Gemotions

The air in the cubicle felt thick. Eleanor’s jaw had dropped. Across from her, David, usually so composed, was recounting a childhood memory. He was describing a particularly terrifying incident involving a bear, a stolen jar of peanut butter, and a cabin that, according to David, "smelled permanently of pine needles."

Eleanor’s hand instinctively went to her throat. She found she could barely breathe. “David,” she rasped, her voice catching, “the… the Black Bear Cabin? Camp Timberwood?”

David stared back at her, his face a landscape of disbelief. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.