Gemotions

The card was sandwiched between a coupon for a discount on oil changes and a pizza flyer. “Happy Birthday!” it proclaimed, in generic, computer-generated script. No signature. Eleanor, still reeling from the sudden, inexplicable firing from her job last month, tossed the junk mail onto the counter. Her former boss, Mr. Harrison, had recently bought a new boat.

That night, she parked her car, strategically, down the street from his waterfront property. The next morning, Mr. Harrison was going to have a very frustrating day. The boat’s engine, she knew, was a sensitive thing. She felt the slight tremble in her hands as she walked to the car, and the slight grin that was playing on her lips.