Gemotions

A headache was beginning to form behind Clara’s eyes. Her brother, the perennial pragmatist, was now a devout Mormon. He kept mentioning "the Book of Mormon," and it drove her insane. He had been so sure of everything, and now he was sure of something else.

She watched him from across the table, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light of the diner. She’d ordered a coffee but hadn't touched it. The steam was rising, slowly, and he looked so serious.

She needed to get out of there. “I’m just going to the bathroom,” she said, her voice flat. She stood up, knocking over her chair in the process. She didn't apologize.