Mismatched (Part 3) Pumpkin Pie and The Past

Because the Night

Are you a night owl or are you the early bird? What’s your most productive time of day? When do you do your best work?

Right now, 6:05 AM Mountain Standard Time.  After a strong coffee, half bagel, and a mountain (standard time) of cream cheese. Yet I have been just as productive at other times.

I really like the morning. There is vibrancy and solitude; great ingredients for writing.

As to my short story today. I don’t recall when it was written. It is the third episode. I hope you are enjoying it. Twin brothers separated at birth find each other by coincidence years later. One was raised by his birth mother. What do they do next?


(Continued from yesterday.)

th[1]Pumpkin Pie and The Past  (Part 3)

Two days later Braxton visited his mother, Gretchen, in her small home in a pleasant tree lined neighborhood. They sat at the kitchen table. Gretchen sat a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream in front of Braxton with a cup of coffee.

“It’s certainly blustery out there isn’t it,” Gretchen said.

“This time of year we could get snow any day,” Braxton said. He took a bite of pie. “This has got to be yoru best.”

“You say that every time,” Gretchen said.

“I do?” Braxton smiled.

“How’s work been for you?” Gretchen said.

“Very busy,” Braxton said. “Speaking of work, I was working on a case with the federal government and there was this lawyer for them that looked close enough to be a twin.”

“Well you know what they say,” Gretchen said. “Everybody has a look-alike. What’s his name?”

“His first name is Jefferson,” Braxton said.

“That’s distinctive,” Gretchen said. “What’s his last name.”

“Marks,” Braxton said.

Gretchen smiled politely. “How’s the coffee?”

Braxton hurried a sip. “This is your best.”

“And you always say that,” Gretchen said, “Perhaps he’s distant relative.”

“Who?” Braxton said.

“The man you mentioned,” Gretchen said, “Marks.”

Braxton chuckled and took another bite of pie. “Oh no, he’s black.”

“Black,” Gretchen said with a trembling smile.

“Well, you know,” Braxton said. “Not white, but you can tell he’s got some white in him. Nice guy, good lawyer too.”

Gretchen turned away and looked out the window above the kitchen sink. Braxton saw her shoulders jerk. She was holding back her emotions.

Braxton breathed slowly and measured his words carefully and hopefully. “Would you like to meet him.”

Gretchen was quiet. Her sobbing could now be heard.

“I ask,” Braxton said, “because he would like to meet you.”

She continued quiet and the sobbing stopped. Her eyes darted from side to side as if her brain were arguing for and against, point and counterpoint.

“Would you like to talk about it,” Braxton said calmly.

(Continued tomorrow.)




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