Mama spends a few minutes in the kitchen, then enters the dining room with a flaming pan as Corinne runs to turn down the lights. That’s Corinne’s favorite part about eating bananas Foster.

There’s complete silence as each bite is finished. My mind is on everything Mrs. Evans said. Anger seeping in as I watch her, I decide I’d rather do the dishes than sit at the table any longer.

Dean follows me to help clear up.

“No, sit down,” Mama says. “You’re a guest.”

“You know I’ll be hearing the hawing over there if I don’t join her,” Dean jokes, then grabs a handful of plates.

“I’d be fine,” I say. “But since you’re offering, you’re washing and I’m drying.”

Before we get to the kitchen, a booming noise explodes outside.

A roaring thump follows, and a hard pop and crash.

I recoil, my hands covering my head as shattered glass shoots across the room. I’m stunned until I hit the ground, Dean hovering over me like a shield. The chaos is deafening. My world just exploded.

AMERIKKKA

Our front window is destroyed.

Unsteady, I get to my feet to check on everyone. Hold Corinne close. Still unsure what happened. Mama is covering her mouth, her eyes teary and wide.

I feel the temperature warm up, a crackling sound. I whip around to look out the busted windows.

Dean runs through the kitchen’s back door to go around the house while Steve goes through the front door. I’m stuck, staring. Confused why it’s so bright outside. Until I realize there’s a blazing cross, over ten feet tall, that’s staked into our dry grass. The flames are catching the ground on fire. Bright and flashing.

I cry out at the tall cross burning in our front yard. The fire is blazing; I look away. Shut my eyes, but the image of the cross stays even in darkness.

“Good Lord.” Mrs. Evans stands there, with shards of glass around her, fixated on the yard. My eyes lock on the brick on the ground, paper wrapped on with what must be rubber bands.

“Judy, you all right?” Mama wraps her arms around Mrs. Evans, since more of the glass hit her. Mrs. Evans’s face is as white as a ghost’s. She doesn’t speak, shaking, but shuffles along as Mama guides her, directing her closer to the kitchen while calling the police.

“Take Corinne upstairs, Tracy.” Mama waves her arm at me, and it breaks my gaze away from the glass-covered floor.