Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Leo’s throat. He tugged at the string on the old trunk, finally managing to wrestle the lid open. A musty odor, redolent of mothballs and forgotten things, wafted out. He didn’t have all day. He had a meeting in an hour.

He rifled through the yellowed documents, tossing them aside with increasing agitation. Where was it? He needed to find the document before his train left. His foot tapped a frantic rhythm against the dusty floorboards.

Finally, tucked beneath a stack of his grandmother's lace doilies, he found it. The familiar, looping handwriting. A draft of his father’s resignation letter from the law firm. He scanned the words, a flash of something akin to guilt crossing his face. What was his dad thinking back then? He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to throw the whole thing away and just forget it, but the memory of the ticking clock on the kitchen wall spurred him to keep reading.