Merriton

“You know, it woulda been two years?” Randy was annoyed that Samson wasn’t paying attention. As soon as he got back to his computer, he was going to send a detailed email to him. “I know, Samson. Now listen. I gave Elvis a key and he’ll check on it to make sure it doesn’t get vandalized, but I want you to have a key, too.” Samson pushed away his hand. “I don’t want a key.”

Randy pressed the key in his hand, but Samson wouldn’t close his fingers, so the key fell on Samson’s Ikea rug with a bounce. Randy bent down to pick it up. “You don’t have to ever step foot in the house. I just want you to have a key that you can give to someone ELSE to go in the house.” Samson put his hands on his hips. “WHO else?”

Randy couldn’t believe how difficult Samson was being. He hadn’t wanted to argue like this. He had enough to deal with. “June.” Samson’s face fell and he took the key out of Randy’s hand. “You’re selling the house?” Randy shook his head. “No, but if I do, you’ll need to give the key to June.” He watched his friend turn the key over in his hand. “I thought this was only temporary until Sierra gets out of treatment…”

Randy felt full to the brim with suffering. “I don’t KNOW, Samson. That’s the problem.” He felt the release of his hand going over his face. “All I know is that I’m not putting Sierra back in that house. When she gets out of Woodleaf, we’ll come visit.” Samson’s house still smelled like the scent of new furniture. The hand chair sat in the corner with two ranger coats hanging off it: one on the forefinger and one on the pinkie. “We’ll stay in your guest room, how’s that?”

His friend’s hair was hanging in a straight bob around his ears. It had an indent all around it from being held in a rubber band at the nape of his neck. “And the Onion Festival. You have to come back for that.” Randy smiled and assured him, “We’ll eat a whole onion pie: just the three of us.”