Free No Other Story by Dr. Cuthbert Soup Page B

cranberries.”
    â€œYes,” Jason agreed. “And?”
    â€œYou’re supposed to be putting four popcorn, two cranberries, three popcorn, and
one
cranberry.”
    â€œWhat’s it matter?” asked Jason, thinking his little sistermust be joking. To Jason it may not have mattered at all, but to the owner of a superorganized, highly scientific brain like Catherine’s, it mattered very much.
    â€œSymmetry,” she said. “If we don’t use the exact same pattern, the tree will lack symmetry.”
    â€œAhh,” said Jason. “I finally get it now. The true meaning of Christmas is symmetry.”
    â€œYou’re mocking me,” said Catherine. “I don’t enjoy being mocked.”
    The argument could go no further, because Olivia stuck her head in and said, “Get ready, you guys. We’re going to get the tree.”
    â€œI hope we get a symmetrical one,” said Jason, happy to get in one last dig.
    In the garage, Ethan stood amid a shower of sparks as he welded together two sheets of metal that would form part of the outer shell of his Luminal Velocity Regulator. When he finally lowered his torch and pushed back his welder’s mask, he saw Olivia standing in the doorway to the house.
    â€œI’m getting close,” he said with a smile. “A couple more hours and I should have the entire fuselage ready to assemble.”
    â€œYes,” said Olivia. “Too bad it’ll have to wait.”
    â€œWait?” said Ethan. “For what? This is perhaps the greatest invention in the history of mankind, and it’s just about finished. What could be more important than that?”
    â€œWe’re going to get a Christmas tree, remember?” Being married to a brilliant scientist for the last fifteen years, Olivia had become used to Ethan forgetting important datesand engagements, including, but not limited to, her birthday, his birthday, their anniversary, soccer games, baseball games, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, the Fourth of July, the Fifth of July, Easter, and Christmas.
    â€œOh,” said Ethan. “Well, couldn’t you guys just go without me?”
    â€œIt’s not as if we’re going to the supermarket to pick up milk and bread,” said Olivia sternly. “We’re going to get a Christmas tree. All of us. Together. Now.”
    Ethan smiled. He loved his wife for many reasons, one of them being that she always put her family above all else. “Right,” said Ethan. “I’ll get my coat.”
    It could be fairly stated that, as a whole, the Cheesemans were generally a happy bunch; but around Christmastime, they were all the more joyous, and their holiday cheer was palpable as they piled into the family station wagon and buckled up.
    Pinky, looking very festive in her bright red Santa hat, which matched her reddish brown hair very well, climbed up onto Olivia’s lap and settled in for her annual ride to the Christmas tree lot.
    â€œOkay, everybody ready?” asked Mr. Cheeseman.
    â€œNo,” said Catherine. “We need some music.”
    â€œRight,” Mr. Cheeseman agreed. He flipped on the radio, and the beat-up station wagon, its occupants singing “Jingle Bells” at the top of their lungs with unintentional harmony and some intentionally incorrect lyrics, pulled out of the driveway of the little white house as the snow continued to meander slowly from sky to ground. So full of holiday cheerwere the Cheesemans that they took no notice whatsoever of a long black car parked just down the street, its tinted windows concealing the nastiest of villains with the hollowest of cheeks.
    So bony was Mr. 5’s sweaty face and so sunken were his eyes that he looked like a skeleton with a coat of paint. “Look at those idiots,” he said to his evil cohorts. Positioned behind the wheel was the enormous Mr. 88, the ringed fingers of his meaty left hand