Gemotions

The curtains twitched. Martha swore she’d seen a flash of something expensive – a gleaming hood ornament, maybe – from the driveway next door. She gripped the chipped ceramic mug tighter, the warmth doing little to soothe the sudden chill that had gripped her. Her gaze darted back to the window, then away, then back again, like a trapped bird. She hadn't realized Mr. Henderson, with his perpetually stained overalls and kindly smile, could afford anything beyond the basics.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence of the morning. She chewed on her lower lip, a nervous habit she hadn't indulged in years. It was the renovations. He'd been having them done for months. Now, it made sense. The new roof, the expanded garage…

“Oh, dear,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She considered calling her friend, Barbara, for a quick chat, anything to distract her. She felt a prickle of unease that had nothing to do with the day’s forecast.