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.”

Elvis stood at the doorway of the kitchen unsure what to do. “Vesta, darlin’. Why dontcha go over to the Bowen House and tell Randy his wife is ragin’ up a storm in our kitchen?” He sighed with relief when she hurried off. Forty-three years with that woman and she could still bring a wave of love to him that would nearly knock him down. With her safe, he could focus on the raging stick figure in his kitchen.

“Don’t quite know whatcher talkin’ ’bout, but you got my attention.” He carefully sat down at the table. The manila folder was thick with photocopies and yellow pads. Sierra screeched at him, “NOTHING! I found NOTHING!” She flung open the folder and two papers flew out onto the floor. “Absolutely nothing!” She scrambled after the stray sheets, holding them out to him.

“You and Artimus sign the deed, landlocking the house and TWO WEEKS later, Artimus dies!” Elvis was going to answer that Artimus had been so sick that it was a wonder he lasted as long as he did, but Sierra continued without even a breath taken between. “Then the property was sold to a Judith Lightfeather. Before that, she had bought TWENTY homes, rennovated them and flipped them for a profit. She lived in the homes so she wouldn’t have to pay state investment taxes.”

Sierra took a breath, leaned over the table and hissed, “Want to know what happened to her?” Elvis didn’t have time to tell Sierra what he knew because she continued the screaming rant, “It took me a while to find her. She decided to sell the house and move to the Blackfoot Reservation.” She slammed her hand on the table. “She sells beaded souvenirs in Fort Hall!”

Elvis remembered seeing Judy last time he took Vesta to the Fort Hall Casino. “She was pretty damn happy when I saw ‘er there.” Sierra stomped her foot and swung around, facing the sink. She threw her hands up and yelled, “I KNOW! I interviewed her!” She turned again, facing Elvis. “But she said that she was so glad she sold the house.” She scrambled for one of the yellow pads, flipping the papers until she found her place. “She said, ‘Living in the Bowen House felt like wading in a pond covered with algae.’” Sierra smacked the table with the pad. “ALGAE!”

At that moment, Elvis saw Randy peek around the kitchen doorway. “What’s going on?” Elvis watched the man unconsciously flinch when Sierra picked up her folder. “I have been spending the last two weeks tracking down every person who has owned this house since Artimus died! And it all started with HIM!” Elvis felt grateful that Vesta was shying away from Sierra’s angry movements.

Randy tried his best to calm his wife, but Elvis could tell that his gentle words would only make her angrier, so he took matters in his own hand. He stood up and pointed at his chair. “Sit down right this minute, missy!” He mustered up his “Angry Dad” voice and directed it at her. “You sit down!”

Instead of meekly sitting in silence like his children would have, she threw the folder of papers at his head and screeched, “I will NOT sit down! You are going to tell me what you did to that house to make it so fucked up!!” The corner of the folder hit right above Elvis’ right eye and the papers floated around his head like a snowstorm in January. He could smell the ink and the glue in the pad bindings in a flash of insight.

“What did you DO?!” Her screaming froze in mid-throat. Elvis held his hand up to his right eye in reaction to the blow. It was Randy who first noticed there was something wrong with her and he caught her before she dropped to the floor like the sickly bag of bones that she was.

Samson hesitated at the threshold, unwilling to come in. “I don’t want to come in. Why don’t we sit on the porch?” He motioned toward the long stairs with room for all three of them. Sierra sighed with relief. This had nothing to do with her running. She answered, “After that long winter, I’ll sit in the sun for a while.” She plopped onto the first step, grateful that the conversation wasn’t focused on her. Randy, however, refused. “No. All the stuff is on the kitchen table. Just come in for a minute.”

Sierra had looked over all the new contracts with the ISPs that Randy had added. Samson’s Tso Speed Tech was being installed in almost every Internet provider in the country and even a few in Europe. The new company was doing very well, despite the crash in the economy.

“I’d rather not. Let’s just take the paperwork over to Mount Zen Cafe to sign.” Samson’s strangeness finally burst through the fog in Sierra’s mind, but Randy spoke first, “The papers are RIGHT THERE.” He pointed into the house. “Just come in and sign them. We can go eat afterward.” She watched the two of them as if they were strangers when it finally dawned on her. “Samson doesn’t want to go in the house, Randy.”

Her eyes were drawn to the gravel road leading to the main road. It called to her. All she had to do was stand up and start running. She would be past the gravel and could head to Mount Zen Cafe. If she kept running, she’d pass Merriton altogether. If she ran long enough, she would glide by Samson’s house in Emigration. Keep running and she’d be Up North. It was more than a marathon to get Up North. People did Ultra Marathons all the time. She contemplated what it would feel like to run from Merriton and just keep on running until she got to the airport.

“What’s the matter with the house?” Sierra couldn’t take her eyes off the gravel road long enough to see the confusion on Randy’s face. She could hear Samon try to bumble his way through the conversation. “It’s just… I don’t know…” She turned and looked at her old friend from high school. His hair was long enough now to be pulled into a tight and thick lump at the nape of his neck. The winter glare had made his face dark, but the goggles left large yellow rings around his eyes. In the ranger uniform, he looked so different. No longer Asian, he appeared to be an American Indian to her. He looked like a stranger and she watched him struggle with his words.

“Every time I go in your house, I get all weird. All I can think about is getting fired from Zerbitz and every class that I ever got less than an A…” He backed away from the open door, gripping the porch railing. “Every project that never got finished…” Randy nodded, but Sierra could tell he didn’t understand. “I know what you’re talking about. You stayed here right after they sacked you. This place reminds you of it. I understand, Kevin.”

Samson smacked the porch railing and Sierra felt the vibration of it in her butt cheeks on the stairs. “Dammit, Random! You need to call me Samson!” Through the bushes and the shrubbery, Sierra could see Elvis and Vesta sitting on their own porch. Could they hear Samson’s outburst? Were they watching? She didn’t care, despite his loud voice. “I’m NOT going in that house! It’s HAUNTED, Random! Don’t you remember that FIRST night when we got here?! You said that there was more to this house than the suicide room and the light bulb EXPLODED! The house made it pretty damn clear that there is NOT more to it than that room!”

She watched Samson and Randy face off. Without a word, she stood up and walked over the threshold. As she passed Randy, she brushed her shoulder against his ever so gently, like a cat rubbing on the corner of a wall. She slid past the parlor and gathered the paperwork on the kitchen table. Her walk stayed silent as she left the house and walked on that gravel path toward Mount Zen Cafe. She knew that the two of them would follow her eventually.

Samson spoke first, “Definitely.” The tiny park ranger took a long sip of lemonade and closed his eyes against the sun, allowing the yellow skin that had hid under his ski goggles all winter to absorb the light.

John was less enthusiastic. “Don’t know why you bothered at all. None ‘o those big wigs were even interested at all.” The three men sat on the porch at the Thunder Brothers Ranch. The crops were planted. The water had been moved less than thirty minutes ago. The sun had finally come to Mount Zen to stay for a holiday.

After a couple of quiet, sun-drenched minutes, Samson argued, “In this economy, VCs are skittish. Plus, they’re all computer guys. I’m surprised they didn’t invest in Dora’s computer recycling thing, though.” He took another gulp of lemonade. James could see the undissolved crystals floating in the glass. Samson continued, “Her project seemed like it was right up their alley.”

James looked out across the field and smelled the wet earth waft across the porch. He wondered what Bree was doing in her room. “So it WASN’T a success?” John answered immediately, “That’s what I’m sayin’. It was a big pain in the butt for nothin’.” Samson disagreed, “No, John. You’re wrong. It wasn’t for nothing. First off, Curly and Tank got Randy to kick start their projects. Second, Dora got lotsa advertising for her thing. I heard she got five computers on her doorstep the very next day.” The truth of the matter was that only two of them could be reformatted, the other three would have to be salvaged for parts, but Samson wasn’t going to mention that.

“Last off, everybody got to brag a little bit. I thought it was really cool to see what everyone was working on. I feel like I know everyone in the town just a little better now.”

James looked at his own glass of lemonade. The ice made only a sparse condensation at the top of the glass. The humidity was too low. They should give the crops extra water today. “So it WAS a success?” Samson nodded, looking across the porch. John took a long drink of his lemonade before finally answering, “Yep.”

Angie sighed at the sudden emptiness of it all. The first two days of sunshine melted the remaining snow on the mountain. The cafe was filled with disappointed skiers who had hoped to squeeze one more weekend out of the resorts. The second three days of sunshine, Angie cleaned everything that had been neglected during the busy season. After a full week of sun, however, the cafe was spotless and abandoned.

“We should go on a vacation, Curly. We haven’t had a vacation…” Angie tried to think of the last time the two of them left the mountain, but came up blank. “…ever.” Curly peeked out of the kitchen, looking for customers, but there were none to hear him talk, so he replied, “This year’s kinda bad for it since I’m startin’ the gym in Emigration.”

Angie nodded and wiped her dry hands on her apron. “I know. I know…” She tried to let the idea go with the words, but it clung to her. “It’s just this is the first time we ever had somebody to who could watch the cafe while we were gone.” Curly shook his head. “Bree’s busy with the Thunder Brothers now.” Angie shrugged. “She could watch the place for a week.” She smiled to herself at the idea of a week without waiting tables. “Or we could close up for a week.”

Curly shook his head. “A restaurant is ’bout momentum. People git into the habit of comin’ here every week or every morning for their coffee. If we shut down, even for a week, we’ll break their habit.” He folded his big arms across his chest. “Plus, Bree can’t make an Egg Thing.” Angie knew that arguing on this subject would cause a fight, but the idea of seven whole days of not coming into the cafe and escaping to another world was too appealing to her. “You could teach ‘er to make one.”

Curly walked into the kitchen with one phrase on his lips that ended the conversation. “If they knew what was in it, they wouldn’t eat it.”

Guy was a hard guy to read. He was always smiling and always the jokester, despite his serious nature. Like The Green Man personified, it was difficult to see past the smile to find the hard businessman underneath. When he finally answered, Guy was still smiling, “You were right. This wasn’t Ignite. This was speed dating for venture capitalists.” Randy felt himself smiling back, but knew that he needed to get past The Green Man facade to the hardcore businessman inside.

“Well, I’m going to take Tank’s Missionary Missives and Curly’s gym. Tank doesn’t need the funding, but he’s only seventeen years old, so I want to teach him how to set up advertising properly and…” Randy couldn’t articulate what he wanted. He felt a sort of fatherly protectiveness toward Tank, but mostly he didn’t want the kid to join the military. Anything he could do to keep Tank from following his brother’s path was a win in Randy’s eyes.

Guy’s laughing voice responded, “So you’re going to fund the two worst ideas in the group? Last thing the Internet needs is another blog network and this tiny town couldn’t support a gym. Why don’t you buy the sheep farm while you’re at it?” The two of them laughed as Randy replied, “Actually, I had no idea that most wool comes from Austrailia. Did you?”

The two of them drew from their respective drinks and observed the tired ski bunnies and snow bums. There was only a month of skiing left on the mountain and the resort had an air of desperation and last minute struggle to squeeze as much fun out of the time they had left. Guy’s wicked sense of humor attacked. “Jason seemed to be disappointed.” Randy refused to take the bait. “Jason is looking for something different than I am. He’s all about the quick sale. If we were in real estate, he’d be flipping houses.” Guy swirled the remains of his drink in the ice. “What would you be doing? Listing houses for sale?”

Randy looked at Guy and finally realized the difference between himself and his old business partner. Guy wasn’t going to bite on any of the opportunities that were out here. “No, Guy. I’d be building towns.”

All she could think about was running. It was as bad as it had been in high school. She tried all the old mental exercises that Woodleaf had taught her last time she fought this, but they didn’t seem to have the power that they had before. Her hand gripped around the TiVo remote a little too tightly as she thought about it. When could she go again? This damn snow was still burying her in the house. Sometimes it was difficult to get all the way Up North and back before Randy woke up.

Randy ended his call and sat back on the couch with her. “You’d think that Jason had never signed an NDA in his life before.” Sierra tried her best to focus on the conversation and put the idea of treadmills out of her mind. “Is he coming?” Randy shook his head. “I told him that he couldn’t come unless he signed the agreement, so he said that he wasn’t coming. I don’t care either way.” Sierra smiled to herself. “He’s coming. There’s no way he’d let Guy have all the fun. Want to bet when I’ll have the NDA?”

Randy took the remote from her hand and pressed play. “I bet you’ll have it in your email tomorrow morning.”

“I gotta a truckload of hippies comin’ in from San Francisco. No, they aren’t just hippies. They’re RICH hippies. If I can make just one of ‘em aware that we’re one of the only remaining ORGANIC wool farms and manufacturers in the United States, then I’ve done my work. Those guys are always talkin’ ’bout buying local. Well, Lancaster is a helluva lot closer than Austrailia.”

Dora sighed and cracked her knuckles while looking at the screen of Elvis’ laptop. The few slides he had created were unprofessional and looked no better than what her high school students prepared on a regular basis. She went to the file options and chose, “Save As…” She was going to have to start all over.

“You only have five minutes and and twenty slides. They are going to advance every fifteen seconds, whether you’re done with them or not.” Dora looked at her watch. “What you just showed me was fifteen minutes and you spent two minutes on Teflon alone.

Elvis interrupted her, “I’m not givin’ Dupont any more of my money! Monsanto and Dupont can just kiss my butt!” He stood up and paced around the kitchen. Dora stopped editing his slides. “If you can’t be civil, I’ll leave you to this yourself and you can look like a fool to those rich hippies. Is that what you want?” She used her school teacher voice and to her surprise, he sat back down like a chastised child. Vesta hid a smile behind her yarn.

“So…” Dora tried to start again, “Since you are so angry at Dupont, it’s probably best not to waste two minutes talking about washable wool and how it isn’t as beneficial as natural.” She deleted the Telfon slides. That still left far too many slides. “Your goal is to have these rich hippies buy Lancaster wool for their felting projects, right? Or are you trying to sell them the mill and farm?”

The room was eerily quiet and Dora suddenly felt an uncomfortable awkwardness. It was Vesta who spoke, “He wants to sell the yarn, not the mill.” Elvis’ hands were flat on the table and Dora watched him. He looked at his hands, wrinkled with age and hardened with work. When he finally spoke, Dora was shocked at his words, “You and Roscoe don’t have no kids.”

He paused and waited for her response. All the answers that she usually gave to that question sounded flippant and disrespectful. She quietly gave him her stock answer, “I have 140 kids every school year, and all of them artists.” She looked at Elvis’ slides and marveled at how something as simple as PowerPoint could cause a conversation to turn so personal.

The room was so quiet that the sound of Vesta’s knitting needles filled it with clicking. Dora could swear that she even heard the yarn being pulled from the skein. When Elvis finally spoke, it was a blessing. “Me and Vesta, we had four kids and none of ‘em want the mill or the farm. Maybe I was thinkin’ that they’d wanna buy ‘em.” He sniffed rubbed one of his eyes roughly with the heel of his hand. “Knowin’ me, I’d just drive ‘em crazy tryin’ to run everything. Might as well keep on until I’m dead and let the kids decide how to sell it off when I’m gone.”

Dora had never seen this side of Elvis. It was common knowledge that the Lancaster kids left Merriton the second they could, but the townsfolk never saw this tender side of the old cowboy. She tried to brush it aside lightly. “So, your goal is to sell YARN to the rich hippies. Let’s focus on that.”

Roscoe sat at the kitchen table and tried to fathom where he went wrong. “I thought you’d like to get the extra publicity from this. A.S. might not be the mayor, but old Tortimer pretty much let’s ‘er act like she is. Gettin’ the mayor to make your computer recyclin’ project an official event is like a guarantee for success.” Dora stood up, but her tiny frame didn’t rise much higher than when she was sitting. What she lacked in size however was more than made up for in volume. “It’s MY project!”

Roscoe’s tall and thin frame sat opposite his wife at the table. Even sitting, he towered over her. He had two choices: he could continue arguing or he could just let Dora have her way. He froze up for a few seconds, trying to decide which option was best for his beloved’s happiness. Arguing would make her angry in the short run, but getting her to agree to become part of the Merriton Festival Circuit would make his wife’s dreams come true. He clenched his teeth and started to argue his point, but Dora cut him off. “You’re just fine with ‘er takin’ credit for the Land Cruiser Cruise?!”

The question threw him off guard. He tried to answer, “She’s not takin’ credit for it. She’s givin’ me extra publicity.” Dora laughed angrily. “Oh no she isn’t! She’s just takin’ credit for your work! You don’t NEED publicity! You got TOYOTA to sponsor you!” The last thirty years flashed before Roscoe’s eyes. He saw Dora as the mousy and quiet teen always ignored by the crowds in favor of A.S. and her demanding personality. This wasn’t about the projects and it certainly wasn’t about the Land Cruiser Cruise. This was about a past that went back to their childhood.

“Ya know, the Land Cruiser Cruise is gonna be a big pain in the neck. For one week outta the year, we’re gonna have a huge fleet ‘a pickups and off roaders here. They’re gonna fill the hotels and clog the streets. Most towns don’t want these kinda folks ’round, much less that many all in one spot. By joinin’ A.S.’s festival, I pretty much got the MAYOR’S approval for this. Old Tort ain’t gonna say no to the cruise if it’s part ‘a her festival circuit. Do you know how HARD it can be to get approval for these kinda things? A.S. just made it easy for me. She might take a little credit for it, but she’s helpin’ me, too.”

Roscoe watched Dora’s face. Did he push it too far? He wanted to say more, but he didn’t know whether she would explode at him or not. He tentatively tried to continue. “What do you want from this ElectroRegeneration Society?” Dora looked up at him again and at down at the table. Her toes barely touched the floor, nearly swinging in the seat. “I want kids who don’t have computers to get computers.” Roscoe reached for her hand. “Be honest with me. Is that all you want? Do you want to be the one to do it or is it good enough that it gets done?” Dora’s face screwed up with confusion. “What do you mean?”

Roscoe patted her hand and leaned a little closer. “Suppose A.S. did take credit for your project. Suppose it was a total success and every kid in the county had a computer and everybody thought it was ’cause of her. Would ya still be happy?” Dora squirmed at the thought. “Every child has a good computer?” Roscoe nodded and watched her mind process the idea. Her hand twisted within his and gripped him tightly. A.S. would get her way again, but so would Dora.

Roscoe handed the park permit to the snow bum and wished for an avalanche or some other winter catastrophe to hit so he could escape. “My project already has funding, so I don’t need your help. I’m just presenting so everyone in Merriton will hear about it first. You can wait until then. Don’t even know how you know that my project might be something you’re interested in.” A.S. shook her head. No excuse was going to fly with her.

“Listen to me, Roscoe. My project is called the Merriton Festival Circuit. We are going to host an event every month. I just want to include your safari thing. Which month are you planning on having it?” The tall and thin man bristled. There were so many things wrong with what she just said he hardly knew where to start and he certainly didn’t want to say exactly how he felt with so many park visitors in the ranger station.

He took the money from a snow bunny in a ski suit so tight that he could see the woman’s nipples bulging. He tried not to stare, but there they were, looking at him like two raisins smashed into GORE-TEX. “A.S., I’m a little busy.” He motioned at the crowd and then the most surprising thing happened. A.S. jumped behind the counter and offered to help the next ski jacket in line.

For fifteen quiet minutes, the two of them took money and handed out park permits. Roscoe was shocked that A.S. would even know the cost and difference between the various permits, but she explained them and the rules to the ski jackets as well as any of his rangers could have. A.S. always acted like she was so much better than everyone else, that Roscoe had forgotten that she was a local. Born on the mountain, just like him. By the time the two of them cleared the crowd, he was in a much better mood to talk.

“Thanks for helpin’.” A.S. walked around to the other side of the counter and shrugged. Roscoe took off his ranger hat and ran his hand over his head. “First off, it’s not a safari thing. Don’t ever call it safari nothin’. I don’t want no trouble from the Jeep people, ‘kay?” Roscoe waited for her answer. A.S. crinkled her brow, but she agreed. “Okay? What is it then?”

Roscoe felt like he was breaking a rule to confide in A.S., but he was bursting to the seams with pride. “It’s called the Land Cruiser Cruise.” He smiled and nodded. A.S.’s face was blank, so he continued, “I’ve got a sponsorship with Toyota to host an off-roading weekend on the mountain this June. Only people who own Toyota vehicles can participate.” He started listing the models, “Land Cruisers, FJs, Tundras, 4Runners, Siennas, even Tacomas if they’re lifted right. Heck, if they can get a Prius up the mountain, it’s welcome just as much.”

A.S. nodded, “So you’re having your event in June. Is it alright if I include it on the Merriton Festival Circuit? I just don’t want to create my own event that month if you’ve already have something planned.” Roscoe agreed, “Sure, you can include it.” He wanted to talk some more. He had broken the rule to share this much, he wanted to finish. “There will be a big tent for all the vendors who sell add-ons and accessories for Toyotas. It will be bigger than the Onion Festival!”

Roscoe noticed A.S. cringe, so he changed the subject a bit. “It’s just that the Jeep Safari doesn’t let anybody except Jeeps go on their safari, so we wanted to have an event of our own. People have been takin’ Toyota pickups up Moose Hill ever since they first came to the states. They might be little, but they’re just as good goin’ up the hill as any Jeep. We just wanted to show everybody that.”

A.S. smiled. “Have you created your Power Point for the presentation yet?” Roscoe shook his head. “Dora said she’d help me with it.” A.S. answered, “When you introduce this, lead with that story. It’s a good one.” Then another thought hit her. “Oh, and show lots of pictures of your pickup with you and Dora. It will seem like you’ve already done it if you can show them what it will look like.”

Roscoe was surprised and grateful for her advice. A.S. asked, “Is it asking too much to have you say that you are the June event for the Merriton Festival Circuit?” Roscoe smiled, of course, she would want something in return. A.S. never did nothin’ for free. She might be more polite about it, but she still wanted somethin’. “Sure, A.S., I’ll say that for ya, but you gotta do somethin’ for me.”

The surprise on her face was palpable. Roscoe realized that she never once considered that he might want something in return. His Land Cruiser Cruise was a funded event that she thought she could just appropriate for her festival thing. Well, if she was going to get some of the credit, he was going to get something out of it. “I want you to do an event where all the people bring their old computers to donate them to Dora’s project.”

Roscoe didn’t expect the joy to fill A.S.’s face. She pulled out her list again and pointed at it, “I have April and August free. Which do you think will work for her?” Roscoe struggled with the idea. “Well, August people could do it for school startin’, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to get all the computers fixed up. How about April?” A.S. smiled and pulled her pen back out of her purse. “Okay, and what should we call it? What is Dora calling her project?”

Roscoe put his ranger hat back on. “I think she’s callin’ it the ElectroRegeneration Society, ERGS for short.” He watched A.S. write the words on her monthly festival calendar. “That’s a horrible name, but it doesn’t really matter what you call something as long as it gets into people’s minds.” Her hand hovered over the calendar and she continued, “Firstly, I can’t do THIS April. We’ll have to plan for NEXT April. There’s just not enough time to generate a buzz for something like this. Secondly, you better talk to Dora about this before I commit to giving her April. She might not want to deal with me…”

The ranger smiled in surprise for the second time that day. Maybe there was hope for A.S. yet.