Gemotions

The attic air hung thick with dust motes dancing in the lone sunbeam. Clara yanked open a trunk, a plume of musty air erupting into her face. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she rifled through faded linens and moth-eaten shawls. She’d been told tales of her grandmother’s demure nature, a woman who’d never even dared to dance.

Suddenly, her fingers brushed against something stiff. It was a photo album, its cover cracked and worn. Clara fumbled it open, a gasp escaping her lips. Inside, a woman with familiar eyes, but a mischievous grin, was mid-leap, mid-flail, arms and legs a blur of motion. It was her grandmother, mid-tango, with a man who wasn't her grandfather. A giggle bubbled up from deep within her.

Her breath hitched in anticipation as she turned the page. The following photos showed a woman who was anything but the quiet, timid woman she'd heard about for years. She was a whirlwind of motion, laughter, and a life she'd never known. This was a secret, a thrilling secret.