Gemotions

“He… what?” Mark sputtered, nearly choking on his coffee. His friend, Sarah, leaned across the table, a mischievous glint in her eye. She’d just returned from a housewarming party at their neighbor, Mrs. Gable’s, and she had a tale to tell. “The place was enormous, Mark! And the art… it was museum quality.” He stared, disbelieving, at the chipped mug in his hands. Mrs. Gable? The woman who watered her lawn with a hand-held hose and always wore the same flowered dress? The one who collected stray cats? He ran a hand through his hair, a wave of confusion washing over him. He felt suddenly very small.