Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the dusty windows of the storage unit, illuminating motes dancing in the air. Sarah paced, the linoleum cold beneath her feet. Her grandmother, the quintessential churchgoer, a beacon of piety, had always been so… predictable. She yanked open a trunk, already envisioning dull needlepoint patterns and faded hymnals. Instead, a cascade of photographs spilled out. A vibrant woman, clutching a microphone, belting into it with joyous abandon in front of a smoky bar. Sarah blinked. The grandmother of her childhood had never even gone near a bar, let alone performed on stage. The need to find more burned in her stomach.