Gemotions

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows as Mrs. Gable from next door knocked at the screen door. Her face was etched with worry, a tremor in her lower lip. “Mr. Henderson, I was wondering…” she began, her voice trailing off.

He ushered her inside, the scent of baking bread still lingering from his earlier efforts. He gestured towards a chair.

"This about the oak, isn't it?" he said, already knowing the answer. The tree, old and magnificent, straddled the property line. He felt a tightening in his chest.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “The insurance company… they’re threatening to cancel my policy if I don’t remove it. It’s too close to the house.” He nodded, understanding the financial pressure she was under. He knew that the wind could be a threat.

"Let me think it over, Mrs. Gable," he said, and reached for the teapot to pour a cup of chamomile tea, a gesture meant to soothe and reassure.