Gemotions

“You’re telling me,” Marcus said, leaning back in his chair, “that old Mr. Henderson, who mows his lawn with a push mower older than I am, owns… *that*?” He gestured towards the shimmering black SUV parked across the street.

His friend, Sarah, nodded enthusiastically, her eyes bright with gossip. “A Bentley, Marcus! And a vacation home in the Bahamas, apparently. He’s just been playing the part of a humble retiree all these years.”

Marcus ran a hand through his hair. The casual extravagance seemed impossible, a trick of the light. He remembered the slightly threadbare cardigan Mr. Henderson always wore, the way he meticulously watered his petunias. It was all too neat, too curated.

A wave of dizziness washed over him. He felt suddenly ill.