first moved here, I wasn’t sure about living in the country, but you told me that it’d be a good thing. You said it was better that we didn’t have neighbors for miles and miles. Who wanted noisy Parkers coming over any old time?
Well, hon, I think you’re right. Yes, I’m willing to concede on that point. I like being out in the middle of nowhere, with not another soul around for miles and miles and miles.
And this old shed proved to be perfect. It’s nice and remote, and I can keep your car here. And here I wanted to tear down this crummy thing—I mean, it’s so ugly, being metal and all, but no, you said we could store things out here.
You were right.
Damn, that’s twice, Randy. I’ve gotta watch that.
You understand why I didn’t want to use my car—it’s up at the house, by the way. C’mon, you know why...stains. And I just had it thoroughly cleaned inside and out, you know. You were always so picky about your car—there couldn’t be a blade of grass or scrap of paper in it, or you’d pitch a fit. That’s why we always had to take the kids in my car; little children leave gummy fingerprints on everything, and barf, and just generally make messes, and you couldn’t have that in your precious automobile. And you were forever washing it; I’m surprised the paint didn’t come off from all the waxing and polishing you did.
You know, I think you paid more attention to your car than to your kids or me.
This must just drive you nuts.
Oh, now, c’mon, you can sob all you want and try to scream, but you know you aren’t going to be heard with that gag. It’s real secure, and so are those handcuffs and the rope. If you don’t struggle, you won’t get choked by the noose. See, it’s a slip knot. My brother was a Boy Scout, and he taught me all the knots when I was a kid; he said he never saw anyone learn so quickly. I just hope you don’t chafe yourself too raw. You might bleed all over that precious leather upholstery. Besides, as you always pointed out, there’s no one for miles and miles to hear you or the kids.
I’ll just give the old trunk a thump—ah, yes, they’re still conscious. Hush, you two, be a good boy and girl. Daddy doesn’t like noise, you know, and you really ought to try to be nicer to him now that you’re all having this quality time together.
I’ll be back tomorrow, Randy, regular as clockwork. I haven’t missed a day in the past week, have I, although I reckon it won’t be much longer. I hear it’s supposed to get up over a 100 again tomorrow, with no let up in the temperature at all through the weekend. All this heat...and not a lick of wind. This old tin shed is a real oven.
I know I shouldn’t laugh, but here I was talking about all this two groups stuff, and it all comes down to this, Randy: alive.
Or dead.
See you tomorrow.
Maybe.
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