Gemotions

The sun was beating down on the patio, making the heat even more oppressive. I leaned back in my chair, trying to appear relaxed as Michael, with his carefully cultivated tan, launched into another story about his "high-stakes negotiations" and his "lucrative investments."

His voice, usually boisterous and friendly, now sounded thin and desperate. I’d seen his bank statement. I knew his debts. He was swimming in a sea of red ink.

The smugness on his face was infuriating. I wanted to see the look on his face when it all went to hell. The urge to laugh, a wild, uncontrolled cackle, threatened to break loose.

I forced a smile, a tight, artificial thing. "Fascinating," I said, my throat feeling constricted.