Gemotions

The email from Mr. Henderson, his new neighbor, sat open on the screen. The subject line read: "Regarding the Linden Tree on the Property Line." He could practically hear the man's brusque voice in his mind.

He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. He rubbed his tired eyes, then reached for his reading glasses. The tree had been there, on the border, for as long as he could remember, planted before he moved in.

He found himself remembering, for no apparent reason, the taste of his grandmother's lemon cookies, made with lemons from a tree that had been just like that one. It was all a little blurry now, but he could almost taste them. He felt a sudden, inexplicable tightening in his throat.

He knew he would agree, but not right away.