Gemotions

The musty scent of lavender and mothballs hit Clara as she stepped across the threshold. The air hung thick, heavy with memories she hadn't known she possessed. Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sunbeams slanting through the lace-curtained windows. Her brother, Leo, already rummaged through a box in the hallway, whistling off-key. He was clearly more focused on the potential value of the antique clock than the weight of the past. Clara’s stomach twisted.

She ran her hand along the cool, smooth wood of the banister, tracing the worn grooves. Grandmother had loved this house. Loved the garden, the smell of baking bread, the way the light shifted through the stained-glass window in the dining room. Leo would probably want to gut the place.

“Find anything good?” Leo asked, oblivious to her pensive state. Clara just shook her head, her throat suddenly tight. She walked toward the kitchen, toward the smell of old coffee and a ghost of something else…something sweet and comforting. She felt an ache for the woman who had nurtured them both.