“I didn’t do it,” Archie protested. “I didn’t sell the piano. How could you even think I would do such a thing? You don’t know me at all, do you?”
“Nothing you do these days surprises me,” Edith said. “And you’re right, Archie, I really don’t know you anymore.”
“I swear to God, Edith, I didn’t sell your stupid piano,” Archie said.
“Then where is it?” Edith asked. “It was right here in our living room before we went to Philly to visit Gloria and Mike.”
“Okay, Dingbat,” Archie admitted. “It has been six months since I insisted they get their own place and move out and I was feeling guilty. And then Meathead said that Gloria really missed having a piano. So I called my buddy from work and had him and his crew picked it up and drive it down to Gloria’s place.”
“Oh Archie,” Edith said, “that was so thoughtful of you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because, Edith, I know how much you love us sitting down at the piano and singing together,” Archie said. “Besides, if I have to listen to you screech ‘Those were the days’ one more time, I think I’d have to kill myself.”
Written for Rachel Poli’s Time To Write prompt.