She lifted him out of Hell and put him in Heaven. Everything was pure and white up there. Right away he started angrily pacing around, leaving greasy footprints all over the place. The angels looked at her like, You want to get this character out of here?

She closed both hands around Ricky like he was a little mouse, and really focused, and burned all his greasiness away and was able to see, by reading his mind, that he was now, because of her loving focus, a different person. No trace of the old Ricky remained. No trace of the real, original Ricky.

She put him back in Heaven and he stood there, stunned, whoever he was.

She heard Keith galumph up onto the porch.

So much for writing time.

He burst in, flushed and sweaty, bandanna over one shoulder. Good run? she said.

I didn’t go on a run, he said.

True, weird, he was wearing khakis.

He’d found the guy, the first guy, he said, the one averse to Jimmy Carter, and had given him one in the knee. With Derek’s autographed bat. It hadn’t—it hadn’t gone that well. The guy had nearly taken the bat away from him. He’d managed to nail him, but just that once. Sort of a, you know—glancing blow? And the thing was, during it? His bandanna had slipped down. And the guy had recognized him. Hey, you’re that dad dude, he’d said, in a tone of wonder, holding his knee. So. There was that. The plan was, had been, you know—take down both guys. Like in her essay? Teach them a lesson. About rules. About order. About “reverencing justice.” But after that first hit? The sound it made? The wind had sort of gone out of his sails. The bat was in the river. He’d dropped it off the bridge. They’d have to get Derek a new one. And get it signed. By who, though? Did she—did she remember who’d signed it?

Then he collapsed on the couch, burst into tears. His face went all shriveled-apple and he started soundlessly, in slow motion, pounding his fist into the arm of the couch.

Like in her essay?

What the hell?

Wait, she said. Which guy? Did you hit?

The first one, he said. The one they brought in first.

She told him about the confession. That the second one had confessed. That he’d essentially, uh, kneecapped the wrong guy.

Oh, great, he said, as if the unfair thing had been done to him.

Derek came down.

Why is Dad crying? he said.

His aunt died, she said.

Which aunt? Derek said.

One you don’t know, she said.

How would I not know an aunt of Dad’s? he said.