The actual fence work begins and it immediately goes south. Mr. McCoy insists the posts need to lean north for “wind resistance.” Dad insists south for “water drainage.”
“Just put it straight up,” I say.
“That’s not how fences work,” Mr. McCoy insists.
“Everything needs an angle,” Dad adds.
“You’re both wrong and this is why we can’t have nice things.”
They stare at me, then each other, then somehow conclude I’m the problem and bond over it.
“Your daughter’s mouthy,” Mr. McCoy tells Dad.
“Your boys taught her that,” Dad responds.
“We’ve only been together for a few weeks,” Jesse points out.
“A few weeks too long,” both fathers say in unison, then look disturbed by their synchronization.
Jesse attempts hammering, and gets his thumb instead of the nail. “FUCK!”
Mrs. Delaney clicks her tongue and stops recording.
“Sorry,” Jesse says, shaking his thumb like that’ll help.
Wyatt wordlessly hands him an ice pack from a cooler.
“You have a cooler with ice packs?”
“I have three. This is just today’s. I also have one for when you cook.”
“When have I cooked?”
“Remember the grilled cheese incident?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You set water on fire. Water. The thing that puts out fires.”
Meanwhile, Rita’s discovered the hammer. She’s got it in her mouth and has decided it’s hers now.
“That’s an eighty-dollar hammer!”
Rita runs faster, the hammer making her look like she’s smoking a giant cigar.
“She’s heading for the road,” someone shouts.
Right on cue, Madison’s BMW appears, slowing down to observe. She’s wearing sunglasses and what appears to be a wedding dress.
“Why is she wearing a wedding dress?” Boone asks.
“She posted that she’s in mourning for Jesse’s freedom,” I explain. “The dress represents the wedding that’ll never happen.”
“So sad.”
“That’s Madison.”
Rita sees the BMW and decides violence is the answer. She charges. Madison screams, floors it, and fishtails onto the shoulder before speeding away.
