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Mom pokes her head into the frame. “Of course it is. Heritage Day and opening day of the Karma Carousel? I’m sure it’s the biggest attraction in town.”

I’m sitting on a bench at the edge of Mapletown Cemetery, wearing a baseball hat and sunglasses to remain inconspicuous as I watch the faces of people on the carousel. They’re having an absolute blast. It was built around the base of the tree that was once my half-brother, Wyatt. As the ride begins, everyone on their pastel-painted horses gets a close-up look at his pouting face carved in the wood. The blood tears remain, adding a nice macabre touch to the attraction, especially since it’s mid-October. Everyone wants a selfie in front of the sad boy tree.

When I visited the forest a few days after the attack, Nysso explained that the tree operated essentially as a wood chipper, but instead of feeding lumber through the sharp rotating blades, the tree shot through him, obliterating his body into tiny pieces and trapping them inside the center of the tree. The only thing coming out the other side? His blood.

Then I laughed, and laughed, and laughed some more.

Nysso told me I should be the one to name it. I chose the Accountability Tree.

At first, I pictured putting a bench across from it and turning it into a peaceful place of self-reflection. But then I remembered my conversation with Ezra at Cedar Grove Mall. We have leaf-peeping, sure, but we needed something else. Something unique that would draw crowds. Something no other town has. Then it hit me. No other town has a carousel with old-timey jazz music playing while it circles the site of an evil shit-licker’s violent death.

The Karma Carousel was born.

The moment people are done riding the Karma Carousel, they can purchase a cup of hot cider and a freshly baked cider-glazed donut from the Cider King’s food truck, which is parked right next to it.

Another contribution from my half-brother is the new town slogan. I loved “We hug as hard as we bite,” but when I shared what Wyatt said before the tree ripped through him at the latest town meeting, someone suggested making that the slogan instead. We set up another town vote online, and it became the new winner with an overwhelming percentage of the vote.

“A bunch of freaks in the middle of the woods” is now scrawled on the town sign, as well as on the napkins, pens, and stationery of many local businesses. I have him to thank for that too.

“How did the committee take it when you told them you wouldn’t be joining them in a year?” Mom asks.

“Vice Chairwoman Martinez seemed disappointed, but I don’t think Chairman Yates cared. I didn’t expect him to.”

Mom shakes her head. “Spineless prick.”

“Why do you hate him? You’ve never told me.”

She holds my gaze for a moment before saying, “Baby, he’s the reason I didn’t take the job either. He’s a menace. And a bigot.”

“Oh my god,” I mutter, leaning forward and sliding my sunglasses down my nose. Suddenly, every piece of this puzzle snaps into place. “Did he tell you that you wouldn’t get the job because of Morsa?”

They both nod.

“Unbelievable.” I know more of the committee members are progressive than terrible, but as long as he’s the head, as a group, they’ll be stuck in the past. Not my problem.

Abe approaches, carrying a cider in one hand and a donut in the other. Ziggy’s trotting along at his side, looking up at Abe like he holds the moon. In reality, he holds a baggie of catnip in his pocket so we could keep Ziggy from wandering off during the festivities and causing his usual chaos.

“Okay, I have to go, but I’ll call you guys tomorrow.”

“We love you,” Morsa says, blowing several air kisses.

“Love you. Bye, baby,” Mom adds.

“Love you too.”

Abe sits down next to me, offering me the cup. I take it, and he drapes his arm around my shoulders. “It’s quite a hit,” he says, nodding toward the carousel.

“Great, isn’t it?”

“Oh hey, dude.” Ezra sidles up to the bench, plopping down on my other side. “So Heritage Day is off the charts.”

When I turn to face them, I notice their face is painted like a tiger. I chuckle at the sight. “Nice, but I thought the face painting station was for kids.”

“Incorrect,” they say in a smug, playful tone. “I asked. They said I was allowed, so suck on that.”

“I’m very much a fan,” Abe says to Ezra, holding up the donut as if it were a glass to clink.

“See? Abe and I are like this,” they say, crossing their fingers.