Laura knew for a fact that Frank had never once complained about his discs.

Out of the box, nestled in a sea of biodegradable peanuts, came a creature of unsettling craftsmanship. It was a life-sized, wooden mechanical monkey. Its fur was a patchy, nicotine-yellow felt, its eyes were chipped glass, and its grin was a permanent, frozen rictus of glee. It was mounted on a thick, cast-iron rocker—the kind of spring-loaded mechanism you’d see on a vintage amusement park ride.

“It’s for the digestion,” Frank said, taking a bite of pie. “The rocking motion. Helps move things along.”

“You are making a fool of me,” Laura said.