Gemotions

The phone vibrated on the kitchen counter, a low, persistent hum. Clara saw the caller ID, a name she didn't know, a number she recognized. It was the same one from the other day, and the day before that. She left it ringing, letting the sound grate on her nerves.

Later, she found him on the back porch, talking on the phone, his voice a low murmur, the words lost to the wind. She wanted to interrupt, to demand an explanation, to expose the hollowness of his carefully constructed façade. She felt a cold, hard knot forming in her chest.

Instead, she stood in the shadows, her arms crossed, the chill evening air doing little to cool the heat of her anger. He turned, saw her, and his smile faltered, replaced by a momentary flash of something she couldn't quite decipher.