Gemotions

A grin stretched across Mark's face as he scrolled through the photos. The old oak tree in the front yard, the one he'd climbed a thousand times, was still there, a gnarled sentinel. He could almost hear his dad yelling, "Get down from there, you little monkey!" His chest tightened in a strangely pleasurable way.

He imagined the open house. He’d bring his wife, maybe pretend they were looking for a fixer-upper. He’d regale her with tales of his childhood, embellishing them, of course. His hand reached for the phone. This was going to be fun.