I thought about her in other ways, too. I figured she must have been a good kid, not rotten like me. No one will ever make a window like that in my memory. It was kind of sad, thinking that someone good had died young like that, and for the past fifty years, there had been no Mary Theresa Mills.

There was a lamp near the Mary Theresa Mills window. The lamp was on top of the case where they kept the choir music, and that case was just below the window. When the last person went into the confessional, I’d turn the lamp on, and Harvey ’d know he could come on in without seeing any of his friends. I’d wait until I saw him come in, then I’d turn out the lamp and head downstairs.

Once, I didn’t wait, and I reached the bottom of the stairs when Harvey came into the church. A lady came down the aisle just then, and when she saw me she said, “Oh, you poor dear!” I really hate it when people act like that. She turned to Harvey, who was getting all red in the face and said, “Polio?”

I said, “No,” just as Harvey said, “Yes.” That just made him angrier. The lady looked confused, but Harvey was staring at me and not saying anything, so I just stared back. The lady said, “Oh dear!” and I guess that snapped Harvey out of it. He smiled real big and laughed this fake laugh of his and patted me on the head. Right then, I knew I was going to get it. Harvey only acts smiley like that when he has a certain kind of plan in mind. It fooled the lady, but it didn’t fool me. Sure enough, as soon as she was out the door, I caught it from Harvey, right there in the church. He’s no shrimp, and even open-handed, he packs a wallop.

Later, I listened, but he didn’t confess the lie. He didn’t confess smacking me, either, but Harvey told me a long time ago that nowhere in the Ten Commandments does it say, “Thou shalt not smack thy kid or thy wife.” I wished it did, but then he’d probably just say that it didn’t say anything about smacking thy stepkid. That’s why, after that, I waited until Harvey had walked in and was on his way down the aisle before I came down the stairs.

So Harvey had been in the confessional for a little while before I made my way to stand outside of it. I could have gone into the other confessional, and I would, just as soon as I heard Harvey start the Act of Contrition-the last prayer a person says in confession. You can tell when someone’s in a confessional because the kneeler has a gizmo on it that turns a light on over the door. When the person is finished, and gets up off the kneeler, the light goes out. But I knew Harvey ’s timing and I waited for that prayer instead, because since the accident, I can’t kneel so good. And once I get down on my knees, I have a hard time getting up again. Father O’Brien once told me I didn’t have to kneel, but it doesn’t seem right to me, so now he waits for me to get situated.

Like I said, I was trying not to eavesdrop, but Harvey was going on and on about my mom, saying she was the reason he drank and swore and committed sins, and how he would be a better Catholic if there was just some way he could have the marriage annulled. I was getting angrier and angrier, and I knew that was a sin, too. I couldn’t hear Father O’Brien’s side of it, but it was obvious that Harvey wasn’t getting the answer he wanted. Harvey started complaining about me, and that wasn’t so bad, but then he got going about Mom again.

I was so mad, I almost forget to hurry up and get into the confessional when he started the Act of Contrition. Once inside, I made myself calm down, and started my confession. It wasn’t hard for me to feel truly sorry, for the first sin I confessed weighed down on me more than anything I have ever done.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I killed my father.”

I heard a sigh from the other side of the screen.

“My son,” Father O’Brien began, “have you ever confessed this sin before?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And received absolution?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And have you done the penance asked of you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“You don’t believe in the power of sacrament of penance, of the forgiveness of sins?”

I didn’t want to make him mad, but I had to tell him the truth. “If God has forgiven me, Father, why do I still feel so bad about it?”

“I don’t think God ever blamed you in the first place,” he said, but now he didn’t sound frustrated, just kind of sad. “I think you’ve blamed yourself. The reason you feel bad isn’t because God hasn’t forgiven you. It’s because you haven’t forgiven yourself.”

“But if I hadn’t asked-”

“-for the Davy Crockett hat for your seventh birthday, he wouldn’t have driven in the rain,” Father O’Brien finished for me. “Yes, I know. He loved you, and he wanted to give you something that would bring you joy. You didn’t kill your father by asking for a hat.”

“It’s not just that,” I said.

“I know. You made him laugh.”

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I was seeing my dad, sitting next to me in the car three years ago, the day gray and wet, but me hardly noticing, because I was so excited about that stupid cap. We were going somewhere together, just me and my dad, and that was exciting too. The radio was on, and there was something about Dwight D. Eisenhower on the news. I asked my dad why we didn’t like Ike.

“We like him fine,” my father said.

“Then why are we voting for Yodelai Stevenson?” I asked him.

See how dumb I was? I didn’t even know that the man’s name was Adlai. Called him Yodelai, like he was some guy singing in the Alps.

My dad started laughing. Hard. I started laughing, too, just because he’s laughing so hard. So stupid, I don’t even know what’s so funny. But then suddenly, he’s trying to stop the car and it’s skidding, skidding, skidding and he’s reaching over, he’s putting his arm across my chest, trying to keep me from getting hurt. There was a loud, low noise-a bang-and a high, jingling sound-glass flying. I’ve tried, but I can’t remember anything else that happened that day.

My father died. I ended up crippled. The car was totaled. Adlai Stevenson lost the election. My mom married Harvey. And just in case you’re wondering, no, I never got that dumb cap, and I don’t want one. Ever.

Father O’Brien was giving me my penance, so I stopped thinking about the accident. I made a good Act of Contrition and went to work on standing up again. I knew Harvey watched for the light to come on over the confessional door, used it as a signal that I would be coming out soon. I could hear his footsteps. He’d always go back to the car before I could manage to get myself out of the confessional.

On the drive home, Harvey was quiet. He didn’t lecture to me or brag on himself. When I was slow getting out of the car, he didn’t yell at me or cuff my ear. That’s not like him, and it worried me. He was thinking hard about something, and I had a creepy feeling that it couldn’t be good.

The next day was a Sunday. Harvey and my mom went over to the parish hall after mass. There was a meeting about the money the parish needed to raise to make some repairs. I asked my mom if I could stay in the church for a while. Harvey was always happy to get rid of me, so he said okay, even though he wasn’t the one I was asking. My mom just nodded.

The reason I wanted to stay behind was because in the announcements that Sunday, Father O’Brien had said something about the choir loft being closed the next week, so that the stairs could be fixed. I wanted to see the window before they closed the loft. I had never gone up there in the daylight, but this might be my only chance to visit it for a while. As I made my way up the stairs, out of habit I was quiet. I avoided the stairs which creaked and groaned the most. I guess that’s why I scared the old lady that was sitting up there in the choir loft. At first, she scared me, too.

She was wearing a long, old-fashioned black dress and a big black hat with a black veil, which made her look spooky. She was thin and really, really old. She had lifted the veil away from her face, and I could see it was all wrinkled. She probably had bony hands, but she was wearing gloves, so that’s just a guess.