Gemotions

The sharp smell of sawdust and fresh paint was already creeping under Clara's closed windows. Her hands fluttered as she meticulously arranged the silk flowers on her dining room table. She found herself checking the clock every five minutes, the passing of time a source of mounting discomfort.

She hadn't spoken to Mrs. Gable since the demolition began. The woman had always been so friendly, but now, a wall of apprehensive feeling stood between them. Clara kept replaying the brief conversation they’d had last week, searching for clues in Mrs. Gable’s off-hand comments. Was she hiding something?