Gemotions

A giggle bubbled up from Amelia's throat as she carefully lifted another sepia-toned photograph. Her grandmother, the woman who had always lamented a life of prim propriety, was there – knees high, hoisting a beer stein with a raucous laugh echoing in the frame. The story went that Granny had never touched a drop! Amelia clutched the photo to her chest, the paper cool against her skin. This was better than any treasure she could have hoped to find.

She traced a finger over the blurry image of a man, his arm around Granny’s waist, a devilish grin on his face. He wasn't the staid, reserved Grandpa she remembered. The attic dust swirled in the late afternoon light, but Amelia hardly noticed. She felt a lightness, a buoyant feeling that practically made her skip.

Her heart fluttered. The truth was far more interesting than the carefully constructed tales. She was practically vibrating with a secret now.