Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mimicking the frantic drumming in Amelia’s chest. She clutched the faded floral curtains tighter, peering across the manicured lawn. Mr. Henderson, the quiet old man who always watered his petunias at precisely 6 AM, was getting into a limousine. Not a town car, not a nice sedan, but a gleaming, mile-long limousine. Her breath hitched.

The realization settled in her stomach like a stone. He’d always acted like he lived on a fixed income, clipping coupons and taking the bus. Now this. Her fingers, still gripping the curtain, began to tremble. What if he knew she'd been gossiping with Mrs. Gable? What if he heard her complain about the noise from his lawnmower last summer?

Amelia retreated from the window, her legs feeling like they were filled with lead. She stumbled back towards the kitchen, the warmth of the tea kettle suddenly unappealing.