiting for a secret rendezvous.
"He doesn't care about anyone else."
The black bird stops and looks directly at Imogen. He's frozen. She looks right back at him. It could have been two seconds or two days, staring into those beady little black eyes.
Then the bird flies away.
"He shouldn't have let fear get the best of him."
She got up and made herself a cup of coffee.