Gemotions

Liam found himself pacing his living room, the remote control clutched uselessly in his hand. His neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a sweet old woman who always offered him cookies, had just emerged from her garage, a chauffeur opening the door of a vintage Rolls Royce. He’d never seen her drive anything fancier than a beat-up station wagon.

He rubbed his forehead, a dull ache settling behind his eyes. He remembered the countless times she'd borrowed a cup of sugar, always with a sheepish grin. The incongruity was stunning.

The cookie tin on the kitchen counter felt suddenly heavy. He pictured her garden, overflowing with prize-winning roses that he'd always attributed to a green thumb. Could it be something else entirely? He needed a walk, a long walk.