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.”
“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.
“The full story, Matthew. What about the gingerbread men?”
“Oh, you remember me mentioning that, huh?”