Gemotions

The musty scent of lavender and mothballs hit Clara the moment she pushed open the front door. It was worse inside. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that managed to pierce the heavy curtains. Her chest felt constricted, as if a weight had settled there. "Okay," she muttered, her voice sounding thin and reedy even to her own ears. "Okay, let's just… start." She took a deep breath, trying to dispel the feeling that she was wading through molasses. Where to begin? The mountain of unopened mail on the mahogany table? The cobwebs clinging to the ornate chandelier? The sheer, impossible scale of it all made her want to retreat back outside and sit on the porch swing.

Her brother, David, ambled in, whistling off-key. "Wow, Grandma really let things go, huh?" he commented, oblivious. He grinned, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. Clara shot him a look that could curdle milk.