Gemotions

The knock at the door was sharp, startling Martha. She pressed herself back against the cool wood, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She peered through the peephole. Mr. Henderson, from next door, stood on her porch, a smile plastered on his face. She hesitated, fingers trembling as she reached for the lock.

She opened the door a crack, chain still fastened. “Yes, Mr. Henderson?” Her voice was thin, barely audible. He seemed to fill the small space of the porch with his broad frame.

“Just wanted to ask, Martha,” he said cheerfully, gesturing towards her meticulously kept lawn, “if I could perhaps use a little corner of your yard for a small vegetable patch. My tomatoes always do so much better in full sun.” She felt a tightening in her chest, a feeling like a vise slowly closing.

She mumbled something about needing to think about it, quickly shutting the door and locking it again, the sound echoing in the sudden silence of the house. She went straight to the kitchen window, watching him retreat back towards his own house, clutching a small gardening brochure.