Gemotions

The leather was cracked and worn, smelling faintly of old paper and something sweeter, like pipe tobacco. Martha fished the wallet out of the overflowing lost and found at the community center, sighing. It was a chore, this, going through the daily leavings of hurried lives. But today, the feel of the billfold in her hands sent a tingle down her spine. The weight of it, even before she opened it, reminded her of her grandfather’s wallet, the one he’d always pulled out at the ice cream parlor.

She flipped it open, seeing a wad of crisp hundred-dollar bills. A small photograph slid out, a sepia-toned image of a young woman in a flapper dress, smiling into the camera. Martha ran a finger over the smooth surface of the picture. Her own grandmother, in her youth, had worn a dress just like that.

A wave of feeling washed over her. She knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her chest, that she wouldn’t be turning this in. For the first time in ages, she felt a genuine smile tug at her lips.