There is a key on the kitchen counter this morning, where none was when I got into bed last night. I ask Bez about it.
“I have no idea where it came from,” she says. “I thought you put it there.”
I turn to the Kitchen God. “Did you put this here?” Of course he says nothing, his usual reaction to any questions from me.
“There’s always something weird going on in your house,” Bez says. She pours us both cups of coffee.
“It’s an old house,” I say. “You have to roll with it.” I turn the key over in my hands and examine it, but there’s nothing unusual about it as far as I can see. I get my ring and add it to my collection, unconcerned. If the house has seen fit to give me a key to something, I would imagine it’s only a matter of time until it reveals a lock into which it will fit.
Mysteries are the norm around here.
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