Esther crossed the room and went to the French doors, opening them wide. Sweet, rain-scented air made the lacy curtains tremble and dance. The bloated gray sky and steel-blue water had been flawlessly framed by means of twin Douglas firs, as skinny and straight as pipe cleaners.
She stepped out onto the tiny second-floor balcony. A pair of white deck chairs sat on either side of her, their slatted backs beaded with rain.
For a split second, she couldn't imagine that she'd ever lived in a valley so warm and airless that boiling water from time to time squirted out of normal green backyard hoses.
She backed off the balcony and grew to become into the room. Out of the nook of her eye, she seen the new pictures on the bedside table.
“God rattling it,” she muttered, searching through them.
