back to the church, keeping close to the row of trees that lined the street, Ozzie put the mask over his face, pulling the little string of elastic over his head. With his other hand, he picked up a pumpkin from the edge of someone’s yard and carried it by its stem. His heavy breaths were noisy against the flimsy mask. He squinted to see through the slim eyeholes.
The damage he intended to do wouldn’t be serious, he told himself. And it would cost the church nothing—Ozzie had every intention of volunteering his services for the repairs, and footing the bill for any replacement glass. The church would chalk it all up to vandals, and Ozzie could finally drive by the old place with a sense of peace. He’d no longer have to see all that sunlight muddied by dirt trapped in the glass, or see how the window sagged and chipped from its own weight.
Crouching in a deep shadow, Ozzie lifted the pumpkin above his head and aimed for a warped sash in order to do minimal harm. The pumpkin crashed against the window, shattering just enough of the glass to require careful repair, and Ozzie bolted from the site before the broken rind and guts of the pumpkin even hit the ground.
Once back inside the truck, he pushed the mask up off his face to rest atop his head. As he drove off, Charlotte, who had seen none of her father’s destruction, reached into the box and picked up some x-ray specs. “You know Mrs. diFanta from down the street?” she said, putting on the glasses. “She witnessed a sun miracle. That’s when you look in the sky and see the sun dancing. That’s how she went blind.” She wiggled her hands in front of her face, as if she could see through her skin.
Ozzie looked straight ahead but watched his daughter in the rearview mirror. For years Ozzie had been looking at Charlotte, studying her, certain there’d come a time when he’d never see her again. Her absence from his life had always seemed just seconds away. And now it was as if he couldn’t see her at all, not even when looking right at her. Instead, he saw her clearly, so clearly, at thirteen years old, in the moments just before he told her that her mother had died. He had waited for her in front of the house and, with both dread and relief, watched her approach. It had begun to rain, and Charlotte struggled and rushed down the street on her roller skates, her open umbrella flailing about as she tried to keep her balance.
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