I sat crosslegged on the floor, looking at this three-foot-long pointed stick, and said, “What’s this? A carve-your-own-cane kit?” Poppa Fred had his sense of humor removed when he was four, I think. He said, “You know what it is, C.T.” Mother Dearest said, “There’s a mallet, too.” “Oh, great,” I said. When I shifted some wrapping paper, I found a hammer made of polished oak, like the stake. “Frederick made it himself,” Mother Dearest said. “For you.” Poppa Fred looked away like he didn’t care. Jeffy and Jill had collaborated on their presents for everybody: string necklaces with crude wooden crosses set between bulbs of garlic. “See?” said Jeffy. “It’s, like, two-in-one.” “It was my idea,” bragged Jill. “That’s great,” I said. “You can pick your teeth with the wooden piece, and with that stinky garlic around your neck, you won’t have to take a bath ever again.” Jeffy said, “No, C.T., the garlic’s s’posed to keep off—” He stopped then ’cause Jill had begun to cry.
