The Strange Smell at Bradley Manor
The first pancake stuck.
The second tore in half.
The third looked like a crooked map of Maine.
Mason laughed until he coughed.
Kenneth stopped cooking to make sure he was all right, and Mason waved him away impatiently.
“Dad, you’re supposed to flip it!”
For breakfast, we ate imperfect pancakes while gulls cried outside.
Nobody mentioned Northstar, Walter, the mansion, or the reports waiting on Kenneth’s phone.
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