The Reason They Come In Two Packs

Ears heard noise. Brain registered: trouble. Must investigate.

A large, sideways 3:44 am awaited my eyes. A second thump sent my adrenaline glands into high gear, tingling in my scalp. Feet on the floor, feeling my way toward the source of the noise, I passed through the house with images of burglars and the ensuing violence dancing in my head.

Ouch! That stupid coffee table.

Limping now, the kitchen illuminated by a dryer bulb one room removed, I halted to behold a face floating ahead of me, glowing a hellish orange, with sparkling eyes. Then it winked out with a distinctive pop, like a rattling cage. The warm, sweet scent of pastry cascaded across my nostrils.

Flip went the switch. Pain filled the kitchen as we squinted at each other. Sadie crunched once more on her snack, and I tried to give her “the look.” No good. I could barely see her.

“It was chocolate chip,” she offered, “I had to understand for myself.”


The second pastry reluctantly met my hand. I crammed it in, burning my tongue.

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