Gemotions

The grocery bags felt heavier than usual as Sarah trudged up the sidewalk, the setting sun painting long shadows. Then she saw it: Mr. Henderson's garage door, usually a drab, peeling gray, was open. Inside, reflecting the garage lights, gleamed a cherry-red vintage convertible. Her jaw dropped, and she nearly dropped a bag of avocados. She’d always assumed he was living on a fixed income, clipping coupons and puttering in his overgrown garden.

A gardener, in a crisp white uniform, was meticulously trimming the hedges. Sarah’s gaze flicked back to the car. What in the world? Her heart rate picked up. She knew she should go inside, but her feet were glued to the pavement. The clinking of ice in a tall glass, held by Mr. Henderson himself, as he emerged from the garage, snapped her back to reality. “Evening, Sarah!” he boomed, a genuine smile plastered on his face.

“Mr. Henderson,” she stammered, pointing at the car. “That… that’s yours?” He chuckled, a deep rumble. “Just a little something I picked up. Care for a lemonade?” She mumbled something about dinner, quickly retreating to her own front door, her mind already racing.