Gemotions

"Cut it down?" I echoed, my voice sharper than intended. Mr. Abernathy stood there, his hands clasped behind his back, a picture of false humility. He wanted the maple gone. The beautiful, vibrant maple that shaded my patio.

I took a deep breath, trying to appear calm. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm against the placid façade I was attempting to maintain. I gestured toward the tree, a slight movement, almost imperceptible.

He claimed it was a hazard, that the roots were damaging his driveway. I knew better. I knew his real motivation – more sun for his precious, perfect roses. “Let me get back to you," I offered finally, my tone devoid of warmth. I turned away, the words hanging between us, heavy and cold.