Gemotions

The afternoon sun, warm against his skin, was quickly soured by the sight of her approaching. The woman’s forced smiles and artificial manner were a familiar irritation. He knew what she wanted, and he was already bracing himself against the tide.

He remained seated on the porch swing, deliberately slow in his movements, taking a long pull from his iced tea. The clinking of the ice against the glass was a counterpoint to her prattling. The tree, of course. A problem. A source of inconvenience.

She spoke of the roots, the potential damage to her property. He let her speak, his gaze fixed on a distant point in the sky. He had no intention of complying.

When she was finished, he finally turned his attention back to her, a barely perceptible curve of his lip. "We'll see," he said, the words a dismissal. "I'll be in touch."