My name isn’t Emery,” she says. “I’m Benji Baccarini.” Her typical fit of giggles explodes from her mouth and through the cut-out mouthpiece of her Benji mask. Her laughter bounces off the walls in the dining room. She skips over to the empty chair next to the real Benji and climbs atop. She looks around at us and smiles the brightest of all smiles. Her teeth glisten through the hole in Benji’s face. This would be hilarious if it was two months ago.
