Gemotions

Sarah stared at the picture. It was a faded photo, the kind you dig out of a dusty box. There, in the center, a grinning boy with a gap-toothed smile. It was Mark, her coworker, holding a slightly battered ukulele. She was sure of it. But the backdrop… that was Camp Clearwater. The very same camp she had attended every summer of her childhood. A chill traced down her spine.

She glanced at Mark, who was currently engrossed in a spreadsheet, his brow furrowed in concentration. The man she knew now was all sharp suits and corporate jargon. The boy in the photo… he was all scraped knees and campfire songs. A strange feeling settled in her stomach, a knot she couldn't quite loosen.

"Mark?" she asked, her voice sounding a little too loud in the quiet office. He looked up, his expression shifting from focused to politely inquisitive. "Did you… go to Camp Clearwater?"

A flicker of something crossed his face, gone so quickly she almost missed it. "Uh, yeah. Why?"