We become guests of the Mark Twain Hotel because our father's a big-shot head waiter. Each morning food's brought under warm silver domes to our suite. Mother saves the sticky buns from breakfast for our after school snack. All our teachers, friends and neighbors chip in and give us a record-breaking Christmas. Miss Read, my hated math teacher, even brings us used china.
Mother wraps all the gifts in newspaper.
Even the Kiwanis Club goodies that come already wrapped. The Masons hold a big ceremony for my foster father, who is finally done in by unfiltered Camels. They mouth mysterious things over his mummified remains. The monster is dead. I know because mother makes me touch him when I go by the casket.