of her
shopping.
chapter nine
Quinn
spent Sunday afternoon painting her bedroom a bright shade of turquoise with
cream paint on the crown molding. She decided to take a break at four o’clock
and head over to her parent’s house. She washed her paintbrush and roller and
put them both in a plastic bag so she could finish the room the next evening. She walked the two
blocks to where she parked her beat-up Volvo sedan. With limited parking in her
neighborhood, Quinn usually rode the bus rather than drag Old Susannah out of
her parking spot. Quinn patted her trusty metal steed on her dashboard when the
engine turned over on the first try. Thirty minutes later, she pulled into her
parent’s circular driveway.
“Mom? Dad?” Quinn called out when she went inside.
“We’re out on the deck, dear,” her mother called
from the rear of the house.
Quinn walked through the house and onto the back
deck to find her parents playing Scrabble and drinking iced tea.
“Who’s winning?” Quinn asked, although she could
guess the answer.
“Your father, of course, but I’m close enough to
taste victory,” Anne said. She laid down her tiles and cackled in delight.
“Zephyrs. With triple word score that gives me a twenty point lead!”
“Lucky draw,” Quinn’s father drawled. He puffed on
the cigar he had clenched between his teeth.
“Luck!” Anne squawked. “That, my dear husband, was
skill and strategy. Oh my goodness. What in the world have you done to your
hair?”
“I cut it and stripped the color back to my
natural shade,” Quinn replied. She waited for the barrage of criticism.
“I like it,” her dad said. “It suits you.”
“You look like Mama,” Anne said softly.
“Does that mean you like it?”
“It means that you look like your Grandma Rose
when you let your hair run wild like that,” Anne said with a prim set of her
lips.
Quinn sighed and sat down next to her mother. “I
thought we were going to come up with a guest list for Grandma’s birthday
party. I can ask Uncle Patrick who he wants to add to the guest list when I go
to work tomorrow.”
“Your mother told me you’re working for Patrick.
Honey, I have connections and can get you a stringer job at the Times or one of
the smaller local papers. Just say the word and it’s done,” David said with a
snap of his fingers.
“I’m okay working for Uncle Pat, Dad. His pastry
chef broke her leg so I’m helping him out for the next two months. After that,
I’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll go ahead and make a few phone calls and
start laying the groundwork,” her dad said. “Zigzag. That puts me back in the
lead and leaving you in the dust.”
“Drat!” Anne said, wrinkling her nose as she
looked at her tiles. “Too many vowels on that last draw.”
“Dad, don’t make any calls yet. Give me time to
figure out my next career move,” Quinn begged.
“Fine, fine,” her dad said with a distracted tone.
“Where’s the pitcher of tea? It’s hotter than the blazes out here. I told you
we should have put the shade umbrella up.”
“It’s in the kitchen. Why don’t we all go inside
and get out of the heat. I call it quits on this game anyway,” Anne said. She
stood up and dumped her letters into the box.
“Another victory for David Daniels and the crowd
goes wild,” Quinn’s dad made the sound of a crowd cheering.
“No one likes a sore winner, Dad,” Quinn joked.
“Says the girl who has never won a game of
Scrabble against her old man.”
Quinn helped her mom pick up the game and carried
the box into the kitchen. She pulled the pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator
and after refilling her father’s glass poured herself one. “So any idea how
many people you want to invite to Grandma Rose’s party?”
“The restaurant can’t hold more than seventy-five
people, so the party will be a little more intimate.”
Quinn rolled her eyes mentally at her mother’s
definition of an intimate
shopping.
chapter nine
Quinn
spent Sunday afternoon painting her bedroom a bright shade of turquoise with
cream paint on the crown molding. She decided to take a break at four o’clock
and head over to her parent’s house. She washed her paintbrush and roller and
put them both in a plastic bag so she could finish the room the next evening. She walked the two
blocks to where she parked her beat-up Volvo sedan. With limited parking in her
neighborhood, Quinn usually rode the bus rather than drag Old Susannah out of
her parking spot. Quinn patted her trusty metal steed on her dashboard when the
engine turned over on the first try. Thirty minutes later, she pulled into her
parent’s circular driveway.
“Mom? Dad?” Quinn called out when she went inside.
“We’re out on the deck, dear,” her mother called
from the rear of the house.
Quinn walked through the house and onto the back
deck to find her parents playing Scrabble and drinking iced tea.
“Who’s winning?” Quinn asked, although she could
guess the answer.
“Your father, of course, but I’m close enough to
taste victory,” Anne said. She laid down her tiles and cackled in delight.
“Zephyrs. With triple word score that gives me a twenty point lead!”
“Lucky draw,” Quinn’s father drawled. He puffed on
the cigar he had clenched between his teeth.
“Luck!” Anne squawked. “That, my dear husband, was
skill and strategy. Oh my goodness. What in the world have you done to your
hair?”
“I cut it and stripped the color back to my
natural shade,” Quinn replied. She waited for the barrage of criticism.
“I like it,” her dad said. “It suits you.”
“You look like Mama,” Anne said softly.
“Does that mean you like it?”
“It means that you look like your Grandma Rose
when you let your hair run wild like that,” Anne said with a prim set of her
lips.
Quinn sighed and sat down next to her mother. “I
thought we were going to come up with a guest list for Grandma’s birthday
party. I can ask Uncle Patrick who he wants to add to the guest list when I go
to work tomorrow.”
“Your mother told me you’re working for Patrick.
Honey, I have connections and can get you a stringer job at the Times or one of
the smaller local papers. Just say the word and it’s done,” David said with a
snap of his fingers.
“I’m okay working for Uncle Pat, Dad. His pastry
chef broke her leg so I’m helping him out for the next two months. After that,
I’ll figure it out.”
“I’ll go ahead and make a few phone calls and
start laying the groundwork,” her dad said. “Zigzag. That puts me back in the
lead and leaving you in the dust.”
“Drat!” Anne said, wrinkling her nose as she
looked at her tiles. “Too many vowels on that last draw.”
“Dad, don’t make any calls yet. Give me time to
figure out my next career move,” Quinn begged.
“Fine, fine,” her dad said with a distracted tone.
“Where’s the pitcher of tea? It’s hotter than the blazes out here. I told you
we should have put the shade umbrella up.”
“It’s in the kitchen. Why don’t we all go inside
and get out of the heat. I call it quits on this game anyway,” Anne said. She
stood up and dumped her letters into the box.
“Another victory for David Daniels and the crowd
goes wild,” Quinn’s dad made the sound of a crowd cheering.
“No one likes a sore winner, Dad,” Quinn joked.
“Says the girl who has never won a game of
Scrabble against her old man.”
Quinn helped her mom pick up the game and carried
the box into the kitchen. She pulled the pitcher of iced tea out of the refrigerator
and after refilling her father’s glass poured herself one. “So any idea how
many people you want to invite to Grandma Rose’s party?”
“The restaurant can’t hold more than seventy-five
people, so the party will be a little more intimate.”
Quinn rolled her eyes mentally at her mother’s
definition of an intimate
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