38 NoraNora edged her chair out from under the shade cast by the parasol poking up through the center of the square, glass-topped table. The chair’s metal legs scraped against the red bricks paving the patio area of the generous backyard. The noise was raucous in the Sunday afternoon silence.
Quinn frowned at her from the other side of the table. “What, you can’t sit still for more than two minutes?”
“Figure I might as well get some rays.” She leaned back in the chair, enjoying the sunlight on her face. A bank of azaleas in full bloom along the lattice-topped wooden fence filled the air with their perfume scent.
The mesh covering her chair frame was surprisingly comfortable. It looked as durable as steel but it had the give of cloth. She stretched out denim-clad legs and started peeling
