He gave me the briefest of nods before gripping the wheel to jag the mower leftward to catch a couple little Gunmars who’d made it all the way to the sidelines. Seconds later they were applesauce. The mower hurtled at a speed Dad had never before allowed himself, zooming down the sideline like a kick returner seeing nothing but green, and I realized in a lightheaded flash that he would get them, all of them, that the baby trolls’ conquering instincts were no match for a man with an awesome lawn mower who knew how to use it.

Gunmar shrieked, several of his hands clutching at his own body as if he felt each individual death. He lowered his head and bellowed. Windows in the snack bar and sound booth exploded; I caught a glimpse of Tub shielding his grandma from glass. Memories of that fateful day in 1969 came back to Dad in a burst, and for a moment the mower’s trajectory began to list. Then the radio stations fighting for precedence through the loudspeakers gave way to a single oldies station, and as cosmic luck would have it, it was a song familiar to every Sturges on the field that night.

“I stood on this corner, / Waiting for you to come along, / So my heart could feel satisfi-i-i-ied.…”

The voices were distorted and pierced with bullets of static, but it was Don and Juan, all right, and Dad took their voices to be the song of the gods, bestowing upon him a second chance to be the man he’d always wanted, and so he bore down, hunching over the wheel and gripping it even harder with those gardening gloves. The mower straightened and the green grass turned a putty color with the mulch of massacre.

I rushed through the slippery pools of mashed troll until I arrived at Jack’s side. My shoulder struck his; he looked over and I saw in his eyes the wild look of a kid ready to accept the most dangerous of dares. Blinky was struggling to his feet to our right, but the three of us still looked pretty wretched when compared to Gunmar, who stood shivering above us as if sobbing over the destruction of his infernal litter.

“This may go badly,” Jack said.

“I know.”

“But you did good. I want you to know that.”

“Thanks.”

“Jimbo, too—your dad. If you make it and I don’t, tell him I said that.”

“I will.”

Jack grabbed my neck, the most affectionate of touches he’d ever given.

“How about we make this son of a bitch think twice about messing with a Sturges?”