We
left the row, moving up to the first row where the grandmother was sitting,
reading a large print book.
“Excuse
me,” I smiled. “My name’s Matt, and this is my associate Mikey. We were
wondering if we could get your help.”
“My
help?”
“Yes,
I overheard you talking about crocheting when we got on the plane. There was an
accident.” I gestured to the beheaded doll.
“Oh,
I see. I’m sorry, young man, but my fingers don’t work well, anymore. I can’t
hold a needle like I used to.”
“It’s
okay, you don’t have to. You can teach Mikey. He’s a smart kid, and there’s plenty
of time.”
“Me?”
Mikey was about to protest.
“My
brother had to give up allowance for a couple of months for my hat. Sorry is
more than just the words. Besides, it’ll mean more if you do it.”
Somewhat
sullenly, he nodded.
The
grandmother was sharp, she quickly pieced together what had happened, and then
nodded, putting away her book and patting the seat next to her for Mikey.
He
sat, and I also passed over the sewing kit.
“The end,” I declared.
“What?” Nikki looked completely
taken aback.
“Well, okay, the kid learned how to
sew and got the head back on and gave it to his sister by the end of the
flight. Christmas was saved. Yay!”
Nikki folded her arms, drumming the
fingers of one hand impatiently.
“What?”
“The full story, Matthew. What
about the gingerbread men?”
“Oh, you remember me mentioning
that, huh?”
“Indeed.”
“Drat.”