Most of the audience were elderly people, with lively, expectant faces. There were maybe twenty people in the audience, although there were foldout chairs available for twice that many. Nobody would call Vid’s backyard ordinary.Įrika sat in the middle of the back row of the audience in the event room that adjoined this smartly renovated local library in a suburb forty-five minutes out of the city, not thirty minutes, thank you very much, as suggested by the person at the cab company, who you would think would have some sort of expertise in the matter. She crossed her legs, tucked one foot behind her ankle, and sniffed. Well, not exactly an ordinary backyard, thought Erika.
“An ordinary neighborhood barbecue in an ordinary backyard.”
The microphone amplified and smoothed her voice, making it more authoritative, as if it had been photoshopped. “This is a story that begins with a barbecue,” said Clementine.
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