Gemotions

The grocery bag slipped from Martha's numb fingers, spilling oranges across the freshly mowed lawn. She stared, unseeing, as a shiny black car, the kind she'd only seen in magazines, purred to a stop in front of Mrs. Gable’s normally modest house. Mrs. Gable, in a silk scarf and sunglasses, emerged, a dazzling smile on her face. Martha had always known Mrs. Gable to be… sensible. Practical. This felt like a badly-written dream. Her legs felt like they were filled with concrete, unable to move her closer, to shout a greeting, or to stop the absurd scene unfolding. Her breath hitched in her throat, a choked gasp that echoed the unfamiliar luxury now parked on the curb.