I hope Angel remembers,” I said, despite the fact Pocket had fallen asleep. The receipt for a new fence was on the coffee table. My mom had saved that, too. Paying for a new one was our only punishment—my punishment. I vowed I was all alone when I’d driven the backhoe through it, and made Uncle Bruce promise not to say otherwise. Snow fence was cheap. Uncle Bruce wrote Paid in full on the invoice about two weeks after we’d taken it down. I hadn’t paid a cent.
When I stood up, the towel fell off completely. Pocket opened his eyes. He’d seen me naked and aroused hundreds of times. He didn’t care. Neither did I. Before I wrapped the little backhoe, The King and I soundtrack, a copy of the receipt, and a mixer beater to represent the one’s we’d gone down on in Life Skills class, I took ten mi
