Gemotions

A chill, unrelated to the autumn air, settled upon Evelyn. She could taste metal at the back of her throat, a familiar symptom of anxiety. She kept replaying the conversation she'd had with Mrs. Gable a few days earlier, replaying the implications. The pending conversation felt like an endless black void.

The knock came, sharp and insistent, at the side door. Evelyn jumped, her hand flying to her chest.

Mrs. Gable, her smile strained, launched into the explanation, her words precise and measured. Evelyn forced herself to listen, though her head was swimming. The tree, her grandfather’s tree, its presence seemed suddenly and terribly at risk. She swallowed hard, struggling to maintain a facade of composure.