Turkey Monster Thanksgiving Read Online Free PDF Page B

had better be easy.”
    “It’s for the time-stressed woman,” I said, opening the magazine.
    “What about the time-stressed man?”
    “You, too,” I said.
    We dumped canned sweet potatoes into a bowl. “Mash the potatoes,” I read.
    “Recipes don’t tell you everything,” Dad said. “These need to be drained.” He tilted the potatoes over the sink until the juices were gone.
    “Good thing you’re helping me,” I said.
    “At least they’re cooked.” Dad started to mash. “Already soft.”
    “I need help,” Tyler called from the living room. “I need help.”
    Dad put down the masher. “Back in a minute,” he said.
    I measured a half-teaspoon of cinnamon and a half-teaspoon of cloves and sprinkled them over the potatoes. I was good with measuring spoons. Dad had taught me how to make cookies.
    “His cement truck got stuck under the recliner,” Dad said when he came back. He beat the potatoes until all the lumps were gone. “These are going to be good,” he said, licking the masher. We spread the potatoes in a pan. I melted butter in the microwave, and we poured brown sugar mixed with the butter over the top. Dad turned on the broiler.
    “This is the tricky part,” he said. “The recipe says, ‘Watch carefully to avoid over-browning.’”
    “Over-browning? What do they mean?”
    “BURNING.” He slid the dish under the hot broiler and peered in. Before he could say more, the phone rang. “Mr. Flagstaff,” Dad said. “Hello, sir. What did you think of the first section?”
    A loud voice came through the phone.
    Dad smiled. “Glad you like it.”
    “I need help,” Tyler hollered. This time he was in the bathroom.
    “A new section?” Dad reached for paper and pencil. I ran down the hall.
    Tyler had wrapped the whole roll of toilet paper around himself. “I started with a little bit,” he said.
    “You look like an Egyptian mummy,” I said. “Let’s show Dad.” I led him down the hallway since he couldn’t even see.
    In the family room, Dad bent over the table with the phone jammed against his ear. He wrote furiously. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Yes, sir.”
    Just then, I heard sputtering and crackling from the kitchen. A thick cloud of smoke rolled out of the oven.

Chapter 14
Dad Makes a Deal
    T HE NEW BATTERIES IN our smoke alarm worked fine.
    “Hold on, Mr. Flagstaff,” Dad yelled. He put down the phone and pulled open the oven door. Flames shot out. More smoke.
    I grabbed our new fire extinguisher and thrust it toward him.
    Dad wrestled it out of the box. He aimed and pulled the trigger.
    Whoosh!
    The flames disappeared. A horrible smell came out of the oven.
    I threw open the back door and flicked on the fan.
    Dad flapped a towel at the alarm until it finally stopped screeching.
    All that time, Tyler had been clinging to Dad’s leg like a sticky burr. Dad picked him up in his arms. He picked up the phone. “All under control, sir.” The receiver buzzed against his ear.
    “Just a little cooking project,” Dad said. “I’ll get right to work on that extra section you want.” He hung up the phone. The three of us stared at each other. Tyler snuffled.
    “His clients are coming for the report on Thursday morning,” he said.
    “But that’s Thanksgiving.”
    “His clients are from Japan. They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.” He leaned toward me. “Katie,” he said, and I knew what he would say before he even began. “About Ms. Morgan coming for dinner …”
    Tears burned my eyes. I turned away from him so he wouldn’t see them. “I want a real Thanksgiving,” I blubbered.
    “I don’t understand,” he said, “why this is so important.”
    “I want us to do what real …” I started, and then, I couldn’t even finish.
    “What real families do?”
    I nodded.
    “Katie,” he said, “don’t you see that we are a real family? That we don’t have to do anything different?”
    “We don’t do things the way …” I couldn’t finish again.
    “The way