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.”