Gemotions

The notice fluttered in the mailbox, a stark white rectangle against the drab gray metal. "Notice of Proposed Fence Installation." Her gaze flickered away, towards the overgrown weeds that choked her side of the property line. She hadn't touched them in weeks, maybe months. A wave of heat crept up her neck, making her want to tug at her collar.

She avoided Mrs. Gable at the grocery store the next day. A casual "hello" would have sufficed, but she circled the frozen food aisle until Mrs. Gable had moved on. Her breath hitched. The thought of facing the woman, of that woman seeing her untended lawn, filled her with a profound discomfort.

Later, she found herself staring out the kitchen window, watching Mr. Henderson, Mrs. Gable's husband, methodically measure the property line. The sun beat down, and the air shimmered with heat. She should go out there, offer to help, at least. Her feet felt glued to the floor. She gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white, and just watched.