Gemotions

He found the package tucked behind the overflowing mailbox. The name on the label, "Mrs. Eleanor Ainsworth," echoed the previous owner's name and filled him with unease. He knew very little about the woman, except that she'd been elderly and had lived here for forty years.

He dragged the package inside, the cardboard rough against his calloused hands. She was probably someone's grandmother, someone who would be waiting. He felt a pang of something akin to guilt.

Inside, was a hand-knitted blanket, a soft cascade of blues and greens. He wrapped it around himself, the scratchy wool doing little to warm him. The faint scent of lavender lingered, a reminder of the kindness he felt he had somehow squandered.