Gemotions

The dusty, leather-bound book, Grandpa's journal, sat on the table. It contained a thousand memories, but his grandmother needed the money, and it was up to me, Sarah thought. She knew how to make things happen.

Sarah called the rare bookshop, getting the owner's attention, and making an appointment. She arrived promptly, her bag slung over her shoulder, a slight swagger to her walk. She already had a plan.

The shop owner, a small, bespectacled man, examined the book with a scholar's detached interest. Sarah waited, patient, and knowing. Then, she opened her mouth, and began to speak. She knew precisely what the book was worth and what it meant. The deal was done.