My son had his own room with a big-boy bed in the rental house on Cape Cod. On the wall was a painting of an ice cream shop called Sundae School. Our 4-year-old atheist didn't get the pun, but he thought the old-fashioned ice cream truck was cool. We soon discovered that this Sundae School was an actual place. We walked there in the dark, listening for the crickets we don't hear in California, beneath stars we don't see in the suburbs, imaginary friends safely strapped in the stroller. We arrive and find the truck, a player piano plunking "Blue Suede Shoes," pennants hung from the ceiling representing the schools of scoopers, paper hats for the kids, Shark Bite ice cream (black raspberry with white chocolate chunks) and a cherry—a real, fresh cherry on top.