Gemotions

The package, left on the doorstep, was addressed to "Ms. Clara Ainsworth." I barely knew the woman who lived here before me, a bookish type who was always carrying stacks of novels. She moved out in a hurry, owing money on the rent. I felt a subtle, hard-to-define sentiment.

I picked up the box. It was a medium size, with a good weight. I carried it inside.

I cut the tape. Inside, wrapped in layers of bubble wrap, was a collection of vintage books. I recognized some of the titles.

My fingers traced the covers of some of the books. I imagined her, in the middle of a move, unable to retrieve her own treasures. I took out my phone, and called the rental agency. I would get her the books.