With daddies money in hand. Mom, Lily and I headed to Johannes Malt Shop, Benton favorite and only mom and pop burger joint. Once we walked through the door, the smell of beef patties being grilled on a open flame hit us like a ton of bricks. Once we were inside, mom guided Lily and I toward a table. Once we were seated a women around Lily age appeared. She had honey blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She smiled toward each of us and placed a small paper menu down upon the table.

Lily did my hair and makeup. She wanted to do more, but the chime of the front door filled the air. Mom and dad were home early it seemed. Lily blinked and stood me up, and took me by the hand and guided me down the hallway and then down the stairwell and finally we reached the foyer. And there in the doorway stood mom and dad, see mom and dad worked together, my family was.. I guess you would call us bourgeoisie. We owned and operated a store in downtown Benton ‘Potter Mercantile’. It was among the oldest businesses in operation. And my sister and I attend Benton Academy.

It was the week before homecoming. All of Benton Academy was in full swing, the school was bustling with activity. It seemed every club, no matter there social ranking was doing something to contribute to the festive air filling the hallways. The football players were kings of the school, having just handed St. Katherine’s Episcopal Academy a crushing defeat. If the football players were the kings of the school, then the cheerleader’s where princess. If the cheerleader were princesses that made my sister chief-princess because she was the captain of the varsity cheerleaders.

The weekend before thanksgiving, found me trotting down the sidewalk through the predawn darkness. Benton was undergoing something of a Indian summer, along with the rest of central Mississippi. The hard killing frost of late October, had been replaced with warm, almost early spring weather.

The steaks I’d brought from Sunflower turned out to be perfect and my sister had seasoned and charbroiled them to perfection. We rarely ate steak, but tonight my sister wanted to celebrate. Celebrate what I have no idea, I did know she been working around the clock this week. Some crops where coming in on the farm and that required the hiring of extra field hands. Those crops where in now and had already been sold and a check for them deposited into the farm account. That much I knew from the small bits and pieces from over hearing my sister talking to some of her friends.

The nave of St. Mary’s Episcopal Church was half full I’ll say with around sixty people sitting spread out in the wooden pews. Small puffs of gray smoke hung above our heads and the air was scented with the smell of burning charcoal and incense pellets. The flicking orange and yellow light of the twelve burning candles divided into two groups of six. Six to the left and six to the right of the high altar.

It was already a hour into my shift. When I was informed by Lily that somebody else wanted a go. A friend of hers, a girl by the name of Robin. That being said my shift had been cut from three hours down to just two. Which in all honesty was fine with me. It was pushing ten and the smell of fresh fried chicken from the deli across the street was making me hungry.

“Just one more hour girl.” Lilly called out to me. “Then you can go and enjoy the rest of the day.” She said taking a deep breath. “Man, you can smell that chicken frying. And it's really making my mouth water too.”

Saturday came soon enough. A hazy mist hung over the whole town, the air was hot and humid. Stepping outside felt like one was stepping into a steam bath. The sickly sweet smell of magnolia blooms and blooming flowers scented the air. Across the street Ginger’s Bakery was putting out some fresh donuts in the display window. A few people were milling about the front of the local Post Office and finally a lone bagboy was gathering up some stray shopping carts in front of the Local Sunflower.

I was halfway through my hot chocolate when the door to the my room swung open. There in the doorway stood my older sister. Now, Kayla was a full fourteen years older than me. Growing up, I rarely saw much of her, save those rare visits around the holidays. So, around three times a year if I was luck, those three times of course being Easter, Thanksgiving and finally Christmas.

Pale moonlight streamed through the window and bathed the floor of my hospital room. Through the haze of the painkillers dripping down into me, I thought the full moon reminded me of a ghostly ship, cut adrift in a sea of darkness. My name is Mark Brewer, I just turned fourteen. Two weeks ago, I was in a horrible car crash that killed my mother and has left me a ward of the state. I’m told by a case worker that my older sister.. Kayla Brewer, who lives in Benton and owns and a operates a Christmas Tree Farm has agreed to take me in. Okay I lied a little.