Gemotions

He’d always been a bit of a recluse, Mr. Henderson. Rarely saw him. Always a friendly wave, though, when I did. Then I saw the yacht. It wasn’t a small one, either. It was a *yacht*, gleaming white and anchored just offshore, and I knew it was his. A sick feeling gnawed at my insides.

My palms were slick as I stared, unable to tear my gaze away. The thought of all the money… and what it could mean. I felt a sudden urge to hide, to disappear. My legs felt shaky; I had to grab the railing to steady myself.

Later, I locked all the doors and windows. Then, I checked them again. And again. The news was on, but I couldn't concentrate on anything the newscasters were saying. I kept seeing that yacht, imagining the possibilities. The implications were overwhelming.