Back when I was a kid,
I hadn't realized that I broke just as easily as any ordinary mortal.
"Hey, you can
still fly, with Kurt's help. Thank goodness he's the Handyman." She
slipped the lid on the box with Mum's sarong and tossed it to me.
I caught it with
brainpower and tossed it down the hall and around the corner to my office. I
couldn't see where it landed, but since I didn't hear a crash, chances were
good it hadn't knocked over any stacks of papers or CDs or books.
"One down, a
dozen to go," I muttered, and mentally marked present number one off my
list.
"Speaking of
Kurt…" She flipped an
ominously plain brown plastic bag upside down, emptying a half-dozen
sorting-and-storage boxes onto the floor. "What do you think? He can
adjust the sizes of the compartments."
"Just
right."
The perfect gifts for
Kurt had always been mechanical, in one form or another. I admired the sorting
boxes she had chosen, in varying depths and widths, and promised to help her
wrap the presents.
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