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368 pages, Paperback
First published May 1, 2025
The week I shot a man clean through the head began like any other.
I wasn't an executioner, I was a mother. The gun would be quick.
Even if our transport broke down, even if the wheels caught fire, even if a comet came hurtling towards Earth and the clouds turned to icy flames, Providence would carry me to him and I would have my opportunity.
An eye for an eye wouldn't bring her back, but it would make me feel better.
"Is she my sister?" I said. But I knew that she was.
I kissed the top of her ear. Her hair was gold. She felt like a warm loaf of bread. In the hem of one of the blankets was a label, on which letters were stitched: GOD'S PROVIDENCE.
"That's what we'll call her," said Gamma.
An hour ago, he'd been let out. There must be part of the screws that thought of it like that, how close it ran to unchaining a beast and letting it rampage through the city streets with no way of knowing if it would rip out a man's throat or if it would put on a suit and go to work.
...and there was someone else there too, in my memory, in the field behind Ron - a scarecrow made out of wood. We used to call him the Sunshine Man.
Providence said I had the sun in me. No one else saw it but her. She said I were always chasing the sun, trying to stay in the warm and the light.
I couldn't think about my family. They belonged to the mother and wife who burned the toast and packed the school bags and helped with the homework - the woman I sometimes looked at in the mirror and thought, for a second, am I you?
When I looked back, the suited man was gone. A yellow coin sat in the space there had been between us, like a perfect, miniature sun.
"Did you let him in?"
[Jimmy] paused, a flake of fish halfway to his mouth. At fourteen, he was every inch the sullen teenager. His expression was blank. How was it possible to wear no feelings on one's face whatsoever?
"Floyd?" he asked.
I didn't know who that was.
"No," I said. "Ron. He was here last night. In my bedroom." The words were knots in my throat, dragged up one by one on a coarse, wet rope.
He'd wished then, as now, that he had never met her. Far better for her to be alive, and nothing and no one to him, than for him to have known her and she to have died.
I look in the mirror and all I see is dark and the dark sees me. I see the edge of a man but there aint nothing inside, he's made of dark Its all he is.
What had they called him? The Sunshine Man. He'd been put up around the time I was born. I recalled his likeness visiting me, at night, in dreams, when I was young, in the land between awake and asleep where I didn't know for sure; he would climb in the window with his teeth and his grin, a smell of rotten daffodils, wearing the face of James or Ron or Kip Maguire, the face of my father, and put his hand on my mouth and I'd wake, terrified, into the dark.
It had taken him time to get here, to be willing - not fixed but willing, content inside the man he was now, understanding of the fact that a person could change, for bad and for good, and that he was trying, and that was enough.