And I did, because as it turned out, my mom—the sweet, gentle, mild-tempered woman who wouldn’t hurt a fly and who’d let my father walk out of our lives without a murmur—had had a lengthy conversation with Alexander Haskell, Johnny’s dad. The senior Haskell didn’t want the police or his insurance company involved, so he covered the entire cost out of pocket.
I recovered enough to babysit for the Sullivans in early July—really nice kids—and I got to meet Mrs. Sullivan’s son, River, when he returned home early. He was nineteen to my seventeen, but he smiled at me and asked me out. I forgot to take Love Potion #9, but it didn’t seem necessary. I found a ton of things to talk to him about, and we had fun. He was my first kiss—well, the first one that meant anything—my first hand job, and my f
