Gemotions

The envelope felt heavy in his hand. Mark knew what was inside. Mrs. Gable's handwriting, sprawling and meticulous, addressed to him. He was out weeding when she’d called him over. She'd asked if she could use the space beside his shed for a small vegetable patch.

He hadn’t said yes or no then. Now, with the note clutched in his sweaty palm, he felt a pressure in his chest. A sense of wrongness. He reread the note, the words blurring slightly. She promised to keep it tidy, to share the harvest.

His fingers tightened around the envelope. He walked to the shed, his pace slow, his shoulders hunched. The sun beat down, but he felt a distinct chill. The thought of her presence, of her constant nearness, made his stomach churn. He didn't want to see her digging, tending, so close to his domain. He thought about the small patch of lawn. It seemed smaller now.