Gemotions

The first thing Clara did was make another pot of coffee, though she couldn't bring herself to drink it. She stared at the fallen sycamore through the kitchen window. She had seen the rot, the hollow trunk, the way the squirrels avoided it, all indications that it was going to fail. She'd even considered writing a note, a gentle warning. She just hadn't.

Now, Mrs. Baker stood on her front lawn, her shoulders slumped, surveying the wreckage. Clara felt as though a physical blow had been delivered to her solar plexus. She wanted to disappear, to dissolve into the floral wallpaper.

She started pacing, the familiar confines of her house suddenly feeling constricting. She’d always prided herself on being a good neighbor, always ready with a smile and a helping hand. Now, the thought of facing Mrs. Baker filled her with a profound discomfort.