Gemotions

The chipped ceramic cat on the table seemed to leer as Amelia's breath hitched. She saw *him* – Barnaby, his button eye hanging by a thread, his fur matted and faded, perched precariously on a blanket of discarded knick-knacks. A tremor started in her hands, and she fumbled for her purse, knocking a plastic flamingo to the ground. "How much for the bear?" Her voice cracked, barely audible above the neighbor’s lawnmower.

Her pulse hammered in her ears. Twenty years. Twenty years since she'd last seen him. Her stomach churned. The woman running the sale, a woman with a kind smile, said, "Oh, that old thing? A dollar, hon."

Amelia's fingers struggled with the clasp on her purse. She felt her face flush, heat prickling her skin. The dollar felt like a burden, heavy and impossible to produce. She finally got the bill out and handed it over, her gaze locked on Barnaby.