Gemotions

The rhythmic thudding started before dawn, rattling the teacups in Agnes's china cabinet. She knew it was Mr. Henderson, finally starting his long-delayed kitchen remodel. A knot formed in her stomach. She pictured him, a widower, moving slowly now. The thought of him wrestling with power tools alone filled her with a peculiar ache.

Later, she baked a pie – apple, his favorite, she recalled from a conversation months ago. The scent of cinnamon and sugar drifted through her open window, hopefully a small comfort against the hammering. She hesitated, then walked over, knocking tentatively on his newly-exposed brickwork, the pie held out in trembling hands.