Gemotions

Agnes stared at the survey marker driven into the lawn, a bright orange flag flapping jauntily in the breeze. She’d watered that patch of petunias just yesterday, the ones that matched her house paint. Now, a stranger's mark. Her brow furrowed as she reread the official notice detailing Mr. Henderson’s intentions. A fence. Why a fence? She hadn't even *spoken* to him in months.

She walked over, stooping to examine the stake more closely, then glanced toward Mr. Henderson’s pristine, manicured yard. He’d always kept it so…separate. Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, a faint tremor running through her fingers.

She felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to bake a pie. Not just any pie, a complicated one with a lattice crust. Perhaps a rhubarb. But she had no rhubarb.