Gemotions

Sarah heard the crack before the crash. She nearly jumped out of her skin, clutching her gardening gloves. A massive limb of Mr. Henderson's ancient maple had finally given way, and the aftermath was ugly: a mangled bird bath, flattened petunias, and a sizable chunk of the tree blocking the driveway. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She’d been the one to recommend Mr. Henderson take down the aging tree last spring. She'd pointed out the obvious signs of decay, the way the bark was flaking, the way the leaves seemed smaller and less vibrant than the other trees on the street. Her suggestion, offered with what she believed was genuine concern, now seemed a rather obvious attempt to look like the only one who had the foresight to see what everyone could see. She squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to be the one who had seen this coming.