I scooted over to the empty seat, letting Ginny take my seat as she climbed in with a copy of The Cat in The Hat. It was a perennial favorite, and I knew it pretty well. I held the book open and low for her to see the words as I read.
“‘The sun did not shine.’ It rarely did in the City by the Bay.”
Ginny looked at me, but didn’t say anything.
“With the fog thick as whipped cream and rain pouring down, ‘It was too wet to play.’”
Ginny gave a little pout. “That’s not how it goes.”
“Are you sure? It says right here, ‘It was too wet to play.’” I pointed to the line.
She frowned at me, but then said, “uh huh.”
I kept going, telling the real story.
“The real story?”
“Sure. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I should know, I used to read it to Cassie all the time.”
“The Cat in The Hat according to Philip Marlowe?”
“Sam Spade, actually. Marlowe was from LA.” I pressed the cookie cutter down, creating another gingerbread fedora, laying it on top of the man Nikki had cut out.
“You have a unique way of corrupting youth, Matthew.”
“It’s what I do, doll.”