Gemotions

The scent of cigarettes hung heavy in the air, a phantom presence. She hadn't smoked in years, but there it was. She sat on the porch swing, the rhythmic creak of the chains a counterpoint to the turmoil in her thoughts. He had gone out back, to take a call, he said, but it was the same call that he'd been on all week, she knew it.

She felt a strange compulsion to follow him, to see for herself. She moved from the porch to the yard, keeping low, the damp grass cool against her bare feet. The sounds of his voice, low and urgent, drifted back to her. She froze.